The Tycoon's Tender Triumph Page 0,2
just about every different kind of business around. Surely these letters aren’t from the same guy,” he stated, then his eyes glanced at the Texas return address and his expression became perplexed. And wary. “Are we talking about the same Sam Marchant?” he asked, almost whispering the name as if Sam might hear him from thousands of miles away.
Chloe gritted her teeth, her brown eyes sparkling with frustration. “Why does everyone refer to him in that manner? It isn’t like he’s royalty or anything like that.”
David chuckled. “He might as well be. He’s one of the richest men in the world.” David was shaking his head. “And why would he be sending you a letter he wrote personally? A man like that probably has dozens of secretaries to do all of his administrative work.”
Chloe shrugged, pretending like talking about Sam didn’t make her stomach clench with fear and frustration. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
He raised his eyebrows at her defensive response but she didn’t see that, since she was concentrating on watching the coffee drip out of the coffee maker. “Why haven’t you opened the letters?”
She tossed the spoon into the sink, cringing when it made a loud noise in the small apartment. “Because I don’t like him. Whatever he has to say, he can…” she struggled to find words that wouldn’t be too revealing. “Well, I just don’t like him.”
David laughed but she could see the surprise in his face. “What’s not to like? From what the papers say, he’s wealthy beyond description, charming, the press are always quoting him with his humorous little quips and,” he took on a teasing voice as he said, “some women might think he’s handsome.”
“I don’t,” she said adamantly, then cringed slightly when she realized she might have been too loud in her refusal. “His hair is too dark, he’s irritatingly tall and he throws his weight around like he’s some sort of…” she struggled to find the right word, “jerk,” she finished lamely.
Chloe really didn’t want to talk about him. “As for his wealth, I think it’s a little bit crass to wonder about someone’s net worth, don’t you think? Does he own half of Texas? Who knows? Probably half of the country but I’m not interested in keeping track of him or his material assets.”
David wasn’t relenting on the subject. “How can he be your father’s next door neighbor? Doesn’t he run businesses all over the world?”
She couldn’t get him off the subject of the one person she hated talking about more than anyone else in the world. “David, I have no idea what he does or why he does it. Remember, I only lived in Texas during my summer breaks. All the rest of the time, I lived with my mom in Boston. My mom and dad never spoke after I was three years old, only communicating through lawyers. So what is in those letters, I have no idea. Nor will I ever know because I don’t need to read them. I’m not interested.”
David was obviously not convinced about the pointlessness of those letters. “Yeah, but Chloe, he sent them personally. I would think that one of the richest men in the world sending you something like that would arouse mild curiosity.”
She turned back from him to pull two cups out of the cabinet. “Nope. I don’t care about him. I don’t trust him.”
David choked on his response. “Don’t trust him?” he parroted. “How can you not trust him? What on earth could be untrustworthy about the man? He’s a financial genius. He made billionaire status about ten years ago from nothing,” he explained, obviously in awe of the man. “Newspapers describe him as some kind of king of the financial jungle. He consults with governments before he moves his money because of the impact those kinds of changes could potentially make on their economies.”
“Again,” she said, becoming irritated with the subject, “what does this have to do with me?” she asked.
David just looked at her as if she’d grown a second and third head. He was so obviously horrified that she almost laughed. Almost. If it had been any other subject, she would have but Sam Marchant was not an amusing subject. “David, can we get back to our evening?” she coaxed, pouring him a cup of coffee with cream, just the way he liked it. “I don’t think anything in those letters is important enough to ruin our night together.”
She led him over to the