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.”