Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7)

by Catherine Bybee

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.”

  “My turn for what?”

  He waved two fingers in his direction. “Something . . . anything you don’t despise about me.”

  Was this a joke? “You’re serious?”

  “One thing, Gabi.”

  She thought about it, filed through a dozen things she hated and found one. “You have nice taste in flowers.”

  Now his smile moved higher. When it reached his eyes he looked younger. And for the first time since they’d met, she found herself relaxing in his presence.

  For the rest of the evening, they talked about their daily routines. She showed him a list of houses and spoke of the things she liked and didn’t like about each one.

  He took in the information but didn’t offer much in the way of advice. He asked that she give him a few days to find something suitable. If he questioned why she wanted a new house, he didn’t ask her.

  They ate their meal and finished with coffee.

  “We’re going to have to announce our marriage soon,” he told her as he drove her back home.

  “I’m going to call my family tomorrow.”

  “Let me know when that’s done, and I’ll plan the next move.”

  “What about your family . . . how are they going to take us?”

  Hunter glanced at her before turning his attention back to the road. “My family isn’t a part of my life.”

  She’d remembered something in his file about a brother . . . no mother, and a father who was alive. The details on where everyone was weren’t something Sam had placed in the information given to Gabi.

  “My brother won’t take the news well,” Gabi told him. “My mother will be livid.”

  “They know what you do for a living, right?”

  “They do. But having me fall prey won’t be expected. I’ll do my best to convince them I wanted this. They will know it’s temporary.”

  “As long as they can be trusted to keep that information to themselves.”

  “They will.”

  He pulled into her drive and she stopped him before he could walk her to the door. “This is awkward enough,” she told him.

  “All right. We’ll speak tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “I’ll continue the house search, send you files on what I find.”
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br />   She opened the door.

  “Sleep well, Gabi.”

  A pleasantry sat on her lips, but she went with a parting better suited for the two of them. “Pull out in front of a bus for me.”

  He laughed as she closed the door and made her way inside.

  First thing the next morning, a bouquet of flowers arrived. The note said simply, The busses didn’t cooperate. I’ll try harder tomorrow.

  Chapter Eight

  Gabi spoke with Meg first. Her sister-in-law worked with Sam as well . . . she knew the details of their work, and if there was someone who could buffer the information for her brother, it was his wife.

  “I signed a contract,” Gabi told her after they exchanged pleasantries and talked about the weather.

  “What kind of contract?” Meg asked . . . then she barked, “No. You didn’t.”

  “I did. We were married last week.”

  “What? Why? Oh, my God, your brother’s going to shit.” Leave it to Meg to blurt out the truth.

  “It’s just a contract, Meg. A year and a half. Val won’t have to worry about taking care of me. The money is huge.”

  “Your brother doesn’t give a crap about the money. You don’t, either, so don’t even try and pass that off as the reason you did this.”

  “Twenty-four million.”

  “Oh . . .” Meg hesitated.

  “And a house.”

  “Really?”

  Gabi was happy in her current home, but it sounded like Meg understood the bigger picture. “It’s a year and a half. Not a big deal.” There was no way Gabi was going to reveal any of the issues with insurance claims and offshore bank accounts.

  “Who is it?”

  “Who is what?”

  Meg snorted into the phone. “The husband . . . you know, the guy you married?”

  “Sorry. Hunter Blackwell. A friend of Blake’s, actually.” Well, maybe not a friend, but it sounded good and might ease some of the trouble Val was bound to make.

  “I’d try and talk you out of it if you hadn’t already done it,” Meg said.

  “Which is why I waited to call. I need to move on.”

  “OK . . . moving on doesn’t mean getting married to a stranger. How about a date? Have you even been on one since . . .”

  There was no reason for Meg to voice since when. They both understood the question.