Treasured by Thursday
Page 7
The man smiled, and some of his edge faded. “No problem.” He thrust the flowers into her hands and then pulled a tiny notebook from his back pocket. “Just need you to sign.”
“OK.” She hoisted the massive bouquet in her left hand and signed with her right.
“Have a good day, Miss Masini.”
“Thank you.”
The man took a final look before returning to his car in the drive.
She closed the front door with a hip and moved to the hall table. The explosion of color and fragrant buds were a nice addition to the room. She should grace her home with fresh flowers more often, she mused. Then she found a folded card tucked into the blooms.
For a moment, she thought maybe they were from her brother . . . maybe Meg.
Only the flowers weren’t from her family.
The card said simply: You don’t have a sister. And it was signed HB.
It took Gabi three reads before she realized who had sent the flowers.
Then she remembered her parting words to Hunter Blackwell. I wouldn’t let my sister marry you, Mr. Blackwell, let alone a client.
She chuckled and sniffed the flowers. “Flowers won’t work, Mr. Blackwell.”
The man had unethical, untrustworthy, and underhanded written all over him . . . but he had superb taste in flowers.
“That’s one sexy kitten you’ve found there, Blackwell.”
Chatting with Remington was right up there with a root canal.
“Cut to the chase.” Hunter gripped the phone to his ear as he stood facing the corner office window, where he was met with a crisp view of LA.
“She is living at the address I found.”
Sending flowers was the perfect way of confirming someone’s address.
“Great, what else?”
“Like I told you earlier, the driver is from a service. Your sex kitten doesn’t have a car in the drive and no windows into the garage. Much as I wanted to nose around, that house is wired like Fort Knox.”
“Wired?”
“Cameras everywhere. A sophisticated alarm system at the door. It’s impressive.”
Hunter leaned against the massive pane of glass that separated him from a forty-story drop. “And what is Miss Masini afraid of?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. Then I found a hidden fact . . .”
Hunter’s jaw twitched. Remington paused for drama. “I’m waiting.”
“Miss Masini isn’t Miss Masini. She’s Mrs. Picano.”
“She’s married?” That, Hunter didn’t expect. Equally annoying, his gut twisted.
“Widowed.”
Hunter sat on that for a minute. “Let me guess, she married some old shit who died?” The woman marrying some rich sugar daddy for money, just like Alliance claimed to support, made more sense.
“Nope. A young shit, and from a few old tabloids I found, they were all lovey-dovey and kissy-wissy.” Remington added a few sound effects over the line.
“Do you know how he died?”
“Now this is where it gets interesting. Are you sitting down?”
“You’re pissing me off, Remington. Out with it.”
“Gunshot wounds . . . as in many.”
“Law enforcement? Military?”
“Nope! Owned a winery from what I can tell. Details around his death are very tight. I might need a little more persuading to break some of these walls.”
Hunter might as well slash his wrists now for all the bleeding Remington was going to take for this one.
Three hours later, and a whole lot lighter in the wallet, Hunter had the one piece of information he needed to force Miss Masini to bend to his will. Just in case it wasn’t enough, he was sending Remington to Florida. Leech had better come back with his weight in gold.
The phone on his desk buzzed. His secretary’s line lit up.
“Yes, Tiffany?”
“I have your weekend schedule and reminders.”
Hunter glanced at his watch. It was after five. “Come in.”
Tiffany Stone was a curvy redhead in her late twenties. She was attractive but frankly, not Hunter’s taste. Didn’t matter to him that some in the office thought he was screwing her, he knew he wasn’t. She typed like Clark Kent, kept meticulous notes, and never let him miss an important meeting. Sleeping with his secretary was a cliché he refused to fall into. He had his share of scorned women out there making his life difficult who knew nothing about him. A good secretary simply knew too much.
She took the seat across from his desk and tapped on a tablet. “You have lunch with Senator Fillmore at Providence tomorrow at one. The Ricker’s fundraiser is at Patina at seven.” She glanced over her tablet, which he knew was linking to his phone as she spoke with him. “Patina is at the Disney Concert Hall.”
“I know where Patina is.”
She continued without pause, “Your tux is cleaned and they confirmed delivery to your home at two today. Will I need to order a car?”
Hunter shook his head.
“Sunday is quiet, but don’t forget you’re in New York next Friday for the board meeting.”
Like he’d ever forget that.
“Nothing tonight?” He could have sworn there was something planned.
Tiffany lifted one brow and offered a smile. “Not unless it’s a date I know nothing about.”
A date . . . a date?
Aww hell.
Tiffany rolled her eyes before setting her tablet on her lap. “Who am I sending flowers to?”
