Chapter 2

The next morning, the Hamiltons summoned Ava and Skyler to the library. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

"Girls," Mr. Hamilton began, his voice grave, "we need to discuss the Astor family."

Mrs. Hamilton picked up. "There has been an informal understanding for years, a potential alliance to merge Hamilton Industries and Astor Corp. A marriage, to be precise."

Ava kept her face smooth. A business merger disguised as a date? So Gatsby. They probably want to marry off the spare, which is me, or the newbie, Skyler.

"Julian Astor," Mr. Hamilton continued, "is the heir. He's looking for a suitable partner."

Skyler' s eyes gleamed. "So, one of us gets to marry rich and powerful?"

Ava' s inner voice was dry. He's probably one of those guys who only talks about stocks and his Peloton score. Hard pass. I' d rather marry a food critic who can get me into Michelin-starred restaurants before they open to the public.

Mrs. Hamilton shot Ava a look. "Julian has requested a meeting. With Ava first."

Ava felt a flicker of surprise. Me? Why me? Oh, right, the 'poised and elegant' act probably tested better in focus groups.

Later, at Julian Astor' s minimalist corporate headquarters – all glass, steel, and an unnerving silence – Skyler whispered to Ava, "Prepare for judgment, 'sis'. Hope your fake posh accent holds up."

Ava ignored her. This place smells like ozone and ambition. Definitely no secret snack drawers here.

Julian Astor entered. Tall, sharp suit, sharper cheekbones. He looked like he' d just stepped out of a magazine cover about ruthless CEOs.

Ava' s inner monologue kicked in immediately. Okay, sharp suit, but he looks like he survives on wheatgrass shots and existential dread. Definitely needs a good burger. And maybe a hobby that doesn't involve spreadsheets or world domination. Does he even know what a taco is?

Julian Astor stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes, which had been coolly assessing Ava, widened almost imperceptibly. He looked... startled. Confused. He even tilted his head, as if listening to something only he could hear.

He stared at Ava, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Miss Chen," he said, his voice suddenly curt, "I'm afraid this won't work. You are not... suitable for the alliance."

Ava maintained her outward cool, a slight, indifferent lift of her eyebrows. "Understood."

Dodged a bullet! Fantastic. Now, about those gourmet sliders I saw advertised near here... and maybe that craft beer place Rhys mentioned. Must remain composed. Must project unbothered sophistication. I' ll just subtly suggest "catering options" for the next "strategy session" they inevitably try to rope me into and slip my personal order in.

Julian Astor looked even more flustered. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Marcus!" he called out, his voice tight.

His executive assistant, Marcus, appeared instantly, tablet in hand.

"Research... diverse catering options," Julian instructed, avoiding Ava' s gaze. "Immediately. And find me a nutritionist. Someone specializing in... optimal performance diets. For... sustained energy."

Ava, seeing her chance, added smoothly, "Julian, if I may, Marcus, Mr. Astor was just mentioning a craving for some exceptional gourmet sliders. There' s a place, 'The Patty Shack,' downtown, and they pair wonderfully with the 'Hop Justice' IPA from a local brewery. Just a thought for his... optimal performance."

Julian stared at her, his mouth slightly agape.

Marcus, ever professional, just nodded. "Noted, Miss Chen. Sliders and IPA for Mr. Astor's... research."

Ava gave a tiny, polite smile. Mission accomplished. Now to escape before he asks me about my stock portfolio.