Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7)

by Catherine Bybee

  “On Thursday.”

  Tiffany pulled another message from her pile. “Travis O’Riley asked that you call him.”

  “OK.”

  Tiffany handed him a message from her pile. “A Mrs. Masini called, said if you knew what was best for you . . . and I’m quoting here . . . ‘You best call your mother-in-law at your earliest convenience.’”

  There was no doubt about it; Tiffany was getting a kick out of delivering that message.

  “Anything else?”

  “One more thing . . . there’s a Blake Harrison sitting in your office waiting for you.”

  Hunter’s gaze moved to the closed office doors and he handed the messages back to Tiffany. “Hold my calls.”

  “And if your wife calls?”

  He lifted a finger in the air. “Except hers.”

  Instead of a snarky remark or a look to match, Tiffany delivered something much more menacing . . . approval.

  Without words, Tiffany returned to her desk, and Hunter moved into his office.

  “Your Grace.”

  Blake Harrison wore a perfectly fitted suit, half a smile, and sleep deprivation under his eyes.

  “I’ll break you of that title one of these days.”

  “You can try, but I happen to like boasting my acquaintance with a duke.”

  They shook hands and Hunter circled his desk. “Coffee?”

  “Your secretary already took care of that.”

  Instead of pretending this was a scheduled meeting, Hunter took his seat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “I’m here for Sam. She’s preoccupied or she’d be here herself.”

  The memory of Gabi saying something about Sam’s ill sister swam in his head. “How is your sister-in-law?”

  “Not well. Which is why I’m here.”

  Hunter sat back and waited. Blake wasn’t one to circle a bush, and thankfully, that hadn’t changed. “What can I help you with?”

  Blake unbuttoned his jacket and sat in the chair opposite Hunter. “I’m going to paraphrase Sam’s words . . . but let me see if I can make this clear. I’ve taught Gabriella better. Go find out what the hell that man did to get her to marry him.” Blake’s voice raised an octave when he repeated his wife’s words.

  He should have seen the question coming. Instead of revealing the truth, Hunter told his old friend something they both knew as truth. “Everyone has a price.”

  Blake frowned as he sucked in a tired breath. “Not Gabi. She’s been through too much to have a price. Everyone who knows her knows that.”

  For the first time since he’d crawled into the back of the limousine . . . the moment he started the blackmailing of his wife, a knot of uncertainty took a solid hold in his stomach.

  “I made her an offer, Blake. She took it.”

  Hunter knew, without a doubt, Blake didn’t buy his explanation.

  “You know, Hunter . . . I’m a few years older than you. You’ve managed to amass a fortune in less time than I, but with age . . . and perhaps a handful of years with a good woman, I’d like to offer you some free advice.”

  Hunter couldn’t remember a time when another man had approached him in such a manner. He kept silent and listened.

  “Karma,” he began. “She’s one rightful bitch. If you wiggled your way into marriage with Gabi in less than honorable terms, that shit’s going to bite you in the ass. Not only does Gabi have a strong and powerful pool of friends, there’s no possible way anyone who knows her is going to let her go through hell a second time.”

  Hunter felt an unfamiliar roll of cold sweat down his back.

  “You have no idea, do you?” Blake asked.

  “I know she’s a widow.”

  Blake offered a sad smile. “Oh, Hunter . . .” He stood and stuck out his hand.

  The handshake was out of place, but Hunter accepted it anyway.

  “Next time you merge with a new acquisition . . . do your homework.”

  That sweat was starting to cool his skin.

  Blake pushed away from the chair and turned to leave. “Do yourself a favor,” he said. “Ask your wife who put the bullets in her late husband.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Are we good?” Hunter asked . . . not quite sure why it mattered.

  Blake turned and shrugged. “My wife takes personal responsibility for every marriage her company sets up. What’s important to her is important to me. With Gabi, it’s personal. Not simply because she’s an employee.” Blake leveled his eyes and paused. “Don’t hurt her, and we’ll be fine.”

  Hunter sucked in a deep breath while Blake left his office.

  Chapter Nine

  The mature trees thickened as they drove up into the Bel Air Estates.

  “We will find you the perfect home today.” At sixty-three years old and with over twenty years of selling real estate to the wealthy, Josie Fortier spoke with conviction.

  “I hope you’re right. The news vans in my current neighborhood are earning dirty looks from my neighbors.”

  Josie drove farther up the hillside and continued en route to the first of three homes they had scheduled to see that morning. “The neighbors here are much more accustomed to dealing with the press. It proves that private gates are necessary.”

  Gabi relented. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

  “Everything I’m showing you today is gated. Each home has a separate guest house.”

  While Josie spoke of bedrooms, bathrooms, and square footage, Gabi’s thoughts drifted to the taste of Hunter Blackwell. The frustrating bastard that he was had jolted something she thought was dead inside her.

  The last thing Gabi wanted was to feel anything but anger and hatred toward her husband.

  Desire wasn’t on the menu.

  Not now . . . not ever.

  She shook the memory of his lips on hers and tried to pay attention to Josie’s description of the home they were approaching. The double gates opened to reveal a tree-lined drive. The manicured landscape surrounding the drive added a sense of privacy the previous homes they’d looked at didn’t have.

