Page 11 of Only the Hunter

She doesn’t work late Saturdays.

Or at least she hasn’t since I’ve arrived in town.

“Saturday it is. I’ll text you.”

“Do you have my number?”

“Scott gave it to me.” It’s the truth. She’s been in my contacts since she was in high school.

“Great.” She holds the door a beat, smiling. “It’s good seeing you, Gabe. I’m glad our paths crossed.” She stands there, and for a second I think she’s going to say something more, but she slams the car door closed.

I remain idling on the curb, watching until she climbs the four black iron steps up to her front door and closes it behind her, secure for the night.

I let myself imagine walking her to that door. Staying long enough to catch up, to hear about her day—the real version, not the one she’d tell Scott, scrubbed for her father. Watching her move about in her own space, guard down, heels off. A chance to get to know her in a different way. The age difference that was once monumental is now insignificant.

But no. That’s not what I’m here for.

Chapter 4

Evie

“Did you get the document I sent over?”

I pause, trying to recall a document from Dad. Nothing comes to mind. “Did you have an assistant send me something?”

Dad huffs his frustration, and I scan the shoes layered on my closet floor, searching for the matching sneaker.

“Salma sent a collection of reviews from Consumer Reports⁠—”

“Oh. The cars. Right. Well, I’m still hoping my car isn’t totaled.”

“Even if it’s not you can’t drive it. The brakes failed.”

“Well, mechanics exist, right?”

Dad’s always hated my car. But I own it free and clear and I’d rather not have an additional monthly payment.

“You know, your birthday’s coming up.”

“Dad.” I spot the shoe and snag it from the pile. “You don’t need to buy me a car. I’m financially independent.”

“I’m well aware. Roberta says you haven’t touched your trust fund in years.”

“You should be proud of that, Dad.”

Shoe tied, I check my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. My hair’s a freaking rat’s nest, so I pull it back. Makeup won’t touch the bruises, so I don’t bother.

I meant to shower before my lunch meeting, but my morning got away from me. Saturdays working from home are the best—except for when I agree to meet someone out.

“I am proud. But sweetheart…I worked hard so you wouldn’t have to struggle.” I pause, staring at the phone that’s sitting on the bed, because he sounds…chagrined. “If you dropped this foolishness and came to work for me, the quality of your life would improve greatly.”

And there it is.

The offer that’s been on the table since I passed the bar—come serve as in-house counsel, manage the legal architecture of the empire he’s spent forty years building while Scott handles the investor relationships and the Middle Eastern contacts. It’s real legal work. Good money. A title that would impress anyone who didn’t know whose name was on the door.

It would also mean every case I touched belonged to him.

And it’s not what I want to do with my career.