“Can I ask you something?” Meg asked.
“Of course.”
“Why now . . . why Hunter Blackwell?”
“I told you . . . the offer was—”
“Too good to pass up, I know. But there have been many clients that have come along that had reputations ten times better than Blackwell’s.”
Gabi ran a finger under her lip and paused. “Alonzo had a better public reputation than Blackwell. At least with Hunter I know he’s in this for his own personal gain. He’s using me with my full knowledge. There’s nothing clandestine or silent about the man, and for some strange reason that comforts me.” As the words left her lips, Gabi realized how true they were. For better or worse, she knew where she stood with Hunter.
He was using her, and she in turn would walk away a rich, and more importantly, free, woman.
“It’s not going to take long for word to spread. From what I’ve learned about Blackwell, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in this decade. There’s going to be a lot of ticked-off women out there.”
“He’s not eligible anymore.”
“It won’t stop the gold diggers from calling. Watch your back.”
Gabi hadn’t really thought about the women in Hunter’s life. Not for a minute did she believe that he’d taken himself off the marital block to simply end the pursuit of unwanted women. “I will.”
“I should go. Your mother has been in the kitchen cooking since you called this morning. At this rate, I’ll be gaining ten pounds before the end of the week. What is up with her feeding her emotions?”
“It’s an Italian thing.”
“Great. It’s going to be a fat thing. Once you’re settled in your new wifely role, you better invite your mom to visit.”
“I don’t know about—”
“Do you want her chucking pasta at your new husband in front of his employees? Because she’s already made threats.”
The image of Hunter covered in marinara sauce made her grin.
“Give us a couple of weeks.”
“I’m booking flights.”
Gabi grumbled and said her good-byes.
Two weeks to set up house and learn to be civil enough in a room with Hunter to convince her mother the man she’d married wasn’t going to hurt her.
Next to his morning coffee, Andrew set a tabloid on top of the New York Times. The caption said it all. Billionaire Playboy Off the Market.
One grainy photo was of him walking into the complex that housed his current LA residence; the other was of Gabi on the phone standing outside of the real estate office. The only solidifying factor to the magazine was the blown-up image of Gabi’s left hand. Too bad someone didn’t manage a money shot of their kiss. He’d like to see the expression on her face through a lens. Bewildered . . . just as he’d been by his own reaction. He’d risked bodily injury touching her, and yet she hadn’t pushed him into oncoming traffic, nor had she connected her knee with more sensitive parts of his anatomy. He wouldn’t say that she kissed him back, but there was something there. Something very unexpected by the both of them.
The click of a tongue brought Hunter’s attention around the room.
Andrew held a pot of coffee and waited for Hunter to sit back so he could pour.
Instead of moving away, Andrew stood over him. “Any pressing news your valet needs to know?”
Hunter sipped his coffee and smiled over his cup.
“Yes, actually. We’re going to be moving soon.”
Andrew lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“To a house.”
“Is that right?”
“Hmm . . .” he took another sip and placed the tabloid aside. “I need you to change a name on the registry.”
“What name would that be?”
“Gabriella Blackwell.”
“Long-lost family member?” Andrew asked, knowing full well there were no such entities out there.
“New family member. The tabloids have it right, Andrew. I married Miss Masini last week.”
Andrew blinked and uttered, “In the old movies, the butlers and maids knew everything that happened in a household, yet here I stand in the dark.”
Hunter picked up his coffee and folded the paper under his arm. “You’re going to like her. Sassy with a hot temper.” The image of her fighting with her brother brought a smile to his lips. “And beautiful.”
“Beauty doesn’t go far with an old man.”
Hunter tapped the edge of the paper on Andrew’s shoulder. “Good thing I’m not old.”
Andrew’s eyes followed him as he exited the room.
Fish in a bowl, cells under a microscope . . . and Hunter as a married man had many things in common.
He ignored most of the looks and peered past the distant cameras as he walked into his LA office.
Tiffany was the only one brave enough to say anything. “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I walked in. Should I call a news conference?”
“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.”