It was so much easier to send the flowers and say “It was fun.” Or some such sentiment.
He was trying to be a better man . . . damn it. He just didn’t know where to find him. Breaking it off in person was the better man . . . right?
Hunter tossed his keys on the hall table, dumped his phone and wallet in the same collection bowl.
“Mr. Blackwell.”
Hunter removed his overcoat, handed it to his aging valet.
The man took the coat, stared at what Hunter knew was a bruise forming on his chin. “Don’t ask.”
“Of course not.”
The man was itching to ask, but didn’t. “I need whiskey.”
“In your office?”
“Yes.”
Andrew had been in Hunter’s employ for over five years. In his midsixties, the man took care of his home and had the added fun of serving Hunter when he was in LA. The opinionated help was sometimes a pain, but Hunter trusted the man. And there were very few that fell into that category.
The light in his office turned on with the motion of him walking into the room.
He walked around his glass-top desk, turned on his computer. A remote opened the blinds, where he managed a stunning view from his Westwood penthouse. On a clear day he could see the ocean, tonight the lights of the city entertained his brain. It wasn’t as spectacular as New York . . . but it worked.
The soft shuffle of Andrew’s feet announced his arrival.
The crystal snifter held a generous portion of amber liquid. “No ice?”
Andrew reached out his other hand. A bag held the missing ice.
Hunter chuckled, took the ice, and winced when it touched his face. When the older man didn’t immediately leave, he said, “I’m no longer expecting Miss Shannon’s company.”
Andrew lifted his chin in understanding. “Right hook?”
“She deserved one shot, I suppose.”
“Shall I contact the front desk?”
Aww, one of the many reasons he enjoyed having the man in his employ. “Please. And while you’re at it, add the name Gabriella Masini.”
Now Andrew gazed at the floor and offered a shake of his head.
“It’s not what you think.”
“I’m not at liberty to think.”
Hunter huffed out a short laugh. “Yeah, right.”
Andrew started to turn. “Anything else?”
He hesitated. “Any calls today?”
The grin on Andrew’s face fell. “No. I’m sorry.”
Hunter returned his gaze out the window and dropped the bag of ice on his desk. The whiskey added a nice slow burn down his throat.
Halfway through his drink he sat down at his computer and turned it on. The reminders for his weekend were blinking on his calendar, a gift from Tiffany so he wouldn’t forget. He reached for the phone to call the desk for a driver and stopped himself. He removed a small notebook from his pocket and found the information about Miss Masini’s service.
The phone was answered on the second ring. “First Class Services. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to schedule a ride.”
“I can certainly help you with that, Mr. . . . ?”
“Blackwell.”
The pleasant male even-toned voice on the line asked a rapid fire of questions. “Have you used our service before?”
“No. You come recommended.”
“We do enjoy hearing that. When and where will you need a car?”
“This Saturday, six p.m. from the Wilshire to the Disney Concert Hall.”
He heard the clattering of fingers on a keyboard and waited for a brief second before continuing. “Has Miss Masini ordered her car this weekend?” He was taking a gamble that she’d have weekend plans. According to the conversation Hunter had had with Blake, the women in his wife’s employ spent quite a bit of time fraternizing with the rich and famous on the weekends. Since the event he was scheduled to attend was filled with an equal number of rich and famous attendees, he crossed his fingers that the beautiful Italian woman would be in attendance.
“I believe she has . . . shall I check on that reservation while I’m in the system?”
A satisfied smile lifted the corners of Hunter’s lips. “Please.”
“One moment.”
He sipped his whiskey and waited.
“Her standard car is scheduled for six as well, Mr. Blackwell. Since your destinations are the same, shall I have one driver attend to you both?”
Bingo!
“Please. I was supposed to meet her there, so let’s order a stretch and pick me up first.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Blackwell. This will go on your card?”
“Of course.”
Hunter gave the necessary information and hung up.
At least something in his day was moving in the right direction.
Chapter Four
Gabi grasped her clutch, checked to make sure her ticket for the event was inside, and turned off the light in her bedroom before walking down the stairs.
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?”