“Seems a bit extreme,” Gwen said.
Neil stood silent for a moment. “The man she hit this time is a lawyer and had a call into Gabriella’s insurance company before the tow managed to pull into the shop.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” Neil removed his wallet and found a business card. “Here is the company Blake uses. I’ve already spoken with our contact there, they need thirty minutes’ notice and they will drive you wherever you need to go.”
Gabi pulled a long strand of her dark brown hair over her shoulder and glanced at the card. “That must be terribly expensive.”
“It’s this or a lawsuit. A taxi is another option, but in light of the majority of work and contacts you have, a private driver might prove best,” Neil encouraged.
“How can I convince the insurance company to reinstate my coverage?” Because Gabi knew once her car was fixed, she still wouldn’t be able to drive it without insurance.
“I have a call in for that answer. In the meantime, use the service.”
Gwen placed a kiss to each side of Gabi’s face before following her husband out the door.
Before Neil and Gwen turned the corner of the quiet street, Gabi’s phone was ringing.
The name on the display had her sucking in a breath for support. Word traveled fast. She lifted the phone, closed her eyes, and pressed the answer button. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“What?” Samantha Harrison, otherwise known as Gabi’s boss and new friend, didn’t laugh or lay the blame on her.
“I thought he motioned for me to back up. I’m much better than when I first arrived.”
“What are you talking about?”
Gabi sucked in her bottom lip. “You, ah . . . you don’t know?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t pretend otherwise. What isn’t your fault?”
“Minor fender-bender in the parking lot. No one was hurt.”
Gabi thought she heard Sam groan. “And it wasn’t your fault?”
She waved a hand in the air, as if Sam could see. “No. Of course not. So if you’re not calling about the accident, what can I do for you?” Her thinly veiled attempt to change the subject as quickly as possible was met with a tiny laugh.
“I have a client I need you to crunch some numbers on.”
Numbers . . . she could do that. Gabi was a savant with numbers. “Give me a name and the access code to your file and I’m on it.”
Gabi jotted down the name and code. Hunter Blackwell. J836AY9
“Numbers is all you need from me?”
“No. Actually . . . I need more than a bottom-line portfolio report. Mr. Blackwell is an old friend of Blake’s, so I’m giving him an extra chance. Based on what I’ve already learned, I would have encouraged him to look elsewhere for the future Mrs. Blackwell.”
If there was one thing Gabi had discovered about her boss, the woman scrutinized every client, both male and female, with a high-powered microscope. She looked beyond any tabloid fodder and water-cooler gossip to determine the truth behind the persona. Nearly every male client searching for a bride had a driving reason for doing so, and sometimes they weren’t forthcoming with their backgrounds. Sam always found the skeletons, displayed them for her clients to see, then determined their worthiness based on their reaction to the facts. Most high-powered men willing to part with over seven figures for a bride hated having their dirty parts displayed. They especially didn’t like a woman advertising it.
If at any time during the initial meeting with Sam or now Gabi, they felt the slightest bit threatened, the meeting ended, and the ability to do business with the client dissolved.
“What has you dismissing him so quickly?”
“The few bits of information about the man available have recently been laced with an assault charge. The charges were dropped long before the case could see a judge. Then there was an accusation that Mr. Blackwell had been found with three women in the back of his limo after a fundraiser in Dallas.”
“Since when do we listen to the gossip magazines?”
“We don’t,” Sam defended. “But one of the girls was allegedly seventeen. I’m digging into that now. But if this guy likes underage girls, I’m not setting him up with anyone.”
Warning bells rang inside Gabi’s head. “How soon will we know the facts?”
“I have a few people working on it now. In the meantime, I need his numbers crunched.”
The warning bell rang a second time.
“Sounds like a risk.”
“He is. But my head isn’t in this right now with Jordan back in the hospital. I know I’m distracted and wouldn’t want my personal life to interfere with my business.”
“Oh, Sam . . . I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.” Samantha’s sister Jordan had lost her ability to really live much of a life years before. As a young woman, Jordan attempted to take her life and ended up having a massive stroke, leaving her severely compromised. Gabi didn’t know all the details, but she did know that Samantha and Blake cared for the now thirty-year-old woman out of their home. A twenty-four-hour private nurse still couldn’t keep away some of the decay and issues being stuck in a wheelchair without all her faculties created.
Since Gabi had moved to California, Jordan had been admitted to the hospital at least half a dozen times.
“So you’ll take care of Blackwell?”
“Consider it done. Do you want me to meet with him?”
“Would you?”
“Don’t be silly. Once the files from your contacts are uploaded in the system, I’ll contact Mr. Blackwell for a meeting.”