Page 114 of Unstitch

‘He lost an eye,’ Nat says, and we all gasp in unison. ‘It was—it was so, so horrific. So now he has this glass eye, and he didn’t finish his A-levels for years, because he was too traumatised to go back to school.’

‘Oh my God,’ I say, my hand clamped over my mouth. ‘That is horrific. I’m so, so sorry. Please tell me they expelled the guy who did it.’

She laughs, and this time it’s definitely bitter. ‘Yeah. He got a couple of years in juvie, too. But you want to know the funny thing? He turned himself around, and I kid you not, the guy is a real, live billionaire. It was Adam Wright.’

Belle leans forward. ‘Hang on a sec. Adam Wright as in the Adam Wright?’

Nat grimaces and nods. There’s a stunned silence at the table, because Adam Wright is a household name, and he is hot. Like, mafia-book-boyfriend hot. And he definitely looks like a billionaire, not some cowardly thug who’s done time behind bars.

She sighs. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You can say it.’

Maddy, obviously, is the first to voice what we’re all thinking. ‘But he’s gorgeous. He’s Max-level eligible and impressive.’

‘Gorgeous people can have rotten cores too, Mads,’ Nat says teasingly, but she’s right, of course. ‘It’s not even a secret. He talks about it all the time in interviews. I swear he’s made it part of his personal brand, like having this redemption arc will give him more authenticity.’

She slams her glass down on the table, and we all jump. ‘And I’m sick of it. I’m so fucking sick of it. Because the untold part of his little road to Damascus story is that he ruined the lives of a whole family by being the disgusting, violent little shit that he was.’

Jesus Christ. I’ve never seen mild-mannered Nat so riled, but I can’t blame her.

She inhales, her lips pressed in a firm line, and then takes a huge slug of her champagne. ‘Anyway. Let’s just say I hope our paths never cross, because I will bottle that man so hard he’ll bleed out on the floor. He’s a total fucking psycho. Leopards don’t change their spots, you mark my words.’

79

DEX

Why the fuck I’m standing on Sunningdale’s fifth tee on a cold, crisp Saturday morning with Rafe, Zach and Cal I have no clue.

All I know is this: I’m not here to play golf.

My game is pretty rusty. I’ve played here and there over the past decade, mainly in Connecticut at the invitation of generous colleagues, but I certainly wasn’t a member of any club while I was stateside. These three aren’t half bad at it, though.

Cal can drive the ball for miles, though his putting at the last few tees has been a bit hit and miss. Rafe’s game is solid. Skilful. And Zach takes so long lining up his shot that he might want to think about switching to chess. I can see him mentally triangulating ground gradient and wind speed and distance for every shot, but it works for him, because most of them are bang-on.

Rafe and Cal are both members here, and it’s a stunning course. Given our early tee time, there’s no buildup of other players in front of us, though given Zach’s constant prevaricating I suspect there’ll soon be a line behind us. Forgoing my Saturday lie-in and extricating myself from between two warm bodies this morning was brutal, but Zach and Cal have kids to get back to, so it makes sense to do this early.

We talk about work, naturally, as we walk.

‘How’s the deal going?’ Zach asks, his eyes on the distant green, where our balls lie.

‘The interest level is insane,’ I confess, ‘and that’s without Max having gone on the road yet. It’s going to be a total fucking shit show, I can feel it.’

Banks always hope for a “hot” deal, which is industry speak for a deal whose shares are oversubscribed. But when there’s as much demand as I suspect there will be for Wolff, it can turn into a giant headache. Every investor wants a decent allocation, and very few of them will get what they want.

If I had to guess at this moment, I’d say most people will end up getting ten percent of what they requested or less, which will make for some very unhappy clients.

‘It’s only going to get worse,’ Rafe says sagely. ‘He’s bloody impressive.’

‘Yeah,’ I agree noncommittally.

‘And how are you finding Loeb?’ Cal asks.

I sigh. ‘Lovely people. Great culture. It’s no Goldman, that’s for sure. The research is great, and Wolff was a win, but honestly, we have a mountain to climb to make our mark.’

‘Not easy when there’s so little business to go around,’ Zach remarks, dropping his clubs next to his ball, which is the only one that actually made it onto the green, and retrieving his putter.

‘Exactly,’ I say, my gaze flickering between his face and his ball. It seems like a fairly straightforward shot on a flattish green, so what he’s computing, I have no idea.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Cal groans. ‘We’ll be here all day.’

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