Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (20 page)

Hunter wasn’t sure where the jealousy stemmed from. He couldn’t claim a time he’d given any thought to another man’s eyes on his date.

It was the ring, he decided. Gabi wore his ring, and somehow that deemed him capable of jealousy, demanded it even. That was the bullshit he fed his head in order to ward off anything deeper.

They found a high-top table and Hunter tucked her into a chair. “What do you want?”

“Dry martini . . . two olives.”

He stepped away and captured the bartender’s attention. While he waited for their drinks, he kept an eye on his wife.

She sat with her back rod-straight. The earrings dangled over her slim neck and glistened with every shake of her head. Her full breasts hugged the inside of her dress, which slimmed to her waist. He let his gaze fall and noticed her tapping her foot to the music. He really didn’t deserve her. He meant the words he’d uttered in the hotel room. The thought of letting her go was a double-edged claymore ready to decapitate him. He should be isolating himself, emotionally, from her.

Yet he’d thought about nothing
but
her since he’d left LA. He thought the distance would ease the fire inside him. Instead, it blew a steady puff of air and forced that flame to life.

The bartender tapped his arm. Hunter tossed a bill on the bar and grasped the drinks. By the time he turned around, someone had approached Gabi and was leaning over the table.

Hunter wove through the people crowding the bar and interrupted the stranger midsentence.

“I could most certainly quench your—”

Hunter wasn’t sure what the Texan was suggesting he quench, but Hunter set the drinks down and did something he never did . . . he wrapped an arm over Gabi’s shoulders and glared.

“Well.” The other man stood as tall as his boots would let him and smiled. “Looks like you do have a man attached to that ring.”

“I tried to tell you,” Gabi said as she shifted into Hunter’s side.

The infatuated man held out his hand, and in order to avoid a scene, Hunter had no choice but to grasp it.

“You’re a very lucky man,” the Texan said. He let go and sent Gabi a wink before wandering off.

Beside him, Gabi started to silently laugh.

“What was that?” Hunter asked.

“A bar hookup that failed,” she told him.

Hunter stared after the retreating back of the man hitting on his wife.

Her tapping hand brought his attention back. “You’re growling.”

He stopped. When he brought her back into focus, she was laughing.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

“More than you can possibly know.” She lifted her drink and clicked her glass to his. “You know what they say about payback,” she teased.

He was growling again.

Chapter Nineteen

Every once in a while, Gabi would catch Hunter watching her as they sat across from Frank and Minnie Adams. His gaze would capture her hand on the stem of her martini glass and linger.

She stroked it a few extra times until Hunter gently kicked her under the table.

Oh, the power . . . who knew she’d be so invigorated with it?

The older Texan couple were everything Gabi pictured as a happy pair entering the second stage of adult life. Their only child, Melissa, was grown, and from what Gabi could surmise, trying to find her place in Daddy’s company.

They were ordering coffee, deciding on a froufrou dessert to share, when Mr. Adams broached the subject of business.

“I like you, Blackwell,” Mr. Adams said as he leaned over the table. “Even though you’re ruthless and according to my lawyers, can’t be trusted—”

“Frank!” Minnie nudged her husband.

“They say you’re going to take over my company and bankrupt the oil production portion and dedicate all your devotion to new pipelines.”

Hunter sat beside her and listened, his eyes focused on the man in front of him.

“Pipelines are the future.”

“Without oil . . . what is the worth of the pipeline?” Frank opposed.

Hunter sat back. “Every oilman in Texas . . . in the US would need to go through Adams/Blackwell pipelines in order to deliver their crude. We’ll make money on every barrel manufactured regardless of whose land it stems from.”

“Monopolies are frowned upon.”

“We won’t be a monopoly for long. We’ll be the trendsetters.” Hunter sat forward. “Consider the phone in your pocket. The first cellular concepts were nothing more than ham radios . . . devices used in war and eighteen-wheelers. Eventually Motorola expanded the concept, and within a decade, others emerged . . . then came analog, digital . . . Bell held the monopoly . . . but not forever. US pipelines are the future in US oil, Adams. We both know it.”

“It’s risky.”

“Life is risky.”

Frank sat back and Gabi soaked in her husband at work.

“I want another ten percent,” Frank said.

“I’m putting up the capital.”

