Page 70 of Ten Beach Road

“I’m talking to you,” she said. “You could at least show me the courtesy of acting like you’re listening!”

“Avery,” he said. “Stop.”

“Why? So you can insult me again? Call me Vanna? Tell me not to worry my pretty little head about it?”

Deirdre bit back a laugh. But Avery was already in mideruption; she’d get to her later.

If she were taller, she would have snapped a Z in his face with a ton of attitude. She was still searching for something bad enough to call him when he gave her the palm.

“Jesus,” he said. “I’ve been trying to tell you I already decided to convert the space. Deirdre and I were just talking about it.”

Avery blinked and stepped back. She looked at Deirdre. Whom he had willingly consulted.

“Chase’s thoughts on the renovation are almost identical to yours. He just wanted my input on the finishes and furniture,” Deirdre said. “I’m thinking Saltillo tile with a wrought iron and cushion group and a few wood pieces. Definitely Mediterranean with a touch of Deco.”

“What’s wrong, Van?” Chase asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

She couldn’t seem to get past the fact that he’d consulted Deirdre and not her. Or that the only reason she’d gotten what she’d wanted was because he’d already decided to do it. Or that he’d called her Van. If she’d been able to reach it, her hands would be wrapped around Chase Hardin’s neck.

“You know,” she said, biting out the words, trying to hold her anger at a controllable level when everything inside her was dying to spew out. “If anyone had bothered to consult me or include me in the conversation, I wouldn’t have just wasted my time and energy trying to convince you to do something you’d already decided to do.”

She turned to leave, but Deirdre put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “You were dead on, Avery,” Deirdre said. “You know it, I know it, and whether he wants to admit it or not, Chase knows it. Does it really matter who decided first or who consulted whom?”

Avery looked at the mother she’d given up on so long ago and at the man who’d apparently given up on her. “Maybe it shouldn’t,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, insignificant as it might be. “But I’m tired of the insults. Whatever chip Chase has been carrying around on his shoulder, he needs to get rid of it. Now. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve his disdain, but it’s affecting the job and we don’t have time for that.”

She gave them both a nod and prepared to leave.

“Avery, honey,” Deirdre said, reaching out to her. “Don’t . . .”

“Don’t call me honey,” Avery said, shrugging her off. “We don’t know each other well enough for that.” She paused, considering the woman who’d abandoned her to pursue her own dreams, never caring what she did to her daughter’s. “And FYI, I’m not that wild about Art Deco anymore.” It was a lie, but it was the best she could come up with. “A lot about me has changed since you left us. So don’t go thinking you know the first little thing about me.”

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