He was all kinds of asshole. “I have it.”
She stood to leave.
He stopped her. “And Tiffany?”
“OK.” She hoisted the massive bouquet in her left hand and signed with her right.
“Have a good day, Miss Masini.”
“Thank you.”
The man took a final look before returning to his car in the drive.
She closed the front door with a hip and moved to the hall table. The explosion of color and fragrant buds were a nice addition to the room. She should grace her home with fresh flowers more often, she mused. Then she found a folded card tucked into the blooms.
For a moment, she thought maybe they were from her brother . . . maybe Meg.
Only the flowers weren’t from her family.
The card said simply: You don’t have a sister. And it was signed HB.
It took Gabi three reads before she realized who had sent the flowers.
Then she remembered her parting words to Hunter Blackwell. I wouldn’t let my sister marry you, Mr. Blackwell, let alone a client.
She chuckled and sniffed the flowers. “Flowers won’t work, Mr. Blackwell.”
The man had unethical, untrustworthy, and underhanded written all over him . . . but he had superb taste in flowers.
“That’s one sexy kitten you’ve found there, Blackwell.”
Chatting with Remington was right up there with a root canal.
“Cut to the chase.” Hunter gripped the phone to his ear as he stood facing the corner office window, where he was met with a crisp view of LA.
“She is living at the address I found.”
Sending flowers was the perfect way of confirming someone’s address.
“Great, what else?”
“Like I told you earlier, the driver is from a service. Your sex kitten doesn’t have a car in the drive and no windows into the garage. Much as I wanted to nose around, that house is wired like Fort Knox.”
“Wired?”
“Cameras everywhere. A sophisticated alarm system at the door. It’s impressive.”
Hunter leaned against the massive pane of glass that separated him from a forty-story drop. “And what is Miss Masini afraid of?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. Then I found a hidden fact . . .”
Hunter’s jaw twitched. Remington paused for drama. “I’m waiting.”
“Miss Masini isn’t Miss Masini. She’s Mrs. Picano.”
“She’s married?” That, Hunter didn’t expect. Equally annoying, his gut twisted.
“Widowed.”
Hunter sat on that for a minute. “Let me guess, she married some old shit who died?” The woman marrying some rich sugar daddy for money, just like Alliance claimed to support, made more sense.
“Nope. A young shit, and from a few old tabloids I found, they were all lovey-dovey and kissy-wissy.” Remington added a few sound effects over the line.
“Do you know how he died?”
“Now this is where it gets interesting. Are you sitting down?”
“You’re pissing me off, Remington. Out with it.”
“Gunshot wounds . . . as in many.”
“Law enforcement? Military?”
“Nope! Owned a winery from what I can tell. Details around his death are very tight. I might need a little more persuading to break some of these walls.”
Hunter might as well slash his wrists now for all the bleeding Remington was going to take for this one.
Three hours later, and a whole lot lighter in the wallet, Hunter had the one piece of information he needed to force Miss Masini to bend to his will. Just in case it wasn’t enough, he was sending Remington to Florida. Leech had better come back with his weight in gold.
The phone on his desk buzzed. His secretary’s line lit up.
“Yes, Tiffany?”
“I have your weekend schedule and reminders.”
Hunter glanced at his watch. It was after five. “Come in.”
Tiffany Stone was a curvy redhead in her late twenties. She was attractive but frankly, not Hunter’s taste. Didn’t matter to him that some in the office thought he was screwing her, he knew he wasn’t. She typed like Clark Kent, kept meticulous notes, and never let him miss an important meeting. Sleeping with his secretary was a cliché he refused to fall into. He had his share of scorned women out there making his life difficult who knew nothing about him. A good secretary simply knew too much.
She took the seat across from his desk and tapped on a tablet. “You have lunch with Senator Fillmore at Providence tomorrow at one. The Ricker’s fundraiser is at Patina at seven.” She glanced over her tablet, which he knew was linking to his phone as she spoke with him. “Patina is at the Disney Concert Hall.”
“I know where Patina is.”
She continued without pause, “Your tux is cleaned and they confirmed delivery to your home at two today. Will I need to order a car?”
Hunter shook his head.
“Sunday is quiet, but don’t forget you’re in New York next Friday for the board meeting.”
Like he’d ever forget that.
“Nothing tonight?” He could have sworn there was something planned.
Tiffany lifted one brow and offered a smile. “Not unless it’s a date I know nothing about.”
A date . . . a date?
Aww hell.
Tiffany rolled her eyes before setting her tablet on her lap. “Who am I sending flowers to?”
He was all kinds of asshole. “I have it.”
She stood to leave.
He stopped her. “And Tiffany?”
