Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gina
I cannot believe that Hunter is a frigging Waverly. Hunter is the man that I'm here to get a story on. Hunter is possibly engaged—or getting engaged. Why? I still can't believe it. I am the worst private investigator known to man.
As I head towards the living room for the writing group, I think about all the signs that I’d missed.
I walk into the living room and see Amethyst standing there, holding a cup of tea in her hands.
There's no one else in the room yet. She turns to me with a gleeful look, and my heart sinks. I don’t need her delusions this morning.
“Good morning, Gina.” I'm starting to get fed up with how cheery she is every day.
“Hi, Amethyst. How are you doing today?”
“Just peachy. What about yourself? How did the dinner party go?” It's at that moment I realize that maybe I can get some information out of Amethyst.
“It went really well. Thank you. I got to meet the Waverlys' grandson, Hunter.” I look into her eyes to see if her expression will change and possibly want to divulge information.
“Oh, yes. He's a handsome young man.”
“He definitely has a look about him,” I say, agreeing. “I heard that it was going to be a celebration for him, but I never quite found out what the celebration was for.”
“Oh, really?” Amethyst sips on her tea. “To be honest, I don't really know why Hunter is in town either. I think it has something to do with that rich model he was dating, but…” She shrugs.
“I'm kind of on the outs. I mean, if I were his grandmother, maybe I'd know, but I'm just the family friend.” She sips more tea and shakes her head. “No one shares these things with me.”
“I thought it was a little weird that I was told to make dinner for this big celebration, and yet I didn't know what the celebration was for, and no one mentioned it at the dinner.”
“How did the dinner go?” she asks, changing the subject.
“It went really well, thanks. Emma was great. She made steaks and salads and twice-baked potatoes, and I think everyone was really impressed.”
“That does sound delicious. I love red meat, though my doctor recommends I eat more fish. Did I ever tell you about the poem I wrote about a cow?”
“No,” I say, and I pray to God that she doesn't regale me with it now.
“It's a short one,” she says. “I can tell it to you now if you want.”
I don't want. I don't want, I think to myself, but I just nod slowly. “Sure.”
“Ooh, this is one of my favorites.” She takes a couple more sips of her tea, puts the cup and saucer down on a table, and then turns to me dramatically.
“Moo,” she says loudly, and it almost makes me jump.
“Moo,” she says again. I blink at her. I really hope there's going to be more words in the poem than moo.
“The cow goes moo, even when it's doing a poo. But you cannot go moo moo.” She says it again, her face contorting like she thinks she's the cow, and I wonder if she has finally cracked, and I'm finally seeing someone moments before they go into a mental institution. “Quack,” she says, and my jaw drops.
Wait. Wasn't she meant to say moo?
“Quack,” she says loudly. “The cow doesn't go quack. It goes moo. You know it's because you do too. These are the things that happen on the farm. These are the ways that we live to learn.”
She tries to rhyme learn with farm, but it doesn't quite work, and you can tell she realizes that because she shifts slightly and pauses.
“Moo,” she says again in a light tone. “Moo. That's the sound of the cow before it goes into the shed, before the farmer comes with his knife, and one last time it goes moo before it’s dead.” She pauses and looks at me expectantly, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
What I do know is that her final image has left me terrified.
“Well… that's powerful,” I say. “I feel like you're—” I lick my lips nervously. “Really making a statement about the meat industry.”
“Oh, do you think so?” she says, looking excited. “I wanted to write a book that would make people think twice about—” She pauses.
“About buying meat?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “About buying designer handbags.”
“Huh?” I stare at her, and she beams like she has another poem she wants to share that explains, and I will light the house on fire before I listen to it. I'm about to turn around and leave the room because obviously, she's crazy, when Captain walks in.
“Good morning, Captain.”
“Top of the morning to you,” he says in a Scottish voice, and I can't help but laugh. “Morning there, lassie.”
“I didn't know that you were from the British Isles,” I say, and he bursts out laughing.
“Well, I'm not, but I have an alter ego that thinks he was a pirate back in the days of Elizabeth the First and the Spanish Armada.”
Shit, here we go again. This is really not happening, is it?
“Good morning, everyone.” Enid walks in, beaming. “Oh, Gina. Let me thank you once again for the delicious dinner you made last night. It was fantastic. I've never had a steak so soft, so succulent, so special.” She looks over at Amethyst and nods. “You are here early.”
“Not really. I thought the meeting was meant to start five minutes ago.”
“Was it?” Enid says, shrugs, and walks over to Captain and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “We must go out for a sail on the boat one of these days, Captain.”
“I would like that,” he says. “In fact, I've written a short story about a fisherman and a dolphin. Would everyone like to hear it?”
“I would love to,” I say quickly, “but I just remembered that I needed to do some research for the book.
I'm so sorry, Mrs. Waverly, but would you mind if I actually miss today's writing group?” She stares at me in dismay, but I don't wait for her answer.
“Thank you. I'm going to go to the library now.” I head out of the living room and practically run down the hallway, then go up the stairs to the library and take a deep breath.
“I'm living in the Twilight Zone,” I say.
I'm about to call Emma when I see my phone is already ringing.
Holly again. Shit. I want to groan. I know she must be furious because I haven't spoken to her in days now.
I take a seat at the table and look around the library.
It's filled with leather-bound books, and I notice a stack of photo albums and yearbooks.
I jump up and grab one of them and start looking through them.
There are pictures of the Waverly family, including photos of Enid and Preston on their wedding day.
