Page 35 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Just dump the packages out there,” I said.

“It ain’t a package,” he said, unzipping the bag and tipping it upside down. “They are letters.”

And then I watched them. Envelopes began to trickle from the bag, just a few at first. Then they began to shower the floor, coming thick and fast like confetti. They rushed out into a pile on the wooden floor of my sitting room. I stared at the letters.

There were two more bags, so that by the time we’d finished tipping them out, I was staring dumbly at hundreds of letters, maybe thousands. I was knee-deep in them.

I looked at the postman. “Is this some kind of joke,” I said.

“That’s what I said yesterday when that old bag Lyla Reeve mailed ‘em all,” said the postman.

I picked one up. Its address was written like this.

MISTER LUSHEN BARNS

LAKEVYEW MANSIN

CALUGA FALLS, WA

“A child wrote this,” I said, as I opened the letter. Inside was a piece of paper with a crayon message.

Deer Mister Barns

My name is Timmy i am six yeers old. I want to say thank yew for helping miss reeve the library build. Love Timmy.

“Oh no,” I said, and picked up another one. This one was spelled a lot better. It read:

Dear Mr Barnes,

My name is Stacey Dorfnieder and I am the president of the Caluga High Dramatic Society. I am writing to thank you for your generous contribution of $2 million in order to help our library. On behalf of myself and the student body of Caluga High we salute you. P.s. I looked up your picture online and think you are very cute! Xxx

Love

Stacey xxxxx

I looked up at the postman. “When did you get these?” I said.

He yawned and took off his cap, scratching his head. “Yesterday afternoon. The old lady doing the library campaign brought them all.”

I looked down at the letters. This was a disaster.

*

“I wanted it to be ANONYMOUS,” I growled down the phone half an hour later.

“I know,” said Frank, my lawyer, “but we wouldn’t have been able to arrange it anonymously at such short notice, Lucien. Besides, it’s really the old lady’s fault. Damn do-gooders. Wonder how much it cost.”

“A thousand letters,” I groaned. “At least. That’s what the mail carrier told me. Poor guy nearly broke his back walking them up here.”

“Hey, enjoy it while it lasts. Now they know you’re good for the library, you’re going to get charitable requests left right and center.”

I sighed. “Damn right...” I put the phone down.

By 9.00 am, someone had left a bunch of flowers by my gate with a thank you note. By 10.00 am, I’d had two calls, including one from a man calling himself Erwin at the local paper.

“I just wanted to know if you have anything to say to the people you’ve helped,” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Please don’t send any more letters.”