A moment later and the study door was slammed with such ferocity that my ears popped. What were the chances of Bella leaving my apartment before the dinner party? Slim to microscopic. Not while she still thought she stood a chance of changing my mind. My guess was she’d be the perfect dinner-party guest, alluring and entertaining, to try to make her last night in my apartment the perfect one. No doubt she was hoping that I’d be stupid enough to think twice about kicking her out. It wasn’t going to happen, but it’d be fun to watch her work. What were the chances of Bella accepting that it was over? Slim to non-existent. And the chances of her finally leaving my residence within the next twenty-four hours with no drama whatsoever? Minuscule.

We were all in for an evening of fireworks – to say the least.

five. Kellan Bruemann

Kellan Bruemann was the first external guest to arrive. Of course he was. Free booze. He wasn’t so much a man as an odious little dagger tick, latching onto my skin every chance he got, to try to suck the lifeblood from me. George came into the study to announce his arrival, but, as it was only Kellan, I didn’t bother to get up. He and Bella could entertain each other for a while. Kellan was a bore and a tedious one at that. No doubt he’d already found his way to the drinks cabinet and was making friends with some of my finest cognac. There’d be time enough to deal with him later.

However, the desire to finish some paperwork didn’t save me from interruption. Less than five minutes after George announced his arrival, Kellan strode into my study uninvited and unwelcome. His cornrowed hair was not as neat as it might’ve been, and he wore khaki trousers with a nondescript grey shirt under a mud-brown jacket. Had he got dressed in the dark? Kellan had barely taken a couple of steps into the room when he stumbled and had to grab the back of a chair to steady himself. Tipsy already? Typical of that clown.

‘What d’you want, Bruemann?’

‘I want to buy back all the shares in my company that you currently own,’ said Kellan as he straightened up.

What?

Well now …

‘You’re broke. How d’you propose to buy them back? With your leg hairs?’

‘I have a sponsor,’ Kellan announced with a degree of arrogance I hadn’t seen from him in quite some time – a number of years, in fact. ‘A backer who is prepared to lend me money on very favourable terms to help me get back my company from you.’

And the joker honestly thought that was all there was to it. He really was a fool. His sponsor though … Now that was troubling. Who’d be crazy enough to lend this drunken sot that kind of money?