“His name is Hunter Blackwell,” Gabi told Judy.

“An Alliance client?”

“Yes.”

“If he’s a client, how is it you married him?” Judy asked.

Gabi shook the truth from her tongue. “He needed a wife, fast.”

“Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” There was no way around that truth. Gabi knew that fact shook Judy. “But he’s a friend of Blake’s.”

Judy seemed to like that piece of information. “Did Sam approve?”

Gabi shook her head. “Jordan’s really sick. She asked me to deal with Blackwell.”

“Deal with . . . not marry.”

The image of the justice of the peace asking her if she’d take him as her husband shot into her head. “He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“I don’t think—”

“Twenty-four million.”

Judy stared, open-mouthed. “Oh.”

“Yeah . . . oh!”

They were silent for a minute, before Judy asked, “So if you wanted the deal . . . why are you so upset?”

Half the truth came out. “Memories.”

Judy grasped both Gabi’s hands and held them in her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

She thought she’d loved Alonzo when he convinced her to elope. The memory was clouded, where the image of Hunter vowing to be her husband was fresh in her head.

Judy ran her thumb over the ring on Gabi’s finger. “This is crazy,” she said.

Gabi really hadn’t noticed. She twisted the ring on her finger now . . . realized the size of the thing that very moment. “It is, isn’t it?”

“It’s got to be at least five carats.”

“I don’t know.”

The tears were drying up, the memories of Alonzo with them.

“So what now? Are you moving in with him?”

Gabi focused on her hand, lifted it high to really look at the ring. “No . . . I need to find a house.”

“What?”

Gabi dropped her hand, offered a grin. “I told him I wouldn’t live in his house, that he needed to buy us a new one.”

Judy let out a laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I figured that would give us some time to get to know each other before we’re living under the same roof.”

“So let me get this right . . . he’s giving you twenty-four million . . . a house . . . and a ring that belongs in a safe and not on a hand?”

Gabi smiled, thought of the other ridiculous stipulations she’d added to their contracts. “I told you the offer was too good to pass up.”

“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.