Blackwell Enterprises held the entire top floor of the building, making the reception space larger than the ground floor of Gabi’s home.
She commanded attention as she walked to the desk. The receptionist offered a brilliant smile.
“Miss Masini for Mr. Blackwell.”
The smile stayed and the twentysomething model-perfect woman blinked. “Right away, Miss Masini. I’ll call Tiffany.”
Gabi ignored the roll of tension down her spine. Walking into the office had been too easy.
She turned away from the desk, hoping to hide her nerves. The entire way into the city, she questioned her decision. Then again, Blackwell would probably shred her contract.
The quick, steady click of heels slowed as they approached. “Miss Masini?”
Gabi turned and couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m Tiffany, Mr. Blackwell’s personal secretary.”
The introduction instantly had Gabi envisioning a very personal position between Hunter and the lovely woman beside her. She was luscious, beautiful, and appeared too innocent to be hooked up with the likes of Hunter. Gabi felt an instant desire to shelter the younger woman from the evil man.
“Hello, Tiffany,” Gabi managed.
“Mr. Blackwell is expecting you.” Tiffany turned back into the thick of the office and led the way.
Gabi lifted her chin and ignored the glances as she walked through. The sheer amount of attention her presence created as she rounded the corner made it clear that Hunter didn’t often have personal calls to his place of work.
Somehow, that pleased her.
Tiffany stepped through a set of doors that opened to a large reception space complete with couches and magazines . . . and a desk that would engulf the one Gabi had at home.
Tiffany approached a set of sleek double doors and knocked. Without waiting, she opened one and stepped aside.
Gabi knew her practiced smile left, briefly . . . then she squared her shoulders and walked in.
Hunter stood behind a black desk that held a computer, a phone, and a pen. Behind him was a wall of windows overlooking the city. The space was completely masculine down to the leather couches, the simple art . . . the bar on the far end of the office.
Their eyes met . . . locked, and he stared.
There was a spark behind his gray eyes that screamed of his success by her walking in his door.
He’d won and he knew it.
“That will be all, Tiffany. Let me know when Ben arrives.”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell.” Tiffany closed the door behind her.
He made a slow path around his desk. “I assume you had no trouble with security getting up here.”
Gabi approached, set her purse in one of the empty chairs. “The ease of my entrance smacks of arrogance.”
“Yet here you are.”
Could she hate the man any more?
Keep your enemies close.
Instead of debating with him, she removed the contracts from her purse and slid them across his desk. “I took the liberty of adding a few conditions . . . in light of our personal situations.”
He didn’t bother a glance at the papers. “I’m sure we can work out whatever you might have come up with.”
So arrogant.
“You’re going to find your condescending words to be a mistake, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Hunter, Gabi . . . my name is Hunter.”
She wasn’t sure what shook her more, the fact that he’d instantly put them on a personal level by the use of his first name, or the fact that he’d used her nickname.
“I despise you,” she muttered.
He lifted a hand, indicated the chair at her side. “A fact that we will both recognize and speak of freely . . . when we’re alone. In public, I expect a reserved wife who accepts a casual touch and even a smile.”
“What kind of touch?” She hated asking.
“I won’t maul you.”
She sat across from him, comfortable with the desk separating them.
The despicable man was a stranger . . . he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat before sliding his chair closer to his desk. He’d yet to look at the contracts.
“Why are you really doing this?”
“I’ve already told you—”
“Beggianate!”
“Excuse me?”
Gabi took delight in her ability to speak a language he couldn’t. “I don’t believe you. Your explanation is trivial at best. It’s one of the many reasons Alliance rejected your application.”
He lifted one brow. “Yet here you are . . . contract in hand.”
She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and calmed her nerves. When she opened them again, Gabi found him watching her.
A wave of something resembling concern passed over his eyes before he said, “As soon as the contracts are signed, and we’re married, I have a team of lawyers and investigators ready to move on your case.”
“And if they find me guilty?” she asked.
That left a smirk on his face. “They’ll find a way to exonerate you.”
Such an ass.
“It doesn’t bother you to believe you’re marrying a woman with a history of killing a wealthy husband and collecting after his death?”
He smiled for the first time since she entered his office. “You’re stunning in black.” His eyes swept her frame before returning to her face. “But I don’t think you’re a black widow.”
It was her turn to grin. “Mating before killing isn’t necessary.”
He laughed when she was hoping to intimidate.
I need to work on that.
Before he could comment, the phone on his desk buzzed.
Hunter lifted the receiver, listened. “Let him in.”