Treasured by Thursday

Sam sighed into the phone. “Perfect. And if you’re not happy with him . . . with anything . . . feel free to dismiss him as a client. I trust your judgment.”

Gabi hesitated. “But he’s Blake’s friend.”

“Blake knew him and his brother in high school. They kept in touch the first couple of years in college, but they’d never been terribly close. Blake offered some advice over the years, but that’s it. He made it perfectly clear that our decision wouldn’t come between them.”

Some of the tension inside Gabi’s shoulders eased. “Do you want me to tell you of my decision before I tell the client?”

“No need. I’ve got too much going on. Listen, Jordan’s cardiologist is on the other line. I’ve got to go.”

“Go. Call if you need anything.”

“I will.” Without any more, Sam hung up.

Gabi prepared a cup of strong tea and moved into the home office. She sat at a desk that held three massive screens. She opened up the main computer, moved to the interface that linked to Sam’s. Within a couple of minutes, she’d opened Hunter Blackwell’s file.

She skimmed over the contact and personal profile information. It didn’t matter to Gabi if the man was six two or four eleven. She could care less if he’d been married before or if he had children. All Gabi focused on was the numbers.

Really big numbers.

Hunter Blackwell recently made the Forbes list of eligible billionaires and was quickly referred to as high risk for making the list of “Billionaires and Their Outrageous Scandals” that Forbes would post at the end of the year.

Before jumping into the numbers, Gabi cross-referenced the media hype to determine why Blackwell was on Forbes’s radar.

Hours later, her head still buzzing with the caffeinated tea, Gabi heard the grandfather clock sounding once. A crusty plate sat on her otherwise clean desk; three tea bags were now drying beside an empty cup.

She printed out the files she needed and noted the automated change in code to the Blackwell file before switching off her computers.

Gabi tapped the edges of the papers together and leaned back in her chair.

Her body screamed with the hours of inactivity as she stood and walked out of the office.

“Well, Mr. Blackwell. You better be an exceptional man in person or you’re going to have to plead to your latest Bambi to marry you and not take you for all you’re worth.”

Chapter Two

Gabi shoved her nerves into submission and channeled Samantha as she sat in the coffee shop. The site of client meetings never changed. The Starbucks sat in the center of town and had a constant flow of patrons. The location was safe and easily found. Alliance didn’t have an office outside of the room in Gabi’s Tarzana residence. There were five mainframe computers scattered over the States, but Tarzana was the main house. Inviting a client for a formal meeting in an official office wasn’t part of the program.

While Gabi had accepted a few male clients over the past year and a half, she’d yet to meet one as wealthy, and apparently difficult, as the one she was meeting today.

Knowing that 70 percent of her decision was already made, Gabi felt her palms itch. As much as she liked to think her unwelcomed fear of unknown men was controlled . . . it wasn’t. Days like this made her realized the magnitude of her fraudulent life.

To make matters worse, Gabi forgot to download a picture of Hunter Blackwell before she left home. She was reduced to searching for images on the Internet, of which there were very few. Very few, very hidden, or very old. How he managed to stay relatively incognito while making the Forbes list was impressive.

If Sam wasn’t at that moment in the hospital with her sister, Gabi would have made a quick call to get a lock on the basics of Hunter Blackwell’s face.

She gave up on her search and glanced at her phone for the fourth time before tucking it into her purse. Ten minutes.

Her heart sped.

One slow breath followed by a meditative exhale had her pulse slowing.

She watched those entering the coffee shop. A family with two young boys harping for something filled with chocolate, who hung on their mother’s legs. A half dozen college students huddled around a group table with laptops and cell phones plugged into the outlets available. Some of them had notepads while others sat quietly with their ears filled with music, lessons . . . or any number of things.

Gabi sipped her tea and glanced at the door every time it opened. Asian couple . . . not Blackwell. Two teenage girls. A potbellied sixtysomething in shorts and flip-flops . . . definitely not Blackwell.

Then came two suits . . . men wearing business attire, one slightly taller than the other. They spoke in low tones and moved through the line. At no time did they look around the room.

Gabi glanced at her watch.

Five minutes.

Tapping her fingers, she forced another deep breath. Then the door opened, someone beyond the panes of glass held the door open for a flustered woman pushing a stroller. “Thank you,” the woman said to the man beside her.

For one brief moment, Gabi passed over the family as just that.

Then the woman with the infant pushed away and left him.

Gabi’s heart raced.

Crisp and polished, Hunter Blackwell emerged. He stood an easy six four . . . maybe even taller. His suit made the other men in the room look as if they were wearing flannel. A firm-cut jaw with what looked like a scar under his left ear. Not that it took away from the man’s appearance. “Dangerously handsome” had been used in a few tabloids she’d read, and they were spot-on. His full head of light brown hair and gray eyes scanned the room. They passed over her once and quickly returned.