The Enemy Contract (Westbrook #2)

5. Hunter

Chapter 5

Hunter

T he morning after the gala, I’d retreated to Westbrook Meadows, hoping for a pleasant day wandering the grounds. The kitchen in my downtown condo was being renovated, and occasionally I liked to step away from the noise and racket. A five-hundred-acre private estate was the perfect place to unwind.

Not to mention the fact that Mother had summoned me.

“Hunter!”

Betsy’s voice echoed through the garden, and I turned to see her standing by the front door. She waved me over, and I knew I had no choice but to oblige.

A moment later, I followed her into the kitchen and noticed her notepad conveniently placed on the kitchen counter.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, picking up her notepad and flipping through it with the flair of a CEO delivering bad news at a company meeting. “It’s time for your debriefing.”

“My de?—”

She waved a manicured hand to silence me. “A debriefing, darling. We need to review last night’s performance before tonight’s garden party.”

A prolonged sigh escaped my lips. “Another party, Mother? How many events, galas, and soirees can one person attend?”

She scanned her notepad, not making eye contact with me.

“And what do you mean by performance? It was a charity gala, not an evening at the opera.”

She shot me a look that made me feel like a scolded child. “Nonsense. That was the debut of Charleston’s newest, most exciting romance. And while it was… decent, there’s still plenty of room for improvement.”

I sat on a stool in front of the kitchen island. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she fired back. “First things first; your smile. Your expression needs to say, ‘I’m madly in love’ not ‘I’m being held against my will, send help.’ We’re trying to sell a romance, darling, not a hostage negotiation.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her comments. “What else, Mother? Should I twirl Avery under the moonlight?”

Her eyes suddenly gleamed. “Now that’s the kind of thing I like to hear. You know, a little theatrics wouldn’t kill you.”

“That remains to be seen,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “I’m not twirling anyone.”

Suddenly, a shuffling presence behind me caught my eye.

It was Martin, moving through the room like a shadow as he served coffee.

“Second,” she said, sipping her coffee, “your posture. You were slouching, darling, you need to stand tall. You’re a Westbrook, dear, not a question mark.”

“Duly noted,” I said dryly, hoping this would be over soon.

I rose to my feet and turned toward the door. “I have to head out.”

“One last thing,” she said, causing me to turn and face her yet again. “Give it some spark! I’ve seen more chemistry from a bag of marshmallows.”

“I thought we were aiming for subtle.”

“Subtlety is for cowards,” she hissed. “Charleston wants drama! Do you know what Linda Whitaker said to me last night?”

I shook my head.

“She called your performance lukewarm ,” Mother said, rolling her eyes and pressing a hand to her chest as if she had been personally insulted.

“Understood,” I said. “Less lukewarm.”

I nodded and turned to walk out of the kitchen.

“Young man,” she said, her voice low and commanding, cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen.

I recognized the tone. It was the tone that had stopped me in my tracks more times than I cared to count. It was the kind of voice that meant Betsy Westbrook wasn’t just speaking.

She was issuing a decree, and she meant business.

I turned slowly to face her. She sat back in her chair, one eyebrow arched, and casually tapped her pen on her notepad.

“Do I need to remind you what’s at stake?” she asked.

“I think I’m clear,” I said, but the tight expression on her face told me I wasn’t clear enough.

She leaned forward, resting one hand elegantly on the table. “Let me ask you something, Hunter; do you think I enjoy this little charade? Do you think I wake up in the morning excited to orchestrate faux romances? No, I don’t. There are hundreds of millions of dollars at stake here. I’m doing this because this family’s future depends on it. Your future depends on it.”

I took a deep breath. “My future?”

“Don’t play coy,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You know very well that I don’t hand out opportunities very often, Hunter. This isn’t just about Harborstone Gallery or the Ashford family. This is about ensuring that, when I’m no longer here, the Westbrook name doesn’t just survive—it thrives.”

I understood what she meant. Mother had always wanted to create the kind of wealth that would secure our family’s future generations. After acquiring all the material possessions one could ask for, her focus now was security and legacy.

“And how you handle this delicate situation with Avery…” she continued, “well, let’s just say it will factor into how I decide certain things moving forward.”

Certain things.

A chill ran down my spine and I shivered.

She hadn’t said it outright, but I had spent my entire life around Betsy Westbrook, and I knew when she was dangling the inheritance carrot.

“Do you think I’m going to let some tacky scandal tarnish what your father and I built together?” she asked. “Absolutely not.”

I folded my arms, trying not to look defensive.

“Your father left me a legacy that he trusted me to protect,” she said, rising from her chair, her expression filled with righteous indignation. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been coasting ever since you sold that little travel agency of yours, I forget the name of it.”

“Hey!” I said, my jaw dropping.

I’d sold my travel agency for a rather impressive sum of eight hundred thousand dollars, but that was chump change to my mother.

“I’m not coasting,” I protested, but her arched eyebrow told me I needn’t bother. “I’m just doing a little… recalibrating.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Call it whatever you want, darling, but if you want me to believe that you’re sincerely ready for what’s next, you’ll need to play your part with Avery. The way you handle this will show me what your priorities are.”

“I understand,” I said, my voice partially clipped.

She gave the kind of smile that was both warm and intimidating. “Good, darling. Now go! Dazzle Charleston. And if you see Linda Whitaker, give her one of those polite smiles that suggests you know something she doesn’t.”

I turned to walk out of the kitchen. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice echoing through the room. “Don’t let me down, Hunter—we need to make this work. I have some very expensive plans.”

When Betsy Westbrook threw a garden party, she didn’t skimp on the extravagance.