  “You’re sitting on a smidgen over two acres. Lots of room between you and your neighbors. Much more appropriate for your husband’s needs.”

  “Excuse me?” Hearing Josie speak of Hunter was a strange twist.

  Josie parked her car in the circular drive. “When Mr. Blackwell called me yesterday, he suggested more land.”

  And why would he call Gabi’s real estate agent? Wasn’t this her decision?

  As the two of them exited the car, a sleek graphite gray Maserati pulled in behind them. Gabi wondered, briefly, if it was the current owner of the home. Then the now familiar frame of Hunter pushed out of the sports car, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His strong jaw and not-quite-perfect hair had the hair on Gabi’s arms standing high.

  Josie offered a brilliant smile and moved to join Hunter. “Mr. Blackwell. I’m glad you could join us.”

  “My schedule opened up,” Hunter told them.

  Gabi attempted to look away as Hunter shook hands with the real estate agent before narrowing the distance between the two of them. He stepped into her personal space as if he’d done so on a regular basis and leaned down to brush his lips to Gabi’s cheek. “Smile,” he whispered.

  She did, and then chastised herself for following his demands so easily. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said loud enough for Josie to hear.

  “Work became impossible once the media leaked our marriage.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were married to Hunter Blackwell,” Josie said with a laugh and a slight pat to Gabi’s arm.

  “We . . . we were waiting to announce the union.”

  Josie unlocked the front door and started spouting off the home’s qualities while Hunter and Gabi took several paces back.

  Gabi leaned close and lowered her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  He removed his sunglasses and tucked them
inside his jacket. “Expediting our search.”

  “Expediting? We haven’t been married a week.”

  “The sooner we move in together, the better,” he whispered. Instead of letting her hold back to grumble quietly, Hunter placed a hand to the small of her back and moved the both of them closer to their tour guide.

  “There are five bedrooms, six bathrooms in the main house, two bedrooms, one and a half baths in the guest quarters.”

  They walked through a foyer that held a double staircase to the second floor. The home was sparsely furnished, indicating the owners didn’t live there.

  White walls and marble covered most of the vertical and horizontal surfaces. They stepped into the kitchen, the same cool feeling keeping Gabi from seeing the qualities Josie was touting.

  The great room moved into a formal dining room and Gabi found herself frowning.

  “You don’t care for it,” Hunter said at her side.

  She shook her head. “Too cold, too modern.” Though it wasn’t modern in the hard edge and contrasting colors kind of way.

  Josie overheard her. “With furniture the space will warm up.”

  Hunter moved farther into the dining room and glanced out the window to the yard beyond. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ll love the upstairs,” Josie continued.

  “I don’t think so, Ms. Fortier. Let’s continue to the next home!” Hunter’s exclamation point was accented by his purposeful strides across the room and the gentle nudge of his hand.

  He guided Gabi to his car and opened the passenger door. “We’ll follow you,” he told Josie, leaving her little option but to slide behind the wheel of her car and drive away.

  “That was rude,” Gabi pointed out when they took the position behind Josie’s car.

  “Why?”

  “We could have at least looked at the upstairs.”

  “To serve what purpose? You didn’t like it.”

  “We still could have taken the time to let Josie show us the rest of it.”

  “I don’t like wasting my time.”

  Gabi turned her gaze out the window. “I don’t remember inviting you to join us.”

  “I’ll be living in the home for a year and a half, too, Gabi. I’d like to know what I’m spending my money on.”

  “Is that right? You didn’t mention the need to approve the purchase of the new home during our negotiations.”

  “We didn’t settle on an approximate price of a new home, either . . . but that doesn’t mean we can’t come to a quick resolution for our temporary home.”

  “Temporary for you, a little longer for me.”

  He glanced over the edge of his designer sunglasses and caught her eyes. “You choosing our home doesn’t mean I’m giving you a month to find it.”

  Josie slowed and indicated a turn into another tree-lined drive; this one had the gates a little farther inside the property line.

  “It won’t take a month.”

  “It will if you let your agent show you crap.”

  They parked behind Josie and started over.

  Instead of letting her emotions show on her face, Gabi pasted on a smile and made comments about the next two homes they visited. The colonial wasn’t her style, the Spanish revival didn’t hit the mark.

  Hunter followed behind her during the tours and kept his desires to himself.

  She didn’t lie well, Hunter decided. Her plastic smile and overexaggerated praise for each property kept them in each house a little longer than needed.

  Ms. Fortier would stop at some point and ask, “So you think this is the one?”

  Gabi would hedge at that point with a complaint that the kitchen wasn’t large enough or the outside space didn’t flow with the inside.

  The woman was stalling and Hunter knew it.

  While the two of them walked around the guest house of the forth property, Hunter removed his cell phone and pulled up a list of homes Tiffany had sent him. He passed over several potential homes based on the things he’d heard Gabi say on their tours.

  Hunter sent two listings to Ms. Fortier on a text message.

  He noticed her remove her phone from her pocket and glance in his direction.

