Dawn broke over the desert, and Greg Fletcher paced.
He didn't like this plan. Didn't like it one bit. He couldn't let Julia risk her lifenot even to make Sir George pay for his selfishness.
But of course, he was powerless to stop it. At four inches tall, he could hardly get to the Venetian on his ownand he knew he had to do that. He no longer just had to win for himself, but for Julia, and her mom, and anyone that evil bastard had ever screwed over.
It wasn't about the money. He knew he didn't care whether he ever collected the billion or not. He didn't care about any of it; if he ended up a pauper tomorrow, he'd go out, take the college education his parents had bought him and put it to use.
No, he didn't care if he had money, or fame, or any of it.
He just wanted to win.
But he didn't want to pay too high a price to do it.
Fighting the insomnia, he lay back down on Julia's massive bed, and looked at the form of his once-and-future love. Her curly black hair was tousled and unkempt now, hanging haphazardly down her shoulders as she lay on her side, her back to him. He loved her. He loved her enough to give her time. They'd both have some fun for a few years. And then he'd come back, and make one last pitch.
She was the one for him. And he could wait for her to be ready.
He closed his eyes, and ran through the plan again. He didn't want to risk her life. But he knew that she emphatically did want to risk her life. More than that, he knew that if he loved her, he had to give her the chance to redeem herself in her own eyes.
He didn't have to like it. But she had to be in on the plot.
Otherwise, she'd have no peace.
Satisfied, finally, that she was right, Greg closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Sir George paced like a panther in his suite, jumping at every creak and crack.
Any second now, and he could appear. He could appear, and cost him a billion dollars.
Not if he's dead, he can't.
That's true. Sir George could kill him when he entered the room. Not very sporting, but then, neither was Tori.
Exactly. And if you do it quickly, you can flush the bastard down the loo.
Sir George smiledand stayed on his guard.
* * *
It would be several more hours before they made their attempt.
They had decided early on to aim for the afternoon. The clock would be ticking toward zero, but they were only going to get one shot at this anyhow. The lateness of the hour would weigh on Sir Georgehe'd be playing not to lose, rather than to win. And that would level the playing field.
Julia strode through the lobby of the Venetian as she had a dozen times before. Her head was up. She exuded confidence. She drew the stares of men who had showgirls on their armsshe, a girl in a maid outfit that wasn't the least bit flattering.
The stares were for herher beauty, her confidence, her strength. And she loved them.
Meanwhile, Greg held fast, hidden inside the folds of her panties. He looked at the neatly trimmed bush, and couldn't help feeling aroused. He had shrunk back to an inch a few hours ago, and it would be so easy for him to touch her
but he wouldn't let himself. He knew he needed to be on his guard. He just enjoyed her sweet scent, and steeled himself for battle.
Julia reached the service elevator and punched the floor of Sir George's suite. As the door closed, she smiled.
She stepped off the elevator, and smiled as she saw him approaching, gun already drawn.
"Clean now?" she said in a heavily accented parody of a Spanish accent.
She was still smiling when he spun her around. It was all going according to plan.
* * *
They were in an adjoining suitenot in the room that would mean victory for Greg. Sir George nervously interrogated his maid. He knew the gameshe had him on her person. They'd thought she could waltz in without attracting attention, and that they'd win without Greg even stepping outside of her undergarments.
"So, my dear Julia," he said, gun at the ready, "where is he?"
"żQuién?" asked Julia.
"Drop the act, dearie. Tori told me you spoke perfect English. And I've learned to trust her."
"That's unfortunate for you," said Julia dropping her act. "That bitch is far from trustworthy."
"That may be," said Sir George. "But she was right about you. Now where is he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"THE BLOODY MAN YOU STOLE FROM MY BLOODY ASSASSIN!" thundered George, cocking the pistol.
"Sir George," interjected the woman in the corner of the room, "I would advise you against committing murder in my presence. We have witnessed enough crimes from you this week; we cannot turn a blind eye to this."
George lowered the pistol, slightly. "You and your fooking husband. So regal. I could kill you in an instant."