The Wildflower Terrace Garden was simply stunning, spanning five acres within Westbrook Meadows.

The funniest part was that there were neither terraces nor wildflowers in the garden.

“It’s aspirational,” she’d said with a wink whenever asked about the garden.

No one ever knew what it aspired to be, but over the years the name stuck and now it was a part of the estate’s lore just like Betsy herself.

Guests milled about the garden in their finest attire, and I immediately noticed some of Charleston’s wealthiest faces. When attending as many parties as I did, many of the faces not only became familiar, but in fact started to blur.

I tapped my foot, impatiently waiting for Avery to show up.

He was five minutes late, and I knew that Mother hated tardiness.

If she saw me standing by myself, she’d blow a fuse.

The buzzing sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled my ears, easing none of my anxiety. I scanned the crowd, noticing a well-dressed man holding a camera. Probably a member of the press. The presence of media and speculation made the atmosphere even more tense. Mother had insisted that we execute this flawlessly, and the pressure was mounting.

Finally, I saw Avery walking toward me.

“You’re late,” I hissed as he approached.

He feigned shock, glancing down at his watch. “Six minutes late; do you want to file a formal complaint, or should we just do this?”

Wow .

For some reason, I hadn’t expected Avery to fire back like that.

Maybe he was having a bad day.

“You know how my mother feels about time,” I said, trying to clue him in to how important this was.

“And you know how I feel about being micromanaged,” he said, pursing his lips. “Besides, I was tying up a few loose ends with Linda Whitaker. She cornered me by the entrance and demanded to know if we were serious. Evidently, all of Charleston thinks you’re quite the catch.”

I blinked once. “What did you say to her, Avery?”

Avery’s words were laced with sarcasm. “Nothing you wouldn’t approve of, dear .”

I shook my head. “Don’t do that, Avery.”

“Do what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. You’re making this harder than it really needs to be.”

Avery chuckled. “I didn’t tell her much, just that you’re very high maintenance.”

My jaw clenched. “Hey, you can’t just?—”

He interrupted me. “I can, Hunter. And I did. Look, if I have to play this game I’m going to play it my way.”

My eyes narrowed as I glared at him. “Don’t test me, Avery. Betsy is already furious.”

“So, what else is new?” he quipped. “She’s always furious.”

I grimaced. “She probably already noticed your absence and has likely launched an investigation.”

“Oh no!” Avery said, deadpanning as his smirk grew even wider. “Should I prepare for an interrogation by the queen?”

“You’re lucky Betsy hasn’t sent out a search party… yet.”

Avery tilted his head and glared at me. “Ah yes, Betsy, the puppet master. Do you think she’s keeping tabs on her pearl-encrusted clipboard in the house? She’s the most overly dramatic person I’ve ever met. Betsy is a creature who doesn’t age, she just morphs over time into newer, more terrifying forms of dominance.”

My patience was starting to wear thin. “Do you think this is funny, Avery? We’re talking about my family’s reputation. And you are talking about my mother.”

He scoffed, his tone light but cutting. “Believe me, I understand. After all, who could possibly forget about the legendary Westbrook honor?”

Avery’s jab hit me right in the gut, harder than I’d like to admit out loud. I quickly opened my mouth to respond with a similarly venom-laced comment, but a flash of movement caught my eye, distracting me.

The well-dressed man I’d seen earlier was lingering near the roses, casually filming us.

Suddenly, I felt sick.

“Don’t look now,” I said through clenched teeth, “but we’re being recorded.”

For a brief moment, Avery’s smirk faltered as he turned his head slightly, catching site of the cameraman. Instantly, his expression changed into one of rehearsed charm with a graceful, relaxed pose.

“Perfect,” Avery said with a forced smile, “should we give them a show, Hunter?”

I gulped, trying to mask the panic that was washing over me. “What?”

He chuckled. “Try looking like you don’t want to kill me.”

I reached over and took Avery’s hand, our fingers interlacing in what I hoped looked like a natural gesture. For a fleeting second, it felt surprisingly good to hold onto Avery.

But I knew it probably wasn’t enough to fool the amateur cameraman. He trained his camera on us, like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

He was standing close enough that I knew his microphone must have caught Avery’s comments about Betsy, and I was nearly certain she’d hear about it right away.

Every second that passed felt like an eternity as my mind raced with thoughts of what might happen next.

If Mother hadn’t seen the video by the time we got back to the house, someone would definitely send it to her. With social media, information traveled instantly.

“You realize she’s going to hear that, right?” I asked as soon as we had wandered far enough away that the cameraman couldn’t hear us.

Avery smirked and took a sip of his champagne. “I didn’t realize I was being recorded when I said it. Besides, if your mother didn’t want a little bit of fun, she wouldn’t have dragged us into this circus.”

“Are you trying to get us killed?” I asked, fury coursing through my veins. “Betsy will find a way to make this miserable for both of us.”

“Then let her,” he said, nodding toward the cameraman who had followed us and was within earshot again. “But for now, try to look a little more in love and a little less like you’re plotting my ultimate demise.”

“I swear, Avery,” I said, leaning in to whisper. “If this comes back to bite me in the ass, I’m taking you down with me.”

Avery squeezed my hand harder than it had ever been squeezed. “Now that’s the spirit, Hunter. Let’s give this guy a reason to stay interested.”

Before I could say a word, Avery took a step closer to me. His body brushed against mine, subtly enough that it looked natural and not overplayed. My face turned red as the camera zoomed in on us, capturing the perfect image of a couple faking love.

And all the while, the invisible storm brewed inside me just beneath the surface, invisible to anyone watching but all too apparent to me.