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

Judy ran her thumb over the ring on Gabi’s finger. “This is crazy,” she said.

Gabi really hadn’t noticed. She twisted the ring on her finger now . . . realized the size of the thing that very moment. “It is, isn’t it?”

“It’s got to be at least five carats.”

“I don’t know.”

The tears were drying up, the memories of Alonzo with them.

“So what now? Are you moving in with him?”

Gabi focused on her hand, lifted it high to really look at the ring. “No . . . I need to find a house.”

“What?”

Gabi dropped her hand, offered a grin. “I told him I wouldn’t live in his house, that he needed to buy us a new one.”

Judy let out a laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I figured that would give us some time to get to know each other before we’re living under the same roof.”

“So let me get this right . . . he’s giving you twenty-four million . . .
a house . . . and a ring that belongs in a safe and not on a hand?”

Gabi smiled, thought of the other ridiculous stipulations she’d added to their contracts. “I told you the offer was too good to pass up.”

“Wow. Have you figured out how you’re going to tell your brother?”

“No. Please . . . don’t tell Meg yet. I . . . I need a few days to figure this out.”

“OK. Your secret is safe with me.”

Someone knocked on the front door, ending their conversation.

Gabi didn’t recognize the person on the other side, but felt safe opening the door with Judy standing behind her. “Yes?”

The young boy, barely old enough to drink legally in a bar, stood at the door, a set of keys in his hand. “Mrs. Blackwell?”

The name didn’t register. “I’m sorry?”

The kid looked beyond her to Judy. “Are you Mrs. Blackwell?”

Judy nudged Gabi from behind.

“No, ah . . . that’s me.” Gabi pointed at her chest.

He held out his hand, handed her a set of keys. “Mr. Blackwell told me to deliver this to you.”

Gabi and Judy stepped out onto the porch and glanced in the driveway.

Judy started to giggle. “Does he know you suck at driving?”

Gabi would have been hurt if it wasn’t true. “We didn’t discuss it.”

The kid walked to a waiting town car and jumped into the passenger seat while Gabi rounded in front of the matte white Aston Martin. She opened the door, found an envelope on the dash with her name on it.

Inside was temporary proof of insurance for Gabriella Blackwell.

Chapter Seven

Hunter walked away from the executive board meeting with more questions than answers. Someone in his company . . . or maybe several someones . . . were embezzling funds allocated for the charities Blackwell Enterprises supported. The numbers they reported to the IRS and the dollars removed from their accounts were off.

The accountants in New York were working overtime to find the leak and clog it. The last thing Hunter needed was an IRS claim that he was reporting thousands of dollars more in charity write-offs a year than were being paid.

Travis O’Riley walked beside Hunter as they left the board meeting, his feet moving twice as fast to keep up with Hunter’s pace.

“That was ugly,” Travis said as they walked down the hall.

“Ugly is what it will be when I find out who is stealing my money.”

He marched past his New York secretary and into his office. The bicoastal business housed very different parts of his company. New York was all about international mergers and acquisitions, where LA was dedicated to domestic and new companies. His smaller London office kept the tax man in Europe happy, but the bulk of Hunter’s investments were in the US.

“How long are you going to be in New York,” Travis asked as the door to the office closed behind them.

“I’m flying out Sunday.”

Travis tucked into an office chair, leaned back. “You really should consider a partner.”

“Let me guess . . . you?”

Travis was one of the three executives that ran things when Hunter was away. None of them held more power than the other, none of them could take his place.

“Only with a massive raise,” Travis joked.

“Let’s start with a bonus if you find out who’s behind the skim off the charity funds.” If there was one thing Hunter had learned long ago, it was to offer money and people stepped up.

Travis leaned back, changed the subject. “How’s the Adams oil acquisition going?”

“Merger . . . and the LA division is on it.”

Travis nodded. “You really think pipelines are the way to go?”

Hunter moved to the window behind his desk and looked over the Manhattan landscape. The view really was spectacular. “I
know
pipelines are the future. Oil is useless sitting in one state, and with the conditions of the Middle East . . . we are ripe for a new oil rush in this country.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He did.

“I’m out.” Travis stood abruptly, moved to the door. “You know where I am if you need me.”

Hunter lifted a hand. “I’m serious about the charity issue.”

Travis lifted his chin. “I’m on it.”

When he was alone, Hunter glanced at his watch. He’d been a married man for twenty-four hours. Married. The decision, like many in his life, had been impulsive. A quick fix to a problem bubbling in the near future. And like every impulsive decision he’d ever made, an expensive one.

He’d agreed to a million dollars per every extramarital affair. What the hell was he thinking? The desire to be celibate for eighteen months was right up there with cutting off his dick. What had Gabi said . . . “I don’t like being made a fool.”

What did that mean? And what about all the other stipulations she’d added to the contract. It was obvious that someone had hurt his wife. The question was who . . . and how bad?

He removed his cell phone from his pocket and decided a call to Remington was in order.

It rang three times before the man picked up. “Hey, Boss.”

“Where are you?” From the sound in the background, a party, including a live band, was in full swing. Not what Hunter was paying for.

“Miami. This town is hopping.”

He cringed. “I’m not paying you to party.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Hunter wanted to yell, but kept his cool. “What do you have?”

Remington muffled his next words, obviously speaking to someone else. “Who knew nurses liked to party?”

“Excuse me?”

The sound on the phone muffled and then quieted. “Looks like your little sex kitten was admitted to the hospital the same time her husband bit the dust.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. She didn’t die, and the HIPPA laws have the files shut. Crazy how when you die, those files are open wide. Not so much when you’re alive.”

“So you’re partying with the nurses.”