  Hunter placed a finger in front of his lips and the real estate agent grinned.

  Gabi joined him outside the front of the house and shrugged. “Looks like you wasted your time today after all.”

  “The day’s not over.”

  “Josie said she had four listings to show me. This is the forth.” Gabi’s smug smile made him want her to eat her words.

  Ms. Fortier locked the door behind her. “Looks like another opportunity is just around the corner. Do you have time for one . . . maybe two more, Mr. Blackwell?”

  Gabi frowned.

  Hunter smiled. “Of course.”

  Silence filled his car as they drove a short distance away. The ornate iron gates were set alongside ten-foot hedges and hundred-year-old trees. Interlocking pavers funneled them up a slight incline until the pavement spilled into a circular drive with a fountain in the center.

  Gabi’s tiny gasp had him watching her from behind his sunglasses.

  He took a hunch and ran with it. Gabi’s Italian heritage and years of living on her brother’s resort island told him a few things about his wife.

  Like with the other homes, Hunter stood back and observed.

  Gabi ran her hand along the dark wood of the double front doors. The arched entry sat along a deep porch that looked to wrap around the entire house. One singular curving stairway sat at the far end of the large foyer. Dark wood and warm gold and tan walls looked like the cracking plaster in Rome but was a complete finish Hunter knew took at least ten layers to complete.

  “Whoa.” Gabi seemed to forget to hold her emotions aside as she gawked at the thirty-foot ceiling.

  Unlike the other homes, this one had furnishings staged to sell the house. Perfectly matched sofas filled the huge living room, oversize candles sat on the hearth of a fireplace a small child could stand up in.

  Ms. Fortier read from her phone and talked about the home’s qualities, but from where Hunter stood, Gabi wasn’t listening. She walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “Oh, my.” She walked over to the professional stove and ran her delicate fingers over a faucet. “Do you know what this is?” she asked him.

  “I don’t cook.”

  “It’s a pot filler. For pasta.”

  She opened the side-by-side Sub-Zero refrigerator. The light went on, displaying a case of bottled water . . . further evidence that the home wasn’t occupied. Through the eat-in kitchen sat a dining room, a butler’s pantry, and an open formal dining room. Several sets of double doors opened into a loggia that expanded the living space to twice the size of the inside space.

  Gabi walked through the doors and muttered something about the fireplace and furnishings.

  By the time they were upstairs and into the master bedroom, Hunter knew she’d found the right house. Like a child in a candy store, she giggled when she saw the size of the tub and shower. Iron accents and rustic colors were obviously Gabi’s personal taste. The upstairs balcony looked down on the yard, the pool . . . the massive space below.

  When they moved back downstairs, Ms. Fortier opened doors and poked around the spaces they’d yet to explore.

  “You like it,” Hunter said close to her ear.

  “It’s . . . it’s too much.”

  He grinned and turned when Ms. Fortier called them over. “You have to see this.”

  Gabi had a spring in her step as they followed the real estate agent down a narrow stairway. The brick walls were darker than any of the other spaces but suited the home perfectly.

  “What Italian home is complete without a wine cellar?” Ms. Fortier said.

  They stopped at the bottom of the stairway and Gabi lost her smile before stumbling back. Hunter reached out and held her elbow.

  She was cold, stone cold.

  “Gabi?”r />
  She shivered and closed her eyes. “I’m OK.”

  No, she wasn’t. Hunter looked around the beautiful space, saw bottles of wine, empty racks for more. “Let’s get you back upstairs.”

  The fact that she didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her back upstairs told him the wine cellar had sparked some kind of bad memory.

  She was silent as he sat her on the nearest sofa and asked that Ms. Fortier find her a glass of water.

  “Give us a minute,” Hunter told the real estate agent once she returned with the water.

  Ms. Fortier stepped outside, leaving them alone.

  He sat on the wooden coffee table and waited for Gabi to stop trembling before he spoke. “Are you OK now?”

  She sipped the water, her hand still shaking. “Yeah.” Gabi laid the back of her hand to her forehead. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “The wine cellar?”

  “No. My reaction to it.”

  He hadn’t expected it, either. “I guess we can mark this house off our list.”

  She offered a quick shake of her head. “No. The house is lovely. Perfect, really.”

  “You nearly passed out a minute ago by walking into a basement.”

  She attempted a smile and Hunter felt her squeeze his hand. It was then he noticed that he held hers. Gabi must have realized it, too, and pulled away.

  “It’s one room in a big house. I don’t have to go into it.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and asked, “Why the strong reaction, Gabi?”

  Her gaze met his, her forced smile faded. “It’s not important.”

  Which translated meant none of your business.

  Hunter took the water from her hand, set it aside. He had a year and a half to discover her secrets. Something told him it wouldn’t take that long.

  Gabi swayed when she stood, reached out to steady herself on his arm, then promptly let go. “Thank you,” she said. “For not prying.”

  “I want to,” he told her.

  “I know.”

  Ms. Fortier walked into the room, concern on her face. “Shall we move on?”

  Gabi looked around the room, her eyes fell on him. “What are they asking for this house?”