I decide to look up a family tree to see if there are any other members of the family that I could possibly try and find out about.
It feels icky writing about Hunter. I grab my phone and go to Google, then start typing in the different Waverly names.
I find a number of articles about Preston and Enid, their children, and several about Hunter.
It looks like he disappeared from all public appearances about a year and a half ago. He'd been in a high-profile relationship with a famous model-turned-actress, and one of the last articles states that she was excited because she thought an engagement was coming soon.
I wonder then if it turned out to be true.
Was the celebration for his engagement?
Though she hadn't been there last night. I am almost positive of that fact. I would have noticed a famous, beautiful model at the party. And, he flirted with me. He'd also gone skinny-dipping in the ocean last night, and I am pretty sure that he saw me when he got out.
I close my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach. There are so many things going through my mind, and yet I just don't know how to process any of them.
Hunter Waverly is a billionaire.
Hunter Waverly is not a gardener.
Hunter Waverly is the head of the Waverly Corporation.
He now runs the business—not Preston, not his father.
Hunter Waverly was last known to be dating a gorgeous supermodel.
And now, Hunter Waverly is in Whisper Cove.
There's a story there. I know it. But I'm scared to dig deeper.
I'm scared of what I'm going to find out, both because I don't want to cross any lines and because I am attracted to him.
My phone rings again, and I see that it's Holly. I decide to answer this time.
“Gina, where have you been?”
“I am at the Waverly Estate.”
“Gina. Tell me you've got some good news for me.”
“I may have some good news for you,” I say, though I don't feel happy about the conversation we're having. “I've made contact with the grandson,” I say softly, “and he's here in Whisper Cove, celebrating something.”
“Celebrating what?”
“His engagement. Possibly.”
“Yes!” She sounds positively ecstatic. “Tell me you've got the story.”
“I don't have the story yet. They're keeping it very hush-hush,” I say, “so I assume whatever the story is, it's bigger than just a simple engagement.
Maybe he was engaged, then broke it off, and they got back together, or maybe there's a reason he's not announcing it yet. Like she’s pregnant.” My heart drops.
“This sounds juicy.” She's practically cackling. “I can see the headline now. Elusive Billionaire Knocks Up Supermodel. What else do you have?”
“Nothing,” I say, wanting to throw up.
“You need to get the story, Gina.” Her tone is no longer excited. “Like yesterday.”
“I'm working on it. You know this.”
“If you want to save your job and actually make a name for yourself in this industry, I'm going to need the best story of your life.
I'm going to need you to provide information so skin-tingling that everyone in the world is going to wish they had gotten this story first. I want TMZ and the Post to be in shock that we got the scoop before them. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard, because the fact of the matter is I don't want TMZ in shock over me.
“Gina?”
“Yes, Holly,” I say, scared as to what she's going to say next.
“Good job. I didn't have faith in you in the beginning, but you're proving me wrong now. Bring it home.” She hangs up on me before I can say anything else, and I just stare at the phone in my hand. I feel uneasy, like I'm going to throw up. I need to get a story that I don't know I can get.
There's a knock on the door, and it opens. I look up, thinking it’s going to be Enid telling me to come back downstairs, but instead, I see the twinkling blue eyes of Hunter.
“Hi,” he says, looking at me curiously. “Enid and Amethyst told me that you might be in here.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah.” He heads over and takes a seat at the table and gives me a wry smile, and I can’t stop my heart from racing.
“I think I owe you a bit of an apology.”
“You do?” I ask him in surprise.
“Yeah, I do. I know you thought I was the gardener, and I didn't correct you, and well… even though that was an assumption you made, it was a lie of omission by me, and I don't like lying. So, I'm sorry.” I'm taken aback by his words. That was the last thing I'd expected to hear from him.
“It's okay. I know now that you're Hunter Waverly, and you just like to putter around in the garden for whatever reason.”
“And I know now that you're Gina Spellman, and you’re a ghostwriter for my grandparents.”
“Oh.” I don’t feel well.
“Also,” he says, “I wasn’t very nice that day.”
“What?” Now I’m even more taken aback.
“The day at the bakery, when you were spying on your boyfriend. I felt bad about eating that cupcake. And I felt bad when he cheated on you and then dumped you. No one deserves that.”
“Thanks, I guess.” My eyes narrow. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“I don't know.” He grins. “Why do you think?”
“Is this because you want to get into my pants?”
“Well, Gina Spellman, I am many things, but I'm not a douchebag,” he says, grinning. “If I want to get into your pants, I'll do it the old-fashioned way.” He leans forward across the table. “You know what I mean?”
I swallow hard as I shake my head. He's giving me fuck-me eyes, and my entire body is responding like we're on a date. I'm going to need to calm the fuck down because this man is not someone I need to think about dating.
“Do I scare you?” he says softly.
“No. Why would I be scared?”
“I don't know. Whenever I flirt with you, you kind of go all quiet and blush.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Don't tell me you're nervous or shy…. Does the cat have your tongue?”
“It doesn't,” I say quickly.
“Okay, well that's good.” He looks over at the albums in front of me, and he frowns.
“What are these?” he asks. I look up at him with wide eyes because I don't know what to say. He stands up and walks over to my side of the desk and stands behind me. I swallow hard as I notice that he's looking at a photo of himself. Shit, I think to myself.
I look up at him, and there's a baffled expression on his face.
“What's going on, Gina?” he says. “You seem more interested in me than you were letting on.”