Frank shrugged. “You need me or you wouldn’t be sitting here. I need to protect my family. If I give you controlling interest, there is nothing keeping you from kicking me and my people to the Gulf. I want a merger, Blackwell . . . not an acquisition.”

Under the table, Gabi noticed Hunter fisting his hand and relaxing it. This was obviously
not
his plan.

Unable to help herself, Gabi interjected, “What are you willing to do for that extra ten percent, Frank?”

He offered a placating smile. One that irked her, but she didn’t call him on it.

She met Frank’s eyes and held them until he flinched.

“I have connections here in Texas, other oilmen who can be persuaded to hook up early on . . . lay down the infrastructure to deliver to the main pipe.”

“You’ve already told me that,” Hunter reminded him.

“I know politicians . . .”

“So do I.” Hunter glared.

Gabi let her thoughts run. “I would think pipelines . . . along with production, is the perfect plan for the future of our country. My guess is Carter would back a solid direction to remove our demand on foreign oil. And if I’m not mistaken, Carter has an uncle who’s in the Senate.” She was musing out loud, and captured the attention of all those at the table.

“What are you rambling about?” Frank asked.

Gabi directed her attention to Hunter. “Samantha is great friends with Carter and Eliza Billings. He recently left the governor’s seat in California. Word on the Republican block is he might be running for the White House in six years.”

“Might and could? Words that don’t mean anything to me,” Frank managed.

Hunter sat forward again. “The point my wife is making, Frank, is simple. You know people . . . we know people . . . the difference is I have the capital to push this forward and start buying the land and all the rights. My reach is farther than yours.”

“Without me you have nothing.”

With a game face, Hunter said, “Without you . . . it will take longer.”

The table went silent.

“I need to protect my family,” Frank finally said.

Hunter sat back, inched closer to Gabi, and placed a hand on the back of her seat. “I understand that. Ten percent is steep. We can have our lawyers renegotiate the numbers until we’re both happy.”

Was this one of the reasons Hunter needed a wife? Was the ploy of understanding family his only goal?

If it was . . . how much money was the pipeline worth?

The question would wait.

The waiter was refilling their coffee when Hunter removed his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and glanced at the screen.

The agreeable expression on his face fell, and within five minutes he was wrapping up their time together.

“I will have my team call yours on Monday,” Hunter told Frank as he signaled the waiter.

“In a hurry all of a sudden?” Frank asked.

Yeah, something on the phone had pulled him far from Dallas.

When Hunter hesitated, Gabi lifted her napkin from her lap and laid her hand on top of his. With a practiced smile, she leaned in. “Forgive us. We are still newlyweds and Hunter has had to spend the week in New York while I’ve been stuck in LA.”

Minnie nudged her husband and offered a knowing grin. “You two go along then. We’ll take care of the bill.”

Hunter was already removing his credit card and handing it over.

While they waited for the credit to go through, Minnie asked. “How did you two meet?”

Hunter turned to her.

“At Starbucks,” Gabi said.

“Really? What are the chances of that?”

Hunter lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Really high, if you drink coffee.”

Hunter’s head was buzzing with an approaching headache. He and Gabi rode in relative silence since leaving the restaurant. There were so many conversations he needed to have with her . . . none of which needed to begin in the back of a limousine.

“Where are you?” Gabi asked.

Good question.
“Want the truth?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

He took a fortifying breath. “Somewhere between truth and redemption and purgatory and hell.”

“That’s quite a long road.”

As if on cue, the car pulled to a stop in front of their hotel and his multitude of confessions had to wait.

The two of them demanded attention as he guided her through the hotel lobby and into the elevator. Those eyes often turned into the flash of a camera after he stayed in a hotel for more than two nights. It wouldn’t be long until the media would follow Gabi everywhere she went. Especially once the news broke.

Gabi paused inside the door and removed her shoes.

Hunter went straight to the bar. “Want something?”

Gabi walked toward him, her shoes dangling from her fingers. “I don’t know . . . do I?”

He went ahead and poured her a vodka before shrugging off his jacket and sitting at one end of the sofa.

She followed his actions, dropped her shoes beside a chair, and sat. She tucked her feet under her and waited.

Where the hell was his tongue? He couldn’t wait any longer. The collision course in his life, the one that drove him to rapidly acquire a wife, was on him. More than that . . . the woman waiting patiently for him to open up was doing something inside him that he hadn’t expected.

He didn’t deserve her trust, her respect, but he was hell-bent on earning it.

