CHAPTER There were two people in the Regency four-poster that swamped the suite overlook- ing the Brighton seafront but only one of them was breath- ing; deeply and evenly, as she sipped fiat Bollinger Brut and decided what to do next. Her name was Susan Street, and she was almost twenty-seven and almost beau- tiful with long dark hair, long pale legs and a short temper. Beside her lay a man who would never see fifty again and who now would never see ~Nsixty, either. He had been, until half an hour ago, the editor of the Sunday Best, a tabloid with teeth whose circu- lation was three million and rising. Unfortunately he would never see it reach four million, because his deputy editor Susan Street had just dis- patched him to that big board- room in the sky with a sexual performance of such singular virtuosity that his heart couldn t stand it. His heart, like everything
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