The Enemy Contract (Westbrook #2)

4. Avery

Chapter 4

Avery

C ool evening air rushed over my skin as the limo driver opened the door for me.

The sprawling Whitaker estate loomed over us like something out of a magazine spread. It was a strange feeling being shuffled from one gorgeous home to another.

Lanterns lined the cobblestone pathway which led directly to the front of the house.

Charleston’s most elite citizens mingled beneath the glow of beautiful chandeliers. Every conversation, every laugh, and every click of a champagne flute felt amplified in my ears, heightened by my all-encompassing anxiety.

Hunter and I were essentially on a stage giving a performance.

And my entire world hinged upon giving a stellar show.

I turned and looked at Hunter as he adjusted his cufflinks like he didn’t have a care in the world.

He looked almost annoyingly at ease in this type of environment. He carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that comes from a lifetime of walking into rooms where everyone already knows your name and family history.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Coming?”

His tone was breezy and casual, but his eyes held a flicker of something else.

Something challenging.

Something exciting.

“I feel like an actor with no lines,” I said, trying to force a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, “no one’s expecting much of you.”

I tugged at my tie for the thirtieth time that night, staring back at Hunter.

“Wow,” I said, deadpanning, “how comforting. Thank you.”

He playfully nudged me and turned to face the partygoers that were standing around.

As we walked toward the entrance of the house, the buzz of conversation seemed to swell out of nowhere. Heads turned and whispers echoed throughout the hallways.

My stomach tightened and a knot formed in my throat.

As we walked, I caught snippets of murmured conversations—is that Hunter Westbrook? And who’s that with him?—and fought the urge to sprint back to the limousine.

The first handshake came almost immediately from a man with a perfectly tailored suit and an even more perfectly fake smile.

“Hello, Hunter,” he said, placing his hand on Hunter’s back with familiarity. “It’s so good to see you. And who’s this with you?”

Hunter’s grip on my arm tightened slightly, and I had to admit I felt a small thrill at the sensation of his fingers digging into my skin.

“This is Avery Ashford,” he said, smooth as silk. “My date.”

I tried to force a smile, but I knew it probably came across as a grimace.

“Welcome, Avery,” the man said. “I wasn’t expecting Hunter to bring someone so… approachable.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my tone cool and confident, although I was pretty sure he’d just insulted me. “I try to keep people guessing.”

It was as if no one around me had any idea who my family was. Sure, they hadn’t shared a single dime with me since my eighteenth birthday, but no one here knew that.

At least… I didn’t think they knew.

Then again, Charleston was always alive with the gossip of shared family secrets.

Even still, the Ashford name should carry some cache.

Some respect.

But next to a Westbrook, evidently, I was invisible.

The man lingered and talked to Hunter for a moment longer before excusing himself.

I turned to Hunter. “This is ridiculous.”

Before he could reply, Betsy appeared out of nowhere, her emerald brooch catching the light like a beacon.

“Ridiculous is an understatement,” she said, gently ushering us off to the side so no one could overhear. “What kind of an entrance was that? Do you two even know how to stage a scandal the right way?”

Hunter rolled his eyes and groaned. “Mother, not now please.”

She stepped between us, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Yes, now . You’re giving the audience polite smiles and gentle touches?”

Hunter frowned.

“Darling,” she continued, leaning in closer to whisper as if she was sharing state secrets, “they’re yawning into their glasses. The Whitaker’s poodles are drawing more attention than the two of you; honestly, I’ve seen potpourri with more intense chemistry.” She jabbed her flute of champagne in our direction. “If you’re going to convince Charleston that this romance is real, you’ll need to give them fireworks.”

“I think we’re doing fine,” I said, hoping to steer her away so we could try again.

I could see that her presence was irritating Hunter, and for some reason that bothered me.

“Fine?” Betsy asked with a theatrical laugh. “Avery, fine doesn’t make it into the gossip columns, sweetheart.”

She waved her hand dismissively and added, “No, no, no. You’re madly in love with one another! At least, that’s what we’re telling them. Now act like it!”

Hunter rubbed an exasperated hand down his face. “What do you recommend, Mother? A dramatic dip while dancing? A written declaration of love for one another? Perhaps the recital of a sonnet?”

“Oh, a sonnet!” Betsy squealed, then reigned herself in. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Would you like me to set myself on fire?” Hunter deadpanned, making me chuckle.

