“Wouldn’t it be easier if the man followed in your footsteps and earned his own living?” Gabi asked.
Hunter actually laughed. “Not when someone else can do all the hard stuff and he can sweep in and take.” Thirty minutes later, they were sitting in a quiet booth in a tiny, informal steakhouse.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Hunter told her.
“I don’t think—”
The waiter stepped up and Hunter ordered them wine.
He waited until after their wine arrived before asking for every detail of her encounter with Noah.
When their brief meeting had been recited, she sipped her wine, thankful Hunter insisted on it.
“His presence wasn’t an accident. This is what he does. He shows up in the places I’m going to be . . . makes nice with those around me, and sprinkles doubt about my resolve to keep my distance from him. A master manipulator must first gain the trust of those he’s sinking his claws in. Now that you’ve seen him once, he will be around again. I’d bet money on it.”
“How would he know I was there? Or do you think he was trying to find you?”
“If he wanted to find me, all he would have to do is show up at the office. He could have followed you, got wind via the media. He was after something else.” He sat back in thought. “His drive-by makes it clear why you need a bodyguard.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
Hunter cut her off. “It’s already in motion, Gabi. I spoke with Neil before picking you up. He will have a team at the new house to wire tomorrow, a personal bodyguard will meet us at the hospital when we go back.”
“Oh, Hunter.”
“You’re a smart woman. You know I’m right about this.”
The thought of mistaking Noah for her husband a second time . . . alone . . . made her pause. “Fine. You’re right.”
Hunter lifted both eyebrows. “Did that hurt?”
“Saying you’re right?”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
She tapped her chest. “A little. Right here.”
Hunter leaned forward and took her hand in his. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Smooth talker.”
“Is it working?” He kissed the back of her hand.
Yeah . . . her stomach had settled and she was no longer shaking. “Well,” she started, “I haven’t told you to jump in front of a bus for at least an hour.”
The funeral took place a week to the day after Jordan passed away. The minister spoke of happier times, of the lives Jordan had touched and the love one sister had for the other.
Gabi looked around the church at the multitude of the Harrisons’ friends. She knew that many of the couples were together because of Samantha’s service. Alliance was born in an attempt to make the money Sam needed to care for her sister. In a way, Jordan was partially responsible for the marriages surrounding her.
For that, Gabi kept a smile in her heart for the young woman whose life touched so many.
Family and close friends took up the front of the church. There were politicians, businessmen, members of parliament who flew in from London to show their respect. Toward the back of the church sat dozens of caregivers who had taken care of Jordan over the years. From the care home she’d lived in before Sam and Blake married to the private care nurses who were round the clock in the Harrison home, the venue was filled.
When the procession moved to the graveside, the numbers thinned . . . and then again when they finished at a reception at the Harrisons’ Malibu estate.
Gabi took the role of coordinating staff, keeping the kitchen moving, the servers working. With so many dignitaries in attendance, there was an equal amount of bodyguards and security staff. To make matters worse, the three different service attendants wore wires to their ears, but instead of sidearms, they held cocktail trays.
Gabi made it a mission that no one bothered Samantha with anything. Being far removed from an emotional connection with the deceased made it easier for her to act as ambassador to the event.
The house appeared to swell with people. Just when Gabi thought they were at capacity, more arrived.
Cooper, the man assigned as her bodyguard for the day, tried his best to blend into the background. He sucked at blending.
“What are you doing in the kitchen?” The question came from the doorway. Gwen stood with a hand on her hip. “You don’t need to do this.”
Gabi glanced in her direction and then back to the tray in front of her. “These are ready, Alice, thank you.” The server lifted the tray over her shoulder and into the fray.
“You’re ignoring me.”
“I’m Italian . . . I ignore what I don’t want to hear.”