I agreed to sit down with Alisa’s high-priced media consultant. Not because I had any intention of going through with tonight’s charity gala, but because it was the one way I knew of to make sure that everyone else left me alone.
“There are three things we’re going to work on today, Avery.” The consultant, an elegant Black woman with a posh British accent, had introduced herself as Landon. I had no idea if that was her first name or her last. “After the attack this morning, there will be more interest in your story
—and your sister’s—than ever.”
Libby wouldn’t hurt me, I thought desperately. She wouldn’t let Drake hurt me. And then: She didn’t block his number.
“The three things we will be practicing today are what to say, how to say it, and how to identify things you shouldn’t say and demur.” Landon was poised, precise, and more stylish than either of my stylists. “Now, obviously, there is going to be some interest in the unfortunate incident that took place this morning, but your legal team would prefer you say as little on that front as possible.”
That front being the second attempt on my life in three days. Libby isn’t involved. She can’t be.
“Repeat after me,” Landon instructed, “I’m grateful to be alive, and I’m grateful to be here tonight.”
I blocked out the thoughts dogging me, as much as I could. “I’m grateful to be alive,” I repeated stonily, “and I’m grateful to be here tonight.”
Landon gave me a look. “How do you think you sound?” “Pissed?” I guessed dourly.
Landon offered me a gentle suggestion. “Perhaps try sounding less pissed.” She waited a moment, and then assessed the way I was sitting. “Open up your shoulders. Loosen those muscles. Your posture is the first
thing the audience’s brain is going to latch on to. If you look like you’re trying to fold in on yourself, if you make yourself small, that sends a message.”
With a roll of my eyes, I tried to sit up a little straighter and let my hands fall to my sides. “I’m grateful to be alive, and I’m grateful to be here tonight.”
“No.” Landon gave a shake of her head. “You want to sound like a real person.”
“I am a real person.”
“Not to the rest of the world. Not yet. Right now you’re a spectacle.” There was nothing unkind in Landon’s tone. “Pretend you’re back home. You’re in your comfort zone.”
What was my comfort zone? Talking to Max, who was MIA for the foreseeable future? Crawling into bed with Libby?
“Think of someone you trust.”
That hurt in a way that should have hollowed me out but left me feeling like I might throw up instead. I swallowed. “I’m grateful to be alive, and I’m grateful to be here tonight.”
“It seems forced, Avery.”
I ground my teeth. “It is forced.”
“Does it have to be?” Landon let me marinate in that question for a moment. “Is no part of you grateful to have been given this opportunity? To live in this house? To know that no matter what happens, you and the people you love will always be taken care of?”
Money was security. It was safety. It was knowing that you could screw up without screwing up your life. If Libby did let Drake onto the estate, if he’s the one who shot at me—she couldn’t have known that’s what was going to happen.
“Aren’t you grateful to be alive, after everything that’s happened? Did you want to die today?”
No. I wanted to live. Really live.
“I’m grateful to be here,” I said, feeling the words a little more this time, “and I’m grateful to be alive.”
“Better, but this time… let it hurt.” “Excuse me?”
“Show them that you’re vulnerable.”
I wrinkled my nose at her.
“Show them that you’re just an ordinary girl. Just like them. That’s the trick of my trade: How real, how vulnerable, can you seem without letting yourself actually be vulnerable at all?”
Vulnerable wasn’t the story I’d chosen to tell when they’d been designing my wardrobe. I was supposed to have an edge. But sharp-edged girls had feelings, too.
“I’m grateful to be alive,” I said, “and I’m grateful to be here tonight.” “Good.” Landon gave a little nod. “Now we’re going to play a little
game. I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to do the one thing you absolutely must master before I let you out of here to go to the gala tonight.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You’re not going to answer the questions.” Landon’s expression was intent. “Not with words. Not with your face. Not at all—unless and until you get a question that you can, in some way, answer with the key message we’ve already practiced.”
“Gratitude,” I said. “Et cetera, et cetera.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t sound hard.”
“Avery, is it true that your mother had a long-standing sexual liaison with Tobias Hawthorne?”
She almost got me. I almost spat out the word no. But somehow, I refrained.
“Did you stage today’s attack?”
What?
“Watch your face,” she told me, and then, without losing a beat: “How is your relationship with the Hawthorne family?”
I sat, passive, not allowing myself to so much as think their names. “What are you going to do with the money? How do you respond to the
people calling you a con woman and a thief? Were you injured today?”
That last question gave me an opening. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m grateful to be alive, and I’m grateful to be here tonight.”
I expected accolades but got none.
“Is it true that your sister is in a relationship with the man who tried to kill you? Is she involved with the attempt on your life?”
I wasn’t sure if it was the way she’d snuck the questions in, right after
my previous answer, or how close to the quick the question cut, but I snapped.
“No.” The word burst from my mouth. “My sister had nothing to do with this.”
Landon gave me a look. “From the top,” she said steadily. “Let’s try again.”
