The Enemy Contract (Westbrook #2)

8. Hunter

Chapter 8

Hunter

A s commanded, I arrived just on time for A Night Beneath the Stars , a masquerade ball being thrown in the grand ballroom of Charleston’s largest luxury hotel. The ballroom was stunning, with an ornate glass ceiling which allowed all guests to see the stars above, hence the name for the evening.

I couldn’t help but smirk about the similarities between tonight and Avery’s fake stargazing story he’d told Linda and her obnoxious reporter friend.

Turning to my left, I saw Avery standing near the bar, waiting for the drinks he’d ordered. He turned and looked at me, giving me a dramatic wink just as Mother had instructed him. But for some reason, it seemed like he was enjoying it more than usual.

The truth was, so was I.

But I needed to keep that to myself until the sale of Harborstone was complete.

Seeing some of Charleston’s wealthiest residents walk around with masks covering their faces was unusual. Normally, it was a see-and-be-seen type of town, with everyone wanting to have their face splashed across society pages. But not tonight.

Tonight, there was an aura of mystery and intrigue in the air. The masquerade theme lent itself to mistaken identities and hushed, whispered secrets.

Avery winked again before slipping his mask over his face.

At the center of the room was the dance floor, a polished collection of marble tiles, reflecting the light from candles and candelabras nearby. Each white-linen-clothed table was adorned with flickering candles in ornate lanterns, a subtle nod to Charleston’s beautiful summer nights.

On a raised dais near the front of the room, a string quartet performed, their beautiful music weaving poetically with the gentle hum of conversation.

Each attendee had a unique mask covering their face, each a work of art unique to its owner. Some wore sleek, monochrome masks, others had elaborate Venetian masks, and others had masks shaped like animals—foxes, rabbits, lions.

“Mr. Westbrook,” said a voice beside me, feminine and familiar. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

I turned to see a woman wearing a vibrant blue mask, standing unnervingly close to me. Her lips curled into a smile that was both knowing and annoying, as if she knew me. Her champagne flute dangled in her gloved fingers.

She had the presence of a predator circling its prey.

I took a step back. “It’s quite an interesting event.”

“Interesting, indeed,” she said with a chuckle. “And your date for the evening, such a photogenic man. You’re lucky.”

My posture suddenly stiffened, and I fought the urge to look for an exit. “He’s a wonderful guy, I’m the lucky one.”

She tilted her head as if examining me. “I’m such a curious person. Tell me, what’s Avery’s favorite song? Or better yet, what do you argue about the most? It can’t be about money, I’ve heard the Ashfords don’t let their kids touch the family wallet.”

My jaw clenched as anger rose through my chest. “Excuse me? Who the hell are you?”

She laughed quietly. “Do you not recognize me? It’s Linda Whitaker, dear.”

Does this woman ever back off?

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, leaning forward to whisper. “You’ll get to know me much better soon. I always make sure of that.”

Before I could reply, she pointed her drink toward the bar. “Isn’t that your partner over there? I do hope he’s able to remember which side of the story he’s on tonight.”

A thousand angry words tugged at my lips, but I remained silent as she walked away.

Suddenly, and without warning, Mother appeared by my side, drink in hand.

My blood pressure instantly went up.

Her sapphire mask only added to her air of authority and superiority, especially considering that she had what looked to be real diamonds dotted along the mask.

Only Betsy Westbrook.

Without saying hello, she wrapped her arm through mine and guided me toward the edge of the ballroom.

I groaned once we were far enough away that no one could hear. “Mother, I’m not in the mood for one of your pep talks right now. This is stressful.”

She scowled at me. “Good, Hunter, because this isn’t a pep talk—it’s an order.”

Her mask was tilted just enough for me to see her fiery eyes, and I could tell that she meant business.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Listen to me,” she said, leaning in. “You’re going to propose to Avery Ashford, Hunter.”

I blinked twice. “Um… excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter,” she said calmly, as if she was recommending a new dish at a restaurant. “A grand, romantic, undeniable proposal. Something that will make all of Charleston—including Linda Whitaker—choke on their gossip.”

I was starting to wonder if Mother cared more about the four hundred million or getting even with Linda Whitaker.

With Betsy, it was impossible to know for sure.

I let out a laugh. “Mother, you can’t be serious. We’re already pushing our luck with the fake dates, and now you think I should propose?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing says serious like a proposal, darling. Pretending to date is for amateurs. Lockwood will absolutely eat this up, I’m telling you. And Linda? Bless her heart, she’ll be too busy cooking up conspiracy theories.”

I dragged a hand down my face, trying to shake myself out of my stupor. “You can’t be serious, Mother.”

“I’m dead serious,” she snapped, lifting her mask so I could see her face. “Unless of course you’d like to see Marcus Lockwood lose interest, the deal fall apart, and your dear old mother be forced to reconsider all inheritances.”

Before I could answer, her gaze shifted to the other side of the room.

“Look at that!” she said, pointing toward the bar. “Avery’s in the lion’s den, unfortunately.”

I looked to where she was pointing and saw Linda hovering like a predator near Avery who, to his credit, seemed like he was handling her conversation with surprising ease and grace. It almost looked like he was charming her—laughing at her jokes, relaxed body posture. For a brief moment, I felt a hint of pride coursing through me.

Avery could certainly hold his own.

Betsy smirked at me. “See what I mean? Avery is a natural. It’ll be perfectly convincing once you put a ring on his finger.”

“Mother,” I said with a sigh, “tell me, what happens when this charade is all over?”

She reached out and gently placed a hand on my shoulder. “Then you’ll tell the world it didn’t work out and you part ways like adults. Relationships end all the time. But by that point, the gallery will be sold. Until then, you need to give them a good story, so they’ll never see the cracks in the foundation.”

I turned back to look at Avery who was laughing at something Linda had said. He was good at this kind of thing—maybe too good.

Betsy slipped her mask over her face and whispered, “Think about it, darling. Because the clock is ticking. And if you don’t act fast, Linda will sniff out the truth and act faster than you can say ‘I do.’”

I knew she was right about Linda. The woman would pounce on the tiniest mistake and capitalize on it.

“Tick-tock, dear,” Mother said as she slipped back into the crowd.

Her laughter blended perfectly with the music, as if she had staged the scene herself.

Whether I liked it or not, the situation—and the stakes—were perfectly clear.

I couldn’t risk losing control of the narrative—not with everything on the line.