"And I could do far worse to you, far faster than you think," the woman said, unperturbed. "I'm here because this interrogation has probative merit. An execution does not."
George raised the gun again, this time calmly. "Julia, I'm going to need you to strip."
"What? You can't be serious. I'll have a claim before the EEOC before I'm dressed again."
"I've covered up worse," said the billionaire. "But that little bastard is hiding somewhere on you. And I'm not going to ask again."
Shrugging, Julia began to disrobe. "I'm looking forward to the settlement," she said. "It should make up for the money you didn't give my mother when she was dying."
George smiled. "She wasn't a very good worker, my dear. Why would I pay for chemotherapy for a sloth?"
Julia looked up at him, rage in her eyes. But she kept stripping, down to her bra and panties.
After Sir George had investigated her skirt and shoes and shirt, he turned back to her. "Now the undies, lass."
Julia removed her bra.
Inside the panties, Greg cringed. This was all going okay so farexactly as they'd planned it. But he was nervous. He knew it was almost timealmost time for him to act. He had to be ready
ready
.
"Now the knickers. And be quick about it."
Julia pulled her panties down quickly, and dropped them to the floor.
And Sir George's face fell.
"Bloody Hell! He's not here."
"Oh, he could be in my twat, you sick fuck. You want to look in there?" said Julia, as she threw a roundhouse at the billionaire.
"Now!" she said, to nobody in particular.
* * *
When you've got good friends, it's easy to get your hands on interesting technology.
Laurie O'Connell had very good friends, who had some very, very interesting stuff on hand.
But all she was using right now was a simple miniaturized communicator. Five years in the Marines had given her all the training she needed. She'd done one tour in Afghanistanenough to convince her that she wanted to come back to the states and go to school.
But she'd learned enough ways to kill a man that anything more sophisticated than a pistol seemed less than sporting.
She burst out of the elevator, knocking the insane bitch to the floor with a wicked backhand. Then she advanced quickly on the target, expecting the two bodyguards. She took one out with a kick-sweep, and on the follow-through took out the other gorilla's knee.
She knew she had limited time. She reached into her panties and withdrew the subject.
"Go get 'em," she said to Greg, depositing him on the threshold of the suite.
Greg smiled, as Laurie turned to protect his back. Sir George had been honest in one regard. The door was cracked open, just as he'd promised. Greg pushed, and the door swung.
Over in the adjoining suite, Sir George found himself on the other side of his pistol.
"Titania
do something!"
"Don't kill him, Julia," said the woman, rising from her magazine.
"Why not? You've seen what he did to me!"
"Yes, I have. But if you kill him now, you're going to miss him losing his bet. Which is happening
now."
Alarm klaxons blared in the suite. "Sir George, if you'll come with me, we can meet Oberon and David in the other room. The contest is over."
* * *
It was an ashen Sir George who faced a full-sized Greg Fletcher. Greg seemed disoriented. It was because he was disoriented. He hadn't been this tall since he'd been drugged a week-and-a-half before.
"Well, Sir George, looks like the playboy had a few tricks up his sleeve, eh?" he said to the stammering Knight.
"You didn't win!" cried George. "You cheated! You revealed your name!"
"Essentially true," said the young man. "Even though you didn't tell Julia your name, the fact that she knew you provided you with an unfair advantage."
"You see! You lose!" said George, triumphantly.
"It's lucky for you then, Greg, that Sir George had forfeited several days earlier."
"What?"
"Section Two, subsection d, paragraph two," said the woman, bringing a copy of the bet contract over to the billionaire.
Sir George read the paragraph.
II.D.2. In the event that the rules are violated by both parties, the party that shall be determined to have violated the rules first shall be the loser.
"I don't understand," said Sir George. "When did I break the rules?"
"Section four, subsection a, paragraph three, clause three. You know, Greg," said the woman in an aside, "if you'd read this contract closely you might not have been as surprised as you were."
"Wha?"
IV.A.3.iii The contestant's size shall be altered in a completely random manner. The contestant shall be given ten minutes' warning before size change is initiated.
