they had apparently lost a lot of money. David was even talking about selling the house and moving somewhere more modest. Perhaps even leaving Westchester County.
Over my dead body.
The morning mail did not lift Felicity's spirits. Bills, bills and more bills. There was only one white envelope among the brown and red. (Red bills! The shame of it!) Felicity would have liked to open it, but David got terribly prickly when she opened his mail. Then again, David got terribly prickly about everything at the moment.
"Here." Back in the kitchen, she handed him the letter, along with the bills. "For you."
David Tennant opened the envelope without interest. Since Templeton folded, it was as if a black cloud had descended over his life. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Inside the envelope was a note and a check. David Tennant read both. Twice. Felicity noticed that his hands had started to shake.
"What? What is it?"
He handed her the note.
Dear David, I am sorry this has taken so long. And I'm sorry I was not able to be more open with you. I hope this check will go some way toward restoring your faith in me. Your friend, Lexi
"Humph." Felicity Tennant was unimpressed. "Guilty conscience got the better of her, has it? It's about time. Your friend, indeed! After the way Her Ladyship has treated us."
Silently, David Tennant passed his wife the check.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Felicity Tennant clutched the kitchen table for support.
The check was for $15 million.
It was going to be a good day after all.
Yasmin Ross smiled at her boss when he walked into the office.
"Morning Mr. M. The mail's on your desk, next to the latte and skinny blueberry muffin. I moved the morning meeting to a quarter after so you'd have time to eat something."
Gabe smiled back gratefully
"Yaz, you're an angel."
Poor man. Yasmin watched him go into his office, shoulders slumped, head down. Gabe's smiles didn't fool her, or anybody else at the charity offices. Ever since he'd broken things off with Lexi Templeton, the joy seemed to have drained out of him like air from a punctured tire. Lexi must be crazy, letting him slip through her fingers. I wouldn't kick Gabe McGregor out of my bed, not for any money.
Sitting at his desk, Gabe picked at his muffin. He knew his assistant was worried about him, and her concern touched him. He hadn't been eating well lately. Or sleeping, for that matter. Sighing, he turned his attention to the mail. Every day Gabe received scores of begging letters, asking for gifts from his foundation. Saying no was the part of his work he liked least, but it had to be done. If they spread themselves too thin, they'd achieve nothing. There was still so much work to be done.
Recently Gabe had been saying no even more than usual, thanks to the hole in the charity's funds made by Lexi. Legally, Gabe was obliged to report the theft to the police. But he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. Not yet, anyway.
When he saw the handwriting on the plain white envelope, he choked on his coffee, spraying brown liquid right across the desk. Gabe hadn't heard a word from Lexi since that awful day in the Hamptons.
What could she want? A reconciliation?
Is that what I want, too?
He opened the letter. Except there was no letter. Only a check.
It was for exactly three times the amount Lexi had stolen.
August Sandford was suspicious.
"I don't know, Jim. Who else is going?"
Jim Barnet was the head - ex-head - of Kruger-Brent's manufacturing division. Along with a select group of other divisional heads, Jim had been summoned to a meeting by the firm's receivers. Apparently, a potential cash buyer had come forward, interested in bidding for some of Kruger-Brent's more profitable businesses.
"Me, Mickey. Alan Dawes, I think. Tabitha Crewe."
"Tabitha? They want mining?"
"Apparently. And real estate."
"And nobody has any idea who this mystery benefactor is?"
"Nope. But come on, man. It's not like we're exactly inundated with offers. Most of the market still seems to think we're toxic."
August hung up the phone.
"Who was that, darling?" Leticia, his mistress, rolled over in bed, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. Since Kruger-Brent went bust, August's performance as a lover had dropped off a cliff. It was like there was an invisible thread connecting his dick to his net worth. When one shriveled, so did the other.
"Jim Barnet. Some cash-rich buyer wants to talk to us apparently."
"That's good, right?"
Reaching beneath the Frette sheets,