Page 42 of Midnight Enemy

He flicks his fingers toward the office. “The flowers. His interest in you.”

“So now you think he’s interested? That it’s not just about the Waiora?”

He tips his head from side to side. “Can’t it be both? And can’t we use that to our advantage?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I think you should encourage his interest and use it to push for more money.”

I stare at him, genuinely shocked. “Are you serious?”

His expression hardens. “Do I have to tell you again about our situation?”

“No…”

“Do you want the commune to close, Scarlett? Do you want us to go under?”

“Of course not,” I say sharply.

“We all have to do what we can to make this work,” he says. “It’s what your father would have wanted.”

“He wouldn’t have wanted me to pretend to like Orson Cavendish to get his money.”

“I think that would be exactly what he would have wanted.”

That stuns me into silence, because I realize he might be right. He’d have been horrified to think I like Orson, and furious at what I’d let happen at the gazebo. But what better way to get revenge on Spencer Cavendish than for me to pretend to like his son in order to push him for more money? I know he’d have thought that was most amusing.

Maybe it would just be playing the game. Orson pretends to like me to get the Waiora; I pretend to like him to get more cash. We all know it’s happening, so where’s the harm?

But the thought makes acid rise from my stomach, and I press my hand over my heart. “I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this.”

His expression turns impatient. “I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re a young woman and he’s a good-looking guy—it’s hardly a chore. I’m just saying you should play along with him a bit. Let him take you out to dinner, wine and dine you. Turn the charm on. Come on, Scarlett, you’re not fifteen anymore. You’re a woman of the world now, and you know how men work.”

My face is so hot you could cook eggs on it. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m not going to prostitute myself, I don’t care how many million dollars it’s for.”

He rolls his eyes. “Scarlett…”

I turn around and walk out of the office, pick up the vase and flowers, stride past the others who are still standing there, and go out into the sunlight.

“Scarlett.” George comes out after me, Richard on his heels. “We agreed last night that we will sell the Waiora to Orson for seventeen and a half million, providing he puts the land in a trust like he said, and that we get to decide over what developments he makes to our side of the pond. So I suggest you deliver that news to him and do your best to convince him to raise his offer.”

I stand there with the two men looking at me, the smell of the roses rising to my nostrils, my chest heaving with indignation. I could refuse. Say I’m not going to play a part in this ridiculous charade. Tell them how insulted I am that they think I would practically sell myself to save the commune.

But I don’t want it to close. What would I do if it did? I’d have to join the real world, which I find incredibly scary. A world where the only things that people care about are money and designer labels and fast cars and fancy restaurants and who’s posting what on Instagram. It’s not my world at all, and I would end up like the butterfly Orson mentioned flying into the rotor blades of a lawnmower and being chopped up into little pieces.

“All right,” I say stiffly. “I’ll go and see him.”

They both nod with satisfaction. “Thank you,” Richard says. “Good luck.”

The two of them turn and walk back into the office, passing Ana as she comes out. She glances at them, then walks up to me, studies my face, and asks, “Are you okay?”

I force myself to smile. Even though she’s only twenty-one and therefore only three years younger than I, sometimes it feels as if the two of us are a completely different generation. She has bought herself a phone and is more au fait with social media and the things that are important to young people in this day and age. Both of my feet remain firmly in the commune, but she has one foot in the real world, and even talks about getting a job in the city. Despite this, she’s struggled more than I have after our father’s death. She was his baby, andalthough he did his best to protect both of us from the harsh realities of the world, he was more open and honest with me because I was the eldest, so I’ve always felt the need to protect her.

“I’m fine,” I say. “They want me to go and see Orson, that’s all. They’ve decided to sell the Waiora.”

She studies my face. She knows how I feel about selling the pool, but she didn’t want to go with me when I scattered Mum’s ashes, and she isn’t a part of the healing program, so it doesn’t hold quite the same meaning for her.

“Are you okay with that?” she asks.

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