Page 58 of My Fallen Saint

A woman in khaki slacks and a blue blazer with Saint Charters embroidered on the breast meets us at the stairs. She greets Devlin, then introduces herself to me as Marci, the pilot.

“My co-pilot, Thomas, is already on board,” she tells us. “And Gregg will be doing service in the cabin. We’re ready for you to board, and we’ll get underway as soon I have clearance to taxi to the runway.”

“Thank you, Marci,” Devlin says, then gestures for me to precede him up the stairs. I do, then come to a dead stop the moment I step through the door. It’s like a high-end office, complete with leather recliners, a couch, a desk, and even a bar. The only difference being that this office flies through the air.

“Wow,” I say, as Devlin leads me to one of the recliners. I swivel to face him. “This is incredible.”

Something like pride flares in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re impressed.”

“Ironic, though, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“The DSF is a charitable organization. Seems like its funds should go to charity.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he says.

I do a full 360 in the chair, taking in the entire cabin and all its luxury. “And yet…”

He chuckles softly. “And yet, nothing. This jet has nothing to do with the DSF. It’s one of five jets in the fleet of a charter service I own. Personally, I mean. Not as the foundation.”

“Oh.” I frown, realizing that I should have assumed as much. In doing my preliminary research on the foundation and Saint, I’d learned that he’d used the majority of his personal fortune to initially fund the DSF. But he’d retained about ten percent. And considering the numbers involved, that was more money than I could imagine.

“I never knew you had money,” I admit.

“When I knew you, I didn’t,” he says. “My parents did. Family money. I used some of my inheritance to seed the foundation and some to fund my personal life.”

“And the jets fall under the category of personal?”

“More or less. I do use the fleet for DSF business,” he continues, “but I donate the cost of the ground and flight crew, hangaring at the destination, and all the other related costs to the foundation, so that the foundation isn’t out of pocket for the use of the plane.”

“Right,” I say, realizing this is the first time I’ve really seen Devlin Saint in his element. I’d seen him in his office, of course, but that had been, well, an office. This is luxury and money, the trappings of power. And although I never would have imagined Alex in a place like this, I can’t deny that he fits in perfectly. Or, at least, that Devlin Saint does.

“What about the foundation itself?” I ask, remembering my questions from my very first day. “I was expecting a scrappy charity look, but everything’s ultra high-end.”

“Furnishings, decorations, even the building. All donated by me in-kind. I didn’t want to use the endowment, as that’s for charity. But I also didn’t want the foundation to be a paperclip operation. It’s an irony of life that people are more likely to donate when it looks like an organization is already well-funded. And since we’re looking for major donors—corporations, celebrities, the top one-percent—we’re expected to have a certain cache.”

“Like I said, ironic.”

“I can’t argue. I can only explain.”

I grin, then start to swivel in the chair, leaving the topic of money for the much more interesting pastime of enjoying this new playground.

The crew area is separated from the cabin by a set of double doors. They’re open now, and I see a red-haired man I assume is Gregg putting together a tray. When he comes in, he has a plate of cheese and crackers, a glass of red wine, and a glass of Scotch.

“Thanks, Gregg. I took the chance you’d want wine,” Devlin says, turning to me. “But I’ll take that, and you can have the Scotch if you prefer.”

“No,” I say, still a bit overwhelmed. “Wine is great.”

I watch as Gregg sets the tray into a recessed area on top of the pedestal-style table that sits between our two recliners. Then he leaves long enough to fetch cutlery and returns with small plates, silverware, and linen napkins.

“Will there be anything else?”

“No thanks,” Devlin says. “We’re set.”

“In that case, the captain asks that you fasten your seat belts. Our flying time is just over an hour, and we’ll be taking off soon.”

“Thanks,” Devlin says. “And, Gregg, close the door. I’ll buzz when we need you.”