“Now, that’s the spirit,” Betsy said with a huge grin. “But let’s start smaller. A kiss on the cheek.”

I froze in place. “What?”

“Oh, don’t be shy, Avery, for goodness’ sake,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just a cheek. Unless…” Her grin turned wicked for a moment. “Unless you’re feeling brave?”

“Mother!” Hunter growled, his voice a low warning.

“Fine!” Betsy exclaimed. “No Shakespeare tonight. But something must happen—I want a show. If I don’t hear at least one audible gasp from across the hall, you’ll both be doing this again tomorrow—but with choreography!”

Hunter let out a deep sigh. “You’re impossible, Mother. Honestly.”

“And you’re boring,” she fired back, not missing a beat.

She sipped her champagne like a queen surveying her kingdom, proud of her charades.

Next, she studied me. “Avery, darling, are you going to stand by and let Hunter bore you into oblivion? Or are you going to seize the moment and make all of Charleston believe in love again?”

I blinked twice. “This feels… a bit extreme for a charity event.”

“Extreme?” Betsy asked, feigning a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve barely scratched the surface of extreme. Do you see Linda Whitaker over there? The one with the pearls big enough to moor a large yacht? She’s running her mouth and telling everyone this is just a PR stunt. Are you going to let me lose to Charleston’s pearl-encrusted parrot?”

Hunter groaned but Betsy cut him off and pointed a finger at me.

“Sweep Avery off his feet. Figuratively or literally, I really don’t care. And for heaven’s sake, Avery, smile! People are watching.”

My face burned with embarrassment. “I think I need a drink first.”

Betsy smirked, her smile spreading from ear to ear. “You can have a drink after you dazzle me, dear. And not before.” She leaned in much closer, her voice almost a stage whisper and I smelled her overpowering perfume. “Remember what I told you, boys: gasps. I want gasps .”

She sauntered away with her champagne flute in the air.

Hunter turned and looked at me, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“This is absolutely insane,” I said. “Your mother’s insane—I’m sorry, Hunter, but it’s true.”

He smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

It was nice to see a smile play at his lips after such a long day.

“So?” I asked, my heart racing. “What’s it going to be? A dip while dancing? A kiss on the cheek?”

Hunter chuckled.

“Or…” I asked, “should I just jump into your arms and hope for the best?”

“You’re awfully bold for someone who’s terrified of little ol’ Betsy Westbrook.”

“Me?” I asked with a playful scoff. “I’m not scared of her.”

“Oh yeah?” Hunter asked, raising a single eyebrow. “Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air, lingering between the two of us like a dare I couldn’t refuse.

My pulse rapidly quickened as his words set in.

Prove it.

I tilted my chin up in complete defiance. “Fine. But if I go down in flames, Hunter… I’m taking you down with me.”

Hunter smirked at me. His confidence was maddening.

“Deal,” he said between pursed lips.

Without giving myself a chance to second-guess it, I reached out and grabbed his hand. Much to my own surprise, I spun him toward me. Evidently, the motion caught Hunter off guard. His balance shifted and for a moment I thought I might send us both crashing into the floor. But Hunter, always composed and in control, centered and steadied us with ease. His other hand landed squarely on my waist and pulled me close.

Too close.

Murmurs began to rise around us.

All of Charleston’s elite were watching us.

Gossiping. Staring. Gawking.

Then I saw Betsy out of the corner of my eye. She was standing on the edge of the room mouthing the word cheek like a coach overdoing it from the sidelines.

I turned back to Hunter who looked even more confident than before.

“Don’t look so damn smug,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Not smug,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Just impressed.”

“Oh, that’s nothing.”

I leaned in and listened as the crowd’s murmur turned into a collective gasp while I kissed his cheek. It wasn’t a polite peck, but something much more deliberate. Lingering—simmering. The heat of Hunter’s skin on my lips sent a jolt through my entire body. For a moment, I forgot why we were doing this.

When I pulled back, Hunter’s eyes met mine and I saw a flicker or something that indicated it wasn’t just for show. A hint of surprise, or maybe even admiration.

Then again, I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking Hunter could be attracted to someone like me.

But his lips curled up into a devious grin. “Bold move, Mr. Ashford—very bold.”

“Desperate times, Mr. Westbrook,” I said, steadying my voice in spite of the wildfire that coursed through every inch of my body.

And with that, we had the entire room wrapped around our fingers.