Husband Hunters Read Online Free

proffered in a sustained toast to herself, shouting things like ‘Daah-ling, have you met the Devlins?’ and ‘Oh, you must come to our summer house when it gets warmer — there’s plenty of room.’
    He watched for a moment, the pride plain on his face, before turning to Annabel.
    ‘Annabel, the most beautiful woman in the room … ah, I m-mean the second most beautiful, of course.’
    ‘Well done, Humpty.’ She leaned over and gave him a kiss. ‘I hope you’re very happy together.’
    He gave a satisfied sigh, then shuffled around to face her with a furrowed brow. ‘What about you? You look a bit forlorn. How’s your love life?’
    ‘Oh, you know me.’ She looked over his shoulder at the room full of men.
    ‘Don’t worry.’ Humpty pressed her knee gently. ‘He’s not here.’
    She smiled weakly. ‘Thank you. You used to be such good friends—’
    One of the perma-babes interrupted their conversation.
    ‘I haven’t seen you in any of the magazines for a while, Annabel,’ Veronica Bowers said. ‘Not modelling any more? It’s hard when your looks go, isn’t it?’ She screwed up her face like a squirrel that had bitten into something sour.
    ‘I’m in PR now, actually,’ Annabel said. ‘I run my own business.’
    ‘Aw,’ Veronica made a sympathetic noise. ‘Is that why you haven’t had time to find a husband?’
    Annabel gave her an acid smile, then put a forkful of pear tart into her mouth to stop herself from saying something she’d regret.
    ‘Annabel’s business is her one true love,’ Humpty said, coming to the rescue.
    Sweet Success was regarded as a rising star in the public relations world.
    ‘I work an eighty-hour week and it’s still less trouble than a man,’ Annabel said.
    ‘Well,’ said Veronica, standing, ‘look at you .’
    Humpty leaned towards Annabel and lowered his voice. ‘Speaking of trouble, any word from—’
    ‘No.’ She reached for her wine glass. ‘I haven’t heard a peep out of Hunter since Christmas.’
    ‘Good.’
    Hunter had been her only serious boyfriend. When they met she could tell he was not like all the others. Usually men would see her, lock onto their target, and charge over to attempt to sweep her off her feet. They were traders and she was just another commodity. They never asked her about herself. They just dropped their stats and made her an offer. Kyle, stockbroker, six foot two, thirty-four, $200k; Brenton, financial analyst, six foot four, thirty-six, $255k. They saw her as a trophy, and wanted to prove they were alpha-male enough to deserve something blonde and leggy. Hunter — Daniel Hunter, but everyone called him Hunter — had seemed different. At dinner parties he bragged about her career: the travel, the magazines shoots, the celebrities. But when she left modelling and her business started to take off, she noticed a change in his attitude. If she came home late after a long day he would be short-tempered and withdrawn, like a neglected animal.
    ‘What’s for dinner?’ he would ask, even though Annabel could hardly pour milk onto cereal without setting off the fire alarm.
    Annabel quickly learned to tread carefully when he was in these moods. She would set her keys down and speak in an even tone. Like when you are backing away from a large dog baring its fangs: ‘There boy, good boy.’
    ‘Oh, Hunter,’ she’d say with as much breeziness as she could muster, ‘I wasn’t sure whether you had eaten. I’ll order something, shall I?’
    That’s how she dealt with angry clients: don’t apologise, offer a solution.
    At this point he would either slink off, because he had already had a steak at the Harbour Club, or he would pick a fight.
    It got to the point that she felt nervous when she rode up the elevator at night. Walking into the hallway was like stepping into a lion’s den. He had a trip-wire temper. One false step and he would come at her: ‘Where have you been?’
    If there was an empty Scotch glass on the