Page 14 of The Nanny Contract
Next, Betsy turned to Logan’s cousin, Dean. “For you Dean, a charity art auction. You’ll be tasked with curating art pieces from various artists, getting wealthy patrons involved—you’ll even personally auction off some the Westbrook family artwork.”
Dean nodded enthusiastically as Betsy handed him a binder, just as thick with instructions as the one she’d handed Hunter.
“Remember dear,” she said, “I own half of Harborstone Gallery here in Charleston. Accordingly, the public will expect a lavish and extravagant art auction, especially if it’s being hosted by a Westbrook. I don’t want the event to disappoint. Do you understand?”
“I understand completely.”
Betsy patted him on the head before walking back to her lectern.
He grinned as he started flipping through the pages.
“Add a modern twist to it,” she said. “I’m testing your creative skills and your public speaking skills, Dean. The Westbrook family name is at stake. And so is your legacy. Don’t screw it up.”
Suddenly, Veronica jumped to her feet, commanding the attention of everyone in the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.
“What about the bequeathments?” she asked.
Betsy feigned ignorance, tilting her head as if Veronica had spoken another language. “What, dear?”
Veronica stomped her foot. “The money!”
Her voice carried through the giant room, echoing off the walls. It was the kind of tantrum you’d expect from a toddler denied dessert, not a woman in her forties.
Betsy steeled her expression save for wincing. It was clear that Veronica frustrated her. I couldn’t imagine the burden of having family members constantly buzzing around, acting out in the hopes of getting a big payout.
Betsy relaxed her expression into a forced smile. “The money, my dear, will be addressed when I decide it’s worth addressing.”
Chapter 4
Logan
Saturdays were typically the only days I was afforded a moment’s peace.
And after the activities of the past few days, peace was exactly what I needed.
As I sat in my bedroom, reorganizing my ties, my mind drifted to the matter of the bequeathments. Clearly Mother was toying with everyone and having a blast doing it. Personally, I couldn’t be bothered to clamor about like an idiot hoping to grasp a slice of her fortune. I knew my role in life: stay focused on my high-paying career and provide for my son.
That way, I wouldn’t need anyone’s help, and I could allow my relationship with my mother to be organic and based around love, not money.
A loud honk distracted me from my thoughts.
Glancing out the window toward the vast fields of green grass, I noticed a shiny new car meandering down the driveway, suddenly arriving at a stop.
Henry, in the driver’s seat, honked again and climbed out.
“Hey Dad!” he called out. “Come check out the new car Grandma got me!”
Mother climbed out of the passenger seat, beaming ear to ear.
The car was an elegant black Cadillac sedan.
That’s a boring car for a teenager, I thought as I descended the stairs and walked out the door toward them.
The last time I’d thought about Cadillacs was when Mother showed me a picture of my grandfather’s first Cadillac, that he’d purchased after the sale of his business in the 1970s.
Kind of a pricey car for someone as young as Henry, I thought, but I wasn’t in the mood to question Betsy’s decisions.
She’d spoiled the kid since Gloria’s passing.