Treasured by Thursday(33)

His lips moved close to her ear. “I hear the hungry kid thing once a week.”

“Kids get hungry every day.”

He laughed, putting her at ease, and walked her out of the media lights.

One of the bodyguards stayed in the lobby, while the other rode up the elevator with them.

“Do you mind telling me what we’re doing tonight? Seems to me playing dress-up for an evening at home is a little overkill.” Gabi kept her eyes on the double doors, counting the floors as the elevator made a rapid climb to the top.

“A small reception. Mainly business associates and a few key media personalities to spread the word.”

She glanced at him briefly, realized he was staring. “You could have said as much.”

“You don’t like surprises?”

“Not particularly.”

“Hmm . . .” he glanced at the rising numbers. “I’ll remember that.”

The bell dinged.

“Ready?”

Like she had a choice. She placed her arm through his and plastered on a smile as the doors opened.

Small reception?

Perhaps Hunter didn’t understand the definition of the word small.

Women dressed to the nines, men in tuxes . . . it looked like a wedding reception, only she wasn’t wearing white. Would she have, had she known?

No, the gold sequins was close enough. Besides, the man was made of gold and there would be those who called her a gold digger, so why not run with it?

Two things hit her at once . . . she knew no one in the room. Not one soul outside of Hunter . . . and roses. The same red velvet roses he’d sent earlier in the day sat in every possible horizontal space in the room. It wasn’t a splash of color, it was a tsunami of fragrance and texture.

Hunter twisted away and returned with one single stem. “For you.”

He was too good-looking, too full of testosterone . . . too much. She glanced at the flowers again and couldn’t help but smile like a fool. “Who knew you had a pink side.”

His laugh caught the attention of everyone within earshot.

“Only you would dare say such a thing.”

She’d say more than that if they didn’t have an audience.

A pianist’s music filled the space as they walked into the room, his arm around her.

An older man approached instantly, as did a waiter with a tray of drinks.

“Mrs. Blackwell . . . can I take your purse?”

She glanced at Hunter, who nodded. “This is Andrew, Gabi. He works for us personally. You’ll get to know him very well.”

He had a soft, reassuring smile.

“You can trust him,” Hunter whispered in her ear.

“The pleasure is mine,” Andrew said with a slight dip to his head.

She handed him her purse and he walked away.

Hunter removed two glasses of champagne from the tray and handed her one.

A strange panic washed over her, she tried to push it aside but couldn’t.

Instead of saying a thing, she handed him her glass and took his. Her world settled as he sent her a puzzled look. She knew he had a thousand questions from that simple move, but as luck had it, there wasn’t time to ask or explain.

“Blackwell . . . is this her?”

“Frank Adams . . . I’d like you to meet my lovely bride, Gabriella Blackwell.”

Gabi found her hand pulled into the meaty one of Frank Adams. His accent was pure Texas, his flirty wink comical in the room full of sophistication. He wore a tux and a Stetson. It made her smile.

“My Melissa is going to be terribly disappointed,” Frank said with a lift of the eyebrow. “Then again, I assume there will be plenty of crying women when they hear you’re all snatched up, Blackwell.”

Gabi stood back and watched as Hunter engaged in a conversation with the outlandish Texan before moving away.

She leaned in. “I can’t tell if that was friendly or not.”

His lips nearly brushed her ear when he spoke. “I already told you I have no friends.”

Gabi made a sweep of the room with her eyes. “Then who are all these people?”

“Colleagues, enemies . . . acquaintances.”

From the far side of the room, she saw Andrew standing to the side, watching them. “And Andrew?”

“Well . . .”

So there was someone Hunter deemed a friend.

She didn’t have time to think on that before Hunter introduced her to the next group. “They work in my New York office,” Hunter offered as they walked away.

Gabi calculated the names into memory, moved to the next.

There were employees, partners in different professions . . . all of them eyed her with a mix of speculation and envy. Well . . . from the women, in any event.

“And you remember Tiffany.”

“Of course,” Gabi said, smiling into the weary eyes of Hunter’s personal secretary.