“Tell me about your truth and redemption,” she said when he remained silent.

“I can’t do that without feeding purgatory and hell.”

“You have to start somewhere. Why not start with what caught your attention during dinner.”

He removed the phone from the jacket he’d carelessly tossed on the back of the couch, brought up the picture, and handed it to Gabi.

She leaned forward and took his phone. “Unless this was taken yesterday, I don’t see the problem.”

Gabi handed him back the phone.

“It was taken three months ago at a studio party. Her name is Sheila Watson.”

“You two look cozy.”

Hunter glanced at the image again, saw things Gabi didn’t.

“Looks can be deceiving. I’m not entirely sure how that picture was taken, but one thing is for sure, it was taken on purpose. Just like the others.”

“Others?”

He found the e-mail hidden in a folder and pulled up a handful of pictures that had started to arrive shortly after he’d met Sheila. Hunter once again handed her the phone and told her to scroll.

As Gabi looked at the many pictures, some more suggestive than others, her face was blank. “How long was your affair?”

The question alone was why he’d embarked on his dance to hell in the first place. “We didn’t have an affair. That isn’t me.”

Gabi lifted the phone closer and opened the pictures wider.

“My brother, Noah.”

“The one you don’t get along with.”

“Understatement, but yes.” Hunter swirled the ice in his glass, took a drink.

“Wow, you two really look exactly alike.”

“Our looks aren’t the only thing my brother is banking on. You see, he had an affair with Sheila.”

Gabi gasped. “Oh, no . . . posing as you?”

“No. Not that I know of. No, I’m sure Sheila knew exactly who she was sleeping with and why. The picture at the studio event was me. It was the first time I’d met the woman. Everyone at the event knew I was there. There is no disputing our acquaintance. To make things even sweeter, she showed up in my New York office pleading a need to see me. She was much too pushy and needy for my taste. Flattery from someone’s attraction dissipates quickly when you believe they’re unbalanced.”

“Do you think her motivation in invading your work was just attraction?” Gabi asked.

“No. It was by design. She wanted people to see us together.”

“For what purpose?”

“Blackmail.” He finished his drink. “Ironic when I think about what I had to do to destroy her goals.”

Gabi sat a little taller. “This is where I come in.”

He unfolded from the couch and brought the decanter of whiskey to his glass. “I wasn’t lying when I first told you I needed a wife to ward off the number of women claiming I’d promised them marriage.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but sincerely doubt marriage was your only solution to that problem.”

He offered a half-ass smile from across the coffee table. “Except some were determined to make a killing on their accusations. You see, Sheila had a child nine months ago. My twin brother’s child. I don’t know what came first, the child or the plan. Doesn’t really matter.”

“Oh, no.”

Hunter could see the light in Gabi’s eyes spark.

“Sheila manages a few pictures of the two of us at the party . . . makes
a surprise appearance in my office, corners me during a lunch meeting. Then a note arrives from Noah.
Congratulations, Daddy.
Words no man ever wants to hear and yet every one of us deserves to at least once in our lives. But not from a woman they’ve never touched.”

The confession hung between them for a few seconds before Gabi asked, “Your need for a wife was so she wouldn’t blackmail you into marriage?”

He hated the irony. “In part . . . but she never would have managed. Having a contractual wife certainly removed
that
from her plans.”

“How is it she can pin this child on you if it’s not yours anyway?”

“DNA. Noah and I are identical in every way genetically. I received word last week that the paternity test proved me to be the father.”

“It proved one of the two of you to be the father,” Gabi corrected. “Surely someone with your wealth and influence can find a way to dispute this woman’s claim.”

His eyes collided with Gabi’s.

The forced smile she held slowly melted. “Unless you don’t want that.” Her jaw dropped.

“My hell will be Noah’s purgatory. How dare he use a child as leverage for money.” The early memories of his brother’s deception to claim something of his that wasn’t, flooded him. Yeah, they’d used the identical twin thing in unison in primary school . . . by the time they were halfway through high school, their mother had completely disappeared, their father was easily persuaded to follow whatever financial path Noah thought he should. What Blackwell Senior didn’t realize, or if he did, didn’t care about, was Noah’s self-serving nature. Avoiding responsibility and pretending to be someone he wasn’t was Noah’s gift. Another gift . . . he pleased everyone he met. There wasn’t a soul who would say he was a bad guy. He reserved his nasty side for Hunter.