CHAPTER TWO

      JAMES C AHILL, also known as Thing One, closed his eyes. Granted, Parker Welles was not his favorite person, but even so. Hearing it put so baldly…uncool. Her friend gave a little squeak. Otherwise, there was silence.

       He glanced at the princess. She didn’t move for a second, then tucked her hair behind one ear, the tip of which was growing red. Otherwise, she just sat there, her profile to him. She crossed her legs. Said legs were flawless—long, smooth, perfect. Not that he was allowed to look at them—she’d put him in his place quite a while ago, and yes, she was being informed of her financial ruin, but man, those legs were incredible.

       “Broke?” she said, then cleared her throat.

       “That’s right,” Harry answered, petting the snake. “You’ve heard of broke, I assume?”

       Now, James knew that Apollo was some kind of security blanket for Harry; easier to break the news to his only child if he had something else to look at. Their whole vibe was always wicked uncomfortable; James hated having to go to Welles family events, but if Harry invited him, he’d come along. It was the least he could do, given what Harry had done for him. Didn’t make things fun, though.

       Parker took a deep breath, her breasts rising under her silky shirt. Nice. Focus, idiot. The perils of being a straight guy in the room with a beautiful woman. Even one who loved putting him down.

       “What happened, Dad?” she asked, her voice more gentle than James had ever heard it. And “Dad.” He couldn’t say he’d ever heard her call him anything but Harry in the six years he’d been working for the guy.

       Harry shifted Apollo to his other arm. “Just a bump in the road. For now, there’s no more money.”

       “No more—”

       “James, fill her in.”

       “James, why don’t you fill her in?” Vernon echoed, parrotlike.

       Right. Time to earn that salary. “Okay, well, it’s a little complicated,” he began.

       She gave him a razor blade of a look. “Try me. I’m a Harvard grad.”

       So much for her soft edges. And God forbid he forget that her blood ran crimson. James himself had gone to Boston University; once, he’d flirted with a Harvard girl and told her he went to BU. “Where’s that?” she’d asked, because if you went to Harvard, other schools didn’t exist.

       She had, however, gone home with him.

       “Magna cum laude,” Parker added.

       “Should I kneel?” he asked. Harry snorted, and Parker’s mouth tightened. Not cool. James hadn’t meant to make it seem as if it was boys vs. girl here. Even if it kind of was.

       Parker’s friend cleared her throat. “Um, Parks, you want me to, uh, get started on dinner?”

       “I’d rather you stayed,” Parker said. Her tone was locked into rich-girl drawl. “Please continue, Thing One.”

      Yes, Majesty. “It seems that Harry got mixed up in an insider-trading deal.”

       She looked back at her father, who was stroking his snake. “Oh, Harry.”

       “Let him finish,” Harry said, not looking away from Apollo.

       James shifted in his seat. “Harry made a sizable investment in a company on which he’d had inside information—”

       “I know what insider trading is,” she said.

       “—and that was obviously unethical, but more to the point, the results weren’t what the information promised.” Okay, here came the hard part. “To cover the losses to investors, your father needed to, ah, liquidate certain assets.”

       She blinked, and James felt a pang of sympathy for her as realization dawned in her eyes. “Which assets, Harry?” she asked, her voice calm.

       Harry looked at the python. “Your trust fund.”

       She looked at her hands, her mouth tight. “Granddad set that up for me.”

       “Well, I’ve been managing it most of your life,” Harry snapped. There was a pause, and the grandfather clock in the corner ticked ominously. “Nicky’s, too,” Harry added in a softer voice.

       James couldn’t help but wince. It had to hurt, hearing your father had sold you down the river. Your kid, too.

       “You stole your grandson’s trust fund, Harry?” Her voice was harsher now.

       Harry’s lips pressed together. “I’m the administrator of the Welles family trust, Parker, as you’re well aware. I liquidated it temporarily.”

       “Liquidated it temporarily,” Vernon echoed, smiling like an idiot. James had almost forgotten he was here.

       “How temporarily?”

       “Yo!” came a voice. A shaggy-haired guy wearing overalls stood in the doorway. “Hey there, gang, sorry. Is this the Welles place?”

       “It is,” Harry said.

       “It’s awesome, man! Really nice! So, like, we’re the movers? Gonna start in the game room, okay?”

       “Billiard room,” Harry muttered.

       The mover laughed. “Totally! Colonel Mustard in the billiard room with the candlestick! Dude, is that a snake? Nice! Okay, better get going. This place is frickin’ huge! See you later!”

       Parker’s mouth was open. “They’re taking stuff already? I— Wow, Harry. You don’t mess around.”

       Her face was pale now, and James wished he could, well, make this easier for her somehow. “Parker, anything that you bought for you or Nicky or the house is yours. Everything else, I’m afraid, falls under Harry’s assets, which the Feds have seized. The investigator is aware that you’re living here, and you have a little time to, ah, pack.”

       “My God.” She squeezed her little finger and glanced at her pal, who was frozen.

       “It’ll be okay,” Lucy murmured automatically.

       Harry cleared his throat. “Obviously, Parker, having these vultures pick over our belongings is not my choice. I’ll get everything back.”

       “Really,” she said faintly.

       “Eventually. I’m a little…constrained for the immediate future.”

       “A little constrained indeed,” Vernon said.

       That was one word for it. James rubbed his forehead. Wicked headache coming on.

       “So.” Parker shook her head. “About my trust fund, and Nicky’s. Don’t you need my signature to just…empty it? There must be something left.”

       Nope. There was nothing, and Harry had only needed James himself to file the paperwork. Poor planning on her part, that was for sure. At any time since her eighteenth birthday, she could’ve taken full control of that money. When her son was