Remington started to laugh. “My job sucks, Blackwell. Might need a raise.”

“Bloodsucking bastard.”

Remington laughed. “I’ll be in touch.”

The real estate agent drove her to the sixth multimillion-dollar home in Bel Air.

Gabi had added the stipulation in the contract as a delay tactic; the house hunt, however, was actually really fun. She limited the budget to under ten million, which was a challenge in light of the fact that she wanted a half an acre of property.

Each property had a redeeming quality, and something that wasn’t desirable. A view was nice . . . a swimming pool? Yeah, she missed her brother’s island resort. She missed the ocean, but the image of it would sometimes make her break out in an unwelcome sweat. Alonzo took that from her . . . the love of the ocean. He took a hell of a lot more, but she refused to think about those things.

The outside space of one home was too narrow, the next, close to nothing.

The kitchens were large, but not something she saw herself cooking in. It was like those who lived in the houses didn’t cook . . . or if they did, it was a microwave experience.

Her cell phone rang as she was walking around the back of one of the houses on a side of a steep hill. She didn’t recognize the number but answered it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Gabi.” His voice was actually soothing on the phone.

“Blackwell.”

He laughed. “Asking you to call me Hunter is too much of a chore?”

“I haven’t decided.” She paused, then said, “I take it your plane didn’t go down.”

“No such luck,” he laughed. “My pilot is one of the best.”

“Your very own pilot? I should have guessed.”

“Yes, you should have,” he said.

“Why are you calling?” She moved away from the real estate agent, who hovered close by.

“I’d like to have dinner with you. I’ll be back in town tomorrow afternoon.”

She closed her eyes and pushed away the desire to tell him no. She’d not agreed to a simple date since Alonzo. There had been plenty of opportunities since moving to LA, but the desire to be alone with a man never manifested.

Truth was, she didn’t want to now, but Hunter
was
her husband.

For a little while, at least.

“Fine,” she mumbled. “We do have a lot to discuss.”

“We do,” he agreed.

“I’m looking at houses,” she offered when he went silent.

“Find anything?”

She sighed. “Not really. I asked to see property that could be turned quickly. There’s not as much out there as I’d hoped.”

“Who is the agent?”

She told him and continued, “Beverly Hills is too congested. Hollywood is too . . .”

“Hollywood,” he finished her sentence.

She found herself smiling. “Yeah. I’m looking in Bel Air.”

“Close to the freeway . . . easy drive to the city.”

Gabi found herself frowning. “I’m not trying to make this easy on you.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you’re not.”

“I’d like to see the house before you make an offer,” he told her.

“Don’t trust me?” she asked.

“I don’t know you well enough to trust you, Gabi.”

That, she could agree with. “Fine. I’ll give you a list when I see you tomorrow.”

“Five?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“See you then,” he said.

“Not if your pilot crashes your jet.”

Hunter laughed and hung up.

Gabi sat across from a stranger.

He wore a thin turtleneck sweater, something she wouldn’t think was attractive on a sale rack, but on Hunter, it demanded her attention.

They’d walked into the posh restaurant, one she’d never been in before, and they were escorted to a quiet table in the back.

The host knew Hunter by name and offered a gracious smile Gabi’s way.

She’d dreaded this dinner since he’d called the day before. Now they sat across from each other without words.

How this was going to work for eighteen months, she had no idea. “I’m not a very good actress,” she finally said.

“I’m not following you.”

“One of the qualities we search for with our female clients is their ability to pretend to be something they’re not.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Happily married.”

“Ahh.”

“Men seem better at the task of pretending they love someone to get what they want.”

“That would be the secret class given in the locker room in tenth grade.”

Gabi found a slight smile on her lips. “I suppose we were given lessons on how to ward off unwanted hands at that time.”

“Lucky for some of us, not all of you girls took that lesson.”

“I’ll bet your list of conquests is long.”

He sat back, smug. “What about your list?”

That was comical. “You’re assuming I have one.”

“All right . . . let’s assume you don’t. Why not?”

She wasn’t expecting the question and had no way of answering it without revealing certain truths she wasn’t prepared to share with this man . . . now . . . perhaps ever. “That’s really none of your business.”

“You’ll learn that everything about you is
now
my business.”

“You’ll learn that a wife is not an employee you can boss around.”

She saw his jaw tighten, knew there was something he wanted to say that he held back.

“Talking with you is right up there with walking through a minefield without a bulletproof jacket,” he told her. “Is it so terrible that I’d like to know a little more about my wife than what I hear from my private investigator?”

“A private investigator? Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you’re a smart woman.”

She was about to reply when the waiter arrived and told them the specials. Hunter ordered a cocktail and Gabi ordered tea.

“Wouldn’t a glass of wine help you relax?” he asked.

“I’m a smart woman,” she told him. “Letting my guard down around you isn’t the intelligent move to make.”

“He must have done a number on you,” he said.

“This isn’t going to work,” she whispered under her breath and reached for her purse.

Hunter placed his hand over hers. “Please. Let’s start over. I’m really not that awful of a man.”

“You blackmailed me into marrying you.”

He pursed his lips, the motion almost comical. “Well . . . other than that. You didn’t really leave me a choice.”

What would be the point of running? They needed to move out of the
kick each other
stage, and Gabi needed to have a stiffer back whenever her past came up.

She lifted her hand away from his and set it in her lap. “One of the reasons these marriages work is the two clients actually like each other. We’ve established that isn’t us.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said.

“Oh, please.”

“You stood up to me, offered a laughable contract. I like a woman who takes chances.”

“Is that right?”

He smiled, the look not quite reaching his eyes. “Now it’s your turn.”