My Billionaire Fling by Maci Dillon
GABE
One Month Later
“Tell me you found something solid on this bastard, Ronnie.”
“It’s not been easy, but after a lot of digging into archives and breaching multiple privacy laws, I found his true identity.”
It’s been a month since I first contacted Ronnie to track down the guy asking questions about me in New York. Ben says he’s not seen him since, and without a clear picture of the guy, he’s proved difficult to trace. Due to the angle he was filmed at in the press release the day Sophia disclosed our wedding date and Ben’s security footage falling short, he’s been harder to find than a penny in the ocean.
“I’m not sure you’re going to like what I’ve found, Gabe. To be honest, if you’ve not heard from him directly in the past few weeks, it seems unwarranted to give you the news.”
Ominous information isn’t my style. “Ronnie, the details. Now.”
The unsettling tone of his voice is enough to pour a glass of whiskey and settle in on the lounge in my office. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“The name Dustin Hawthorne mean anything to you?”
Dark clouds are rolling in over the river, and I stare out over Central London, racking my brain trying to place the name but come up short. “No, should it?”
“What about Danny Thorne?”
Now that’s a name I’ve seen recently. When I walked into Sophia’s home office a few days ago, she was searching information on this man. I assumed it was client research.
My skin prickles at the possibility these men are one in the same.
“Not until now, but I believe Sophia has also been looking into him.”
A sense of dread fills me as Ronnie says, “Is it possible he has reached out to her? It’s the name he currently goes by.”
Would Sophia have come to me directly if he had? I’m not so sure.
“And Dustin Hawthorne is his real name?” I question.
My computer pings with an email notification. “Open the link I sent you.”
Returning to my desk, I open my email, and the blood drains from my face as the link connects to a news article from many years ago with a picture of a young boy crying, comforted by a much older woman. The headline reads, ‘Three Dead in a Fiery Plane Crash.’ It goes on further to say the five-year-old boy was left orphaned, to be raised by his father’s estranged older sister whom he’d never met.
The boy’s name is Dustin Hawthorne.
“Fucking hell.”
Ronnie sighs heavily on the end of the line. “Yeah. Either he’s after money or plans to ruin your life for the sins of your father. If I were you, I’d talk to Sophia immediately.”
My eyes remain glued to the news report in front of me. As I scroll, my heart wretches. Images of Marcelle and Beverly Evans stare back at me, and hate for my father surges through my veins like rapid fire once more.
I’ll never escape the evil he committed and the lives he ruined.
Instead, his decision may end up ruining the one thing I love more than success and money.
Sophia.
Ronnie promises to send all the info he has on Danny, including his most recent location. First, I hightail it over to Sophia’s office, hoping she’s not out with a client. I consider calling her first, but decide an impromptu visit is a better option.
In the time it will take me to walk to Incontro, I hope to have a plan in mind.
Sophia is sitting behind her desk when I walk through the doors. Her reading glasses poised on the end of her nose is a sign she’s deep in concentration, reading or researching. Kelli is on the phone and waves me through.
“What do I owe the pleasure of a mid-morning visit?” Sophia asks, rising from her chair to greet me with a kiss. It’s become our norm over the past few weeks. She’s softening to the idea of sharing a home, and displays of affection are more comfortable than a sense of duty.
“Business, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?” She frowns, signaling to take a seat opposite her.
“Who’s Danny Thorne to you?”
A look of surprise washes over her at my abrupt question.
“Wha…”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Sophia. You were googling the man only days ago.”
Slamming her palms on the desk, she jumps from her chair and stares me down. “Be careful, Gabe. This is my place of business, and the one place I’ll never answer to you.”
Rounding her desk to close the door behind me, she yells to Kelli, “Please hold my calls.”
With her back to me, she stops by the kitchenette to pour a cup of coffee without offering one to me. “Are you jealous of my client research, Gabe?”
“So, he’s a client.” Part of me breathes a little easier.
“Potentially, he could be.”
“What does that mean?”
She turns to me, the scowl on her face would ordinarily have me backing away. It’s never my intention to upset her.
“It means exactly what I said. Why the inquisition?”
Silence draws out between us as I consider my answer. “A client brought him to my attention today, and I recognized the name after seeing his name on your computer.”
“Hmm, I see.”
“Have you met with him yet?”
She shakes her head, “No, I haven’t.”
“Don’t.” I stand and button my jacket, preparing to leave.
“Excuse me?”
I sigh. This woman is nothing if not strong-willed. “It’s possible the man is trying to extort money from me. Until we know his end game, I forbid you to speak with him.”
With wide eyes, Sophia walks to me. “Why would a reporter risk his job to extort you?”
“Reporter?” I frown.
Wrapped up in why she’d be researching this fucker on my walk over, I didn’t check Ronnie’s emails for further details. Perhaps I should have.
“Yes, he’s American, too,” she adds, a concerned look on her face tells me there’s more.
“Sit down,” she orders as she returns to her seat with her coffee.
She tells me about the day the reporters were swarming the entrance of the building. The day after our engagement went viral.
“And he spoke to you?”
“He stood at the back and asked something like, do you know the real Gabe Lugreno?”
Chills race the length of my spine. “And you didn’t think that was odd?” I try to hide my annoyance, but her ignorance isn’t always blissful.
“Of course, I did. Hence, why I reached out to some reporter friends to ask about him. I can’t find much about him online, but he’s been approaching local news channels under the disguise of being a freelance journalist from Connecticut.”
In an attempt to avoid losing my shit, I hold in a deep breath, grinding my teeth together.
“Before you say anything more, I didn’t know it was a disguise but now you’re here, I’m guessing that’s why I can’t find any of his credentials.”
“Until I get to the bottom of this and why he’s asking around about me and my business, please don’t engage with him.” What I really mean is until I find this motherfucker and give him a large sum of cash to shut the fuck up, stay the hell away from him.
Better yet, forget he exists.
