Treasured by Thursday
Page 9
Her foot no sooner found the ground floor than the doorbell rang.
She peeked through the view in the door, noticed a driver, and proceeded to set the alarm.
“Perfect timing,” she said as she exited the house.
“How are you this evening, Miss Masini?”
“I’m well, Charles. You?”
Gabi didn’t think she’d be on a first-name basis with a personal driver in her life, and yet here she was walking up to the limousine . . . “I didn’t request a limo.” She hesitated and Charles opened the back door with a smile.
“It’s all taken care of, Miss Masini.”
Gabi grinned, assuming Sam had made sure she arrived at the Ricker’s fundraiser in fashion. They were supposed to go together, but that was before her sister became ill.
She slid into the back, lifted her dress to mind the hem and keep it from becoming caught in the door.
It wasn’t until the door closed that Gabi realized she wasn’t alone. She tried to control the gasp and instant elevation in her heart rate.
She failed.
He loomed from the other side of the limo. One arm rested on the back of the seat, the other held a drink. His face was hidden in the shadows, but she knew who he was.
The need to escape and a swarm of unwanted memories paralyzed her.
“Miss Masini.”
She couldn’t find her voice. Why was Hunter Blackwell in the back of her car?
“Or should I say Mrs. Picano?”
The blood rushed from her face and her hands shook. Very few people knew of her brief marriage. The fact that the billionaire sitting across from her did shouldn’t be a surprise.
The car started to move, prompting her to reach for the door.
“Jumping from a moving car is a bit extreme,” he said.
She closed her eyes, sucked in a slow breath. “What are you doing here, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Attempting to have a private conversation with you, Mrs. Picano.”
“Don’t call me that!” She felt some of her fight returning.
He leaned forward and she saw his face. Clean shaven, dangerously handsome. “You look like you need a drink.” He set his glass down and reached for the decanter at his side.
“No, thank you.”
Her words had no effect. Fine, let the man pour a drink . . . at this rate he’d be wearing it before they left the car.
Amber liquid and ice filled the crystal glass. She took it to avoid him moving closer, then promptly placed it on the secure shelf at her side.
He raised an eyebrow and sat back.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Masini.”
“No.” Such a powerful word, yet the man smiled.
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
“Any man who believes flowers and unwelcome visits in limousines are going to change my mind is obviously not listening to my words. No, Mr. Blackwell. Whatever you want, the answer is no.”
“You might reconsider once we arrive at the Disney Hall. You see, I don’t accept the word no. I need a wife, and I’ve chosen you.”
Gabi felt the tension leave her system when she laughed. “You’re delusional.”
Her smile faded when his emerged and he sat back as if he’d just signed a million-dollar deal.
“Your late husband had a hefty life insurance policy.”
She swallowed. Every time he mentioned Alonzo’s name . . . or alluded to him, her stomach twisted and her palms itched. She decided the best action was none. Gabi listened.
“The insurance policy made you a relatively wealthy woman.”
Lot he knew . . . anything that showed up after Alonzo’s death went to charity.
“Insurance companies despise paying out. The clauses they place inside policies are designed to keep the beneficiaries penniless. Only Mr. Picano’s paid out. Do you know what happens when insurance companies learn that they paid over a million dollars on a policy that was fraudulently obtained?”
What is he talking about? He was goading her . . . trying to get a reaction, she decided.
Gabi refused and concentrated on keeping her hands loose in her lap.
“You’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t think you’d survive wearing orange long-term.”
“I have done nothing illegal.”
“You cashed the check after violating the terms of the policy.”
It was impossible to sit still. Gabi leaned forward. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but I do. You signed the papers and removed your husband from life support. A direct violation to the terms of the insurance policy. One might speculate that you wanted your husband dead for the money.”
“You don’t . . . you’re wrong.” Only she knew most of what he said was true. The insurance policy, she wasn’t sure about. So much happened during that volatile time in her life, she hadn’t paid attention to most of the papers she’d signed and couldn’t verify anything Blackwell was saying. Not that it mattered, she’d fight a fraud charge. Come up with the funds to repay the insurance company if it came to it.
“Then there is the offshore account to consider.”
She jerked her attention his way. The desire to slap the smirk off his face was palpable. “What account?”
“Yours.”
“I don’t have—”
“Mrs. Picano most certainly does have an account.” He reached into his pocket and removed a folded paper before handing it over.
She couldn’t read the language, not completely, but understood a few key words. The money was in euros, there were several zeros, and her name was listed. Instead of telling the man she knew nothing about the account, she soaked in the name of the bank and the account number and returned the paper.
