boots with stiletto heels. Her dark, glossy hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled when she took off her sunglasses.
“Mr. MacRae, I was hoping for a moment of your time.” Mandy looked at him and only him.
Zoe sucked in her breath. Darla giggled. Hunter gestured toward his office. As Mandy disappeared down the hall, clearly familiar with the layout, he turned to the two other women, grinned and opened his arms wide. “What’s a guy to do?”
He turned his back on his colleagues, went into his office and locked the door.
Mandy had already dropped her coat on the floor and leaned on the edge of his desk. She wore only a black silk teddy and panties with a black garter belt and fishnet hose that dipped into her black boots. A silk rose rested just above her soft mound like a cherry on a sundae.
Hunter growled and was already shedding his pants as he pulled her toward the plush sofa against the wall.
Somewhere, faintly, he heard Zoe cursing.
Chapter 5
“Well, hell,” I muttered as I walked back to my office cubicle. Darla and I were aware of the entertainment Hunter sometimes provided for his female acquaintances and clients while we worked nearby. But this was pretty brazen. Mandy Morris’s husband was well known in the business community.
No doubt she and Hunter would have a slick answer if caught.
“I sure hope so,” I muttered as I sat at my desk. If Charlie Morris was as connected as he was purported to be, even Hunter’s ability to run and claw his way out of trouble might not keep him from getting whacked.
My belief in happily-ever-afters was taking it on the chin these days. First, another sad chapter unfolds with Eric and Kinley. Then, on Sunday, Walter Corbin’s wife ends up at a beach house where she spent the afternoon with the 20-year-old son of a family friend. She wasn’t tutoring the young man in French. Turns out the cheating bastard was right about his cheating wife.
Now Hunter was down the hall screwing another man’s wife.
What I needed to do was change my focus. I had an appointment to see Lizzie Howerton this afternoon, so I went to the Internet to learn everything I could about the Howertons.
Lizzie and her mother, Camilla Baines Howerton, ran the charitable foundation of the Howerton family. There were countless pictures of them hosting thousand-dollar-a-table luncheons and speaking at various civic clubs on behalf of their favorite charity, St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee.
A feature article explained that a child of a sorority sister of Camilla had large-cell lymphoma, a rare cancer, at age eleven. The girl was treated at St. Jude’s and survived. She was now 22, cancer free, finishing her nursing degree and planning to work in pediatrics. Camilla had devoted her time and money to the cause.
I read the gossip in the New York Post and found Camilla mentioned frequently, but never a hint of marital problems or scandal. Camilla and Douglas Ray Howerton were photographed together during fashion week and other big events around town. He was at her side in public along with their daughter, but in the end, Camilla had cut him out of her will, leaving everything to Lizzie.
Maybe the Howerton marriage was for the society columns only. Hunter’s parents had maintained such a marriage for nearly thirty-five years. My own parents had been terribly unhappy but still together when my mother was murdered. Maybe the mystery of the morning should be why I even still believed in marriage.
Forging ahead in my research, I found Douglas’s name in some financial articles. He had been one of Bernie Madoff’s victims, and had taken a few more hits in the Great Recession. But according to how their financials looked on the surface, it shouldn’t have made a difference. Camilla’s family really held the purse strings. She died a billionaire.
But why had Camilla cut Douglas out of the will? Why hadn’t sweet Lizzie mentioned it to me when we were
“Mr. MacRae, I was hoping for a moment of your time.” Mandy looked at him and only him.
Zoe sucked in her breath. Darla giggled. Hunter gestured toward his office. As Mandy disappeared down the hall, clearly familiar with the layout, he turned to the two other women, grinned and opened his arms wide. “What’s a guy to do?”
He turned his back on his colleagues, went into his office and locked the door.
Mandy had already dropped her coat on the floor and leaned on the edge of his desk. She wore only a black silk teddy and panties with a black garter belt and fishnet hose that dipped into her black boots. A silk rose rested just above her soft mound like a cherry on a sundae.
Hunter growled and was already shedding his pants as he pulled her toward the plush sofa against the wall.
Somewhere, faintly, he heard Zoe cursing.
Chapter 5
“Well, hell,” I muttered as I walked back to my office cubicle. Darla and I were aware of the entertainment Hunter sometimes provided for his female acquaintances and clients while we worked nearby. But this was pretty brazen. Mandy Morris’s husband was well known in the business community.
No doubt she and Hunter would have a slick answer if caught.
“I sure hope so,” I muttered as I sat at my desk. If Charlie Morris was as connected as he was purported to be, even Hunter’s ability to run and claw his way out of trouble might not keep him from getting whacked.
My belief in happily-ever-afters was taking it on the chin these days. First, another sad chapter unfolds with Eric and Kinley. Then, on Sunday, Walter Corbin’s wife ends up at a beach house where she spent the afternoon with the 20-year-old son of a family friend. She wasn’t tutoring the young man in French. Turns out the cheating bastard was right about his cheating wife.
Now Hunter was down the hall screwing another man’s wife.
What I needed to do was change my focus. I had an appointment to see Lizzie Howerton this afternoon, so I went to the Internet to learn everything I could about the Howertons.
Lizzie and her mother, Camilla Baines Howerton, ran the charitable foundation of the Howerton family. There were countless pictures of them hosting thousand-dollar-a-table luncheons and speaking at various civic clubs on behalf of their favorite charity, St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee.
A feature article explained that a child of a sorority sister of Camilla had large-cell lymphoma, a rare cancer, at age eleven. The girl was treated at St. Jude’s and survived. She was now 22, cancer free, finishing her nursing degree and planning to work in pediatrics. Camilla had devoted her time and money to the cause.
I read the gossip in the New York Post and found Camilla mentioned frequently, but never a hint of marital problems or scandal. Camilla and Douglas Ray Howerton were photographed together during fashion week and other big events around town. He was at her side in public along with their daughter, but in the end, Camilla had cut him out of her will, leaving everything to Lizzie.
Maybe the Howerton marriage was for the society columns only. Hunter’s parents had maintained such a marriage for nearly thirty-five years. My own parents had been terribly unhappy but still together when my mother was murdered. Maybe the mystery of the morning should be why I even still believed in marriage.
Forging ahead in my research, I found Douglas’s name in some financial articles. He had been one of Bernie Madoff’s victims, and had taken a few more hits in the Great Recession. But according to how their financials looked on the surface, it shouldn’t have made a difference. Camilla’s family really held the purse strings. She died a billionaire.
But why had Camilla cut Douglas out of the will? Why hadn’t sweet Lizzie mentioned it to me when we were
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