Treasured by Thursday(19)
“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?