7. Avery
Chapter 7
Avery
I ’d been summoned to Betsy’s office at Westbrook Meadows, which looked more like a throne room than a workspace—and that only heightened my fear. Every corner of the place intimidated me, reminding me that Betsy was the queen of this estate—and maybe even the world, or at least it felt that way sometimes.
The walls of the office were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each book arranged neatly next to another. Her antique wood desk was covered with scattered papers, crystal paperweights, and a half-empty cup of coffee sitting too close to the edge.
Her chair was high-backed and made her look like the monarch she evidently thought she was.
Betsy pointed to one of the chairs opposite her and I sank into it, glancing over at Hunter who was slouching beside me, giving off the vibe of a teenager who was being scolded by the principal.
“Well,” Betsy practically huffed at us, “who wants to explain why Mr. Carter from the Post labeled your romance ‘The Most Uninspired Soap Opera Charleston Has Ever Seen’?”
She leaned back and glared at us with an icy stare. “Anyone?”
“We didn’t invite him,” Hunter sighed. “Linda Whitaker ambushed us and wouldn’t let us get away.”
“Ambushed?” she shouted as she rose to her feet. “Hunter, are you joking? You’re Charleston’s most eligible bachelor, not a deer caught in Linda Whitaker’s headlights. If someone makes you uncomfortable, you turn around and walk away. And that trashy reporter had the nerve to call me overbearing—he doesn’t even know me!”
I wanted to remain silent, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Well?—”
Betsy’s head whipped around, and she shot me an icy cold look, making me feel like I’d stepped into a lion’s den where she was in control.
Hunter quickly cleared his throat, obviously attempting to draw her attention back to him and safely away from me. “Mother, we dodged as many of their questions as we could. What else could we have done?”
“What a dazzling display!” Betsy said, sarcasm dripping off her words. She was absolutely livid. “Hunter evidently cannot name Avery’s parents—how simple is that? And Avery, you don’t even know Hunter’s middle name? Have you not heard of Google? It’s free, so I’m sure it fits right in your budget.”
“Hey!” Hunter protested, attempting to speak up for me.
“Don’t interrupt,” she fired back. “That was like watching a tacky game show where the grand prize is humiliation in front of our entire social circle. Avery, if you have things you want to say about me, why don’t you say them to my face instead of leaking them to reporters?”
“But—” I protested, but she cut me off.
“Save your explanations.”
“Mother,” Hunter chimed in, “we didn’t know they were reporters. Either time.”
“That’s not the point,” she chided. “If you’re in a public place with people nearby, don’t discuss sensitive matters!”
“We had good intentions,” I said, my voice shaking more than I intended it to.
She spun on her heels to face me. “Do you think the public gives a damn about intentions , Avery? This is Charleston, darling—the only currency that matters here is reputation. And right now, our market is plummeting.”
Hunter sat back in his chair. “Mother, you’re exaggerating.”
“Am I?” she quipped, picking up a nearby notebook and flipping through it with dramatic flair. “You’ve given Linda enough information to last a lifetime, and you’ve given this hack journalist Mr. Carter a new career.”
“All right, Mother. We get it.”
I frowned, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips. “Betsy, what’s the solution here?”
She returned to her chair and fell back into it. “The solution, dear, is for you two to pretend to be a romantic couple who can save four hundred million dollars from walking out the door—simple, right? I’m not asking for much. A little charm, a dash of chemistry—maybe even a public display of affection that doesn’t look like two strangers being held at gunpoint.”
We are at gunpoint , I thought, but didn’t dare say it.
She rose to her feet again and stepped closer toward Hunter. “Now, can I trust you to play your part, or will our family dynasty be ruined because my son can’t fake a decent smile?”
Hunter opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
Being lectured by Betsy was like being scolded by a dragon in high-end designer heels.