"Damn, it said all that in the contract? From now on, I'm getting a lawyer to read these things."
"I still don't understand," said Sir George.
"Day two, when Greg was with the Amish girl? You ordered me to initiate size change?"
"What? No, I"
"You violated the terms of the contract, Sir George. From that moment, Greg had won. Everything since has been moot. Even if he was still in Harrisburg, we'd be declaring him the winner right now."
Sir George's face fell. And Greg chuckled.
"So, Sir George, I'll take it in tens and twenties."
"I'll see you in Hell first," said the fuming Knight.
"Thought you might say that," said the bald man. "Titania, bring in Tori."
Sarah brought in the psychopath, with a jerk.
"Tori, would you be interested in possessing Sir George, 'til death do you part?"
"You wouldn't," said the Knight.
"Shrink, 1:20th scale," said the woman, cheerfully.
"Oh, that's a perfect size," said Tori, advancing. "Little George, we could have a lot of fun
or at least, I could
."
"no!" shouted George Anderson. "no! god no! i'll pay!"
"Of course you will," said the young man. He walked by Tori, stared hard at her, and continued on.
It was his wife who decked her.
"That's for Los Angeles, you bitch," whispered Sarah coolly. She then walked over to Sir George. "We simply need you to confirm the transfer. Then you'll be back to your evil selfbut a billion dollars lighter."
George sighed. He had no choice.
He had been beaten.
Greg smiled at Julia and Laurie. "Thanks, guys," he said.
And he laughed. Because he already knew what he was going to do with the money.
* * *
Things wrapped up rather quickly after that.
Laurie and the woman chatted about a mutual friend. The young man transferred Tori into the custody of a nondescript British gentleman. The bald man chatted amiably with his wife. And Julia came up to Scott, wearing the bathrobe she'd purloined.
"So, happy to be a billionaire?" she asked.
"Eh, you know. Happier that you made it through okay. Now that I've won, would you like ten million dollars?"
"That's it?" said Julia, mock-serious.
"I know you don't want all that moneyyet," he said. "Someday, I hope you'll get half. But ten millionconsider it payment for services rendered."
"Hmm
" Julia pretended to consider. "Can you throw in another ten for Laurie?"
"I think I can spare that. And Julia, there's something else. I'd like you to help me find some people."
"How so?"
"Well," said Greg, "I've got a lot of debts to take care of."
* * *
He was as good as his word.
It took him the better part of a year. Some of them had been easyafter all, it's pretty easy to find out who had the Presidential Suite in Lancaster on a given night. A few were more difficult; the bribes to get the passenger manifest for a random flight from Harrisburg to Minneapolis startled Julia.
But one by one, he paid them all, all of them who had been a part of his journey. He did it anonymously for the most part; the newlyweds in Saint Paul, the family in Iowa, the girl with the annoying stepdad, Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez.
Each got an unexplained check for ten million; each was stunned to find out that the money was real, that they had won a great gift.
Greg was glad, but he didn't need them to know that he was who he was. He didn't need to give the checks to them personally.
Well, except for one.
"If there be any among you who has cause that these two should not be bound together, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace."
Greg smiled at the minister. The blushing bride was radiant.
So was the bride.
It was a clear spring day on the Cape, and they were outside, a group of friends of two women committing their lives together.
He had two checks, and some time after the ceremony, he stopped by the pair.
"I doubt you remember me, but
well, you did invite you on your honeymoon
."
The women's countenances expressed shock, then joy, then shock again, as they recognized "Mike" from People.
He didn't hold them to their invitationthough he'd visit them later, in Cambridge.
He'd bring the suit.
Many crazy things happened soon thereafterthe world was changing. And Greg would find himself a part of those changes, in ways he never could've imagined back when he was a spoiled brat.
But he'd won far more than money from Sir George. He'd won self-respect. He'd beaten the bastard, and it hadn't been money that had done it. It had been his own spiritwith the help of a few people who liked him for who he was, not his bankroll.
It made him the person he was destined to be.
But that is another story for another time.
Giantess World