She peeked through the view in the door, noticed a driver, and proceeded to set the alarm.
“Perfect timing,” she said as she exited the house.
“How are you this evening, Miss Masini?”
“I’m well, Charles. You?”
Gabi didn’t think she’d be on a first-name basis with a personal driver in her life, and yet here she was walking up to the limousine . . . “I didn’t request a limo.” She hesitated and Charles opened the back door with a smile.
“It’s all taken care of, Miss Masini.”
Gabi grinned, assuming Sam had made sure she arrived at the Ricker’s fundraiser in fashion. They were supposed to go together, but that was before her sister became ill.
She slid into the back, lifted her dress to mind the hem and keep it from becoming caught in the door.
It wasn’t until the door closed that Gabi realized she wasn’t alone. She tried to control the gasp and instant elevation in her heart rate.
She failed.
He loomed from the other side of the limo. One arm rested on the back of the seat, the other held a drink. His face was hidden in the shadows, but she knew who he was.
The need to escape and a swarm of unwanted memories paralyzed her.
“Miss Masini.”
She couldn’t find her voice. Why was Hunter Blackwell in the back of her car?
“Or should I say Mrs. Picano?”
The blood rushed from her face and her hands shook. Very few people knew of her brief marriage. The fact that the billionaire sitting across from her did shouldn’t be a surprise.
The car started to move, prompting her to reach for the door.
“Jumping from a moving car is a bit extreme,” he said.
She closed her eyes, sucked in a slow breath. “What are you doing here, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Attempting to have a private conversation with you, Mrs. Picano.”
“Don’t call me that!” She felt some of her fight returning.
He leaned forward and she saw his face. Clean shaven, dangerously handsome. “You look like you need a drink.” He set his glass down and reached for the decanter at his side.
“No, thank you.”
Her words had no effect. Fine, let the man pour a drink . . . at this rate he’d be wearing it before they left the car.
Amber liquid and ice filled the crystal glass. She took it to avoid him moving closer, then promptly placed it on the secure shelf at her side.
He raised an eyebrow and sat back.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Masini.”
“No.” Such a powerful word, yet the man smiled.
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
“Any man who believes flowers and unwelcome visits in limousines are going to change my mind is obviously not listening to my words. No, Mr. Blackwell. Whatever you want, the answer is no.”
“You might reconsider once we arrive at the Disney Hall. You see, I don’t accept the word no. I need a wife, and I’ve chosen you.”
Gabi felt the tension leave her system when she laughed. “You’re delusional.”
Her smile faded when his emerged and he sat back as if he’d just signed a million-dollar deal.
“Your late husband had a hefty life insurance policy.”
She swallowed. Every time he mentioned Alonzo’s name . . . or alluded to him, her stomach twisted and her palms itched. She decided the best action was none. Gabi listened.
“The insurance policy made you a relatively wealthy woman.”
Lot he knew . . . anything that showed up after Alonzo’s death went to charity.
“Insurance companies despise paying out. The clauses they place inside policies are designed to keep the beneficiaries penniless. Only Mr. Picano’s paid out. Do you know what happens when insurance companies learn that they paid over a million dollars on a policy that was fraudulently obtained?”
What is he talking about? He was goading her . . . trying to get a reaction, she decided.
Gabi refused and concentrated on keeping her hands loose in her lap.
“You’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t think you’d survive wearing orange long-term.”
“I have done nothing illegal.”
“You cashed the check after violating the terms of the policy.”
It was impossible to sit still. Gabi leaned forward. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but I do. You signed the papers and removed your husband from life support. A direct violation to the terms of the insurance policy. One might speculate that you wanted your husband dead for the money.”
“You don’t . . . you’re wrong.” Only she knew most of what he said was true. The insurance policy, she wasn’t sure about. So much happened during that volatile time in her life, she hadn’t paid attention to most of the papers she’d signed and couldn’t verify anything Blackwell was saying. Not that it mattered, she’d fight a fraud charge. Come up with the funds to repay the insurance company if it came to it.
“Then there is the offshore account to consider.”
She jerked her attention his way. The desire to slap the smirk off his face was palpable. “What account?”
“Yours.”
“I don’t have—”
“Mrs. Picano most certainly does have an account.” He reached into his pocket and removed a folded paper before handing it over.
She couldn’t read the language, not completely, but understood a few key words. The money was in euros, there were several zeros, and her name was listed. Instead of telling the man she knew nothing about the account, she soaked in the name of the bank and the account number and returned the paper.
