Page 7 of Betrayal

CHAPTER TWO

Restless, Hunter pushedback from his desk the following morning and crossed to stare through louvred windows.An ordinary suburban street, saved from mediocrity by the large memorial park opposite.Constructed to honour war dead, the park was repeated with variations across the suburbs and small towns of Australia.With its border of mature, small-leaved fig trees, a classical rotunda with a domed roof, and a brick cenotaph emblazoned with a number of honour rolls, flag staffs, and service commemorative objects, this was a particularly pretty version, popular for weddings and picnics.

The park had tipped the balance in favour of the decommissioned petrol station for his headquarters.The Thompson Corporation—a statement about his preferred lineage and his disinterest in creating a dynasty.Decontamination had been tedious and time-consuming, but once complete, the configuration of the site hummed as a hub for his various business interests.His apartment sat on top.Perfect work-life balance, if you worked sixteen-hour days.

“I need to see you.”Hunter left the message on his friend’s phone.

A bad night’s sleep hadn’t killed his curiosity about the compelling spitfire who’d slapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from saying what she really thought of him.The Patrick Doyle theme fromThorbroke the silence.

“Hi, Cas.Where are you?”

“Not far.I turned the car your way when I got your message.”A car horn honked down the line.“Al’ama,” his friend squawked.

“Problem?”The first time Casildo had muttered the Arabic oath, Hunter had celebrated an expletive worthy of school suspension, only to discover it meant “damn.”Casildo was constitutionally unable to behave badly.

“A Great Dane plonked its backside in the middle of the street and is refusing to move.”His friend sounded nonplussed.

“It could only happen to you.”Hunter chuckled.“Coffee at Ya Habibi’s?”

“See you in ten.”

“Donna,” Hunter spoke to his PA on his way out.“I’m with Casildo if you need me.”

“Got it.”The efficient, discreet forty-something woman in jeans and a sweater had joined his team shortly after she’d been widowed.“I text the wordpanicif it’s something I can’t handle.”

“There’s nothing you can’t handle.”She’d been with him since he’d started rehabbing houses on his own in his mid-twenties.Ten years, and she’d never once let Hunter down.

“Now you’ve jinxed me.”

He ambled the short distance to the Lebanese patisserie.Arriving first, he ordered Arabic coffees and took a seat at the small table tucked behind the glass front door.Amused, he watched the sideways glances Casildo attracted as he sauntered down the street.His friend had the charm and athleticism of Virat Kohli wrapped around the soul of the Dalai Lama.Cas slid onto a chair as the coffees were delivered to the table.

“You call, I’m at your service.What’s up?”

“You didn’t tell me a company has been negotiating for weeks to lease the third floor in your father’s building.”So much for his due diligence.Hunter hadn’t learned—or hadn’t been told, which didn’t sit right—about an almost-signed lease for one floor in the building he’d bought.

“The old childcare centre?”Cas spooned three sugars into his cup and stirred.

Hunter winced at the sugar overload.

“I didn’t know that.And it’s your building now.Who told you?”

“Changing Minds has spent quite a bit of money investigating the viability of the site as a new childcare centre for their staff.”For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Hunter didn’t mention Anna.

“I saw you panting after Anna Turner at last night’s cocktail party.”Casildo shook his head in seeming despair.

“I don’t pant.”Hunter drained his inky-evil coffee, the kick almost as powerful as the desire to see Anna again.

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