The Arts of Looking Foolish

"The cash flow is completely gone. Newvale City has pulled every line of credit."

Jocelyn Scott slammed the satellite phone onto the table. It hit the rug with a dull thud, and then the entire living room fell silent.

The Reynolds family was one of the capital's most powerful old-money dynasties, with every member of the family considered a heavyweight in the business world.

The eldest daughter-in-law, Jocelyn, was a legendary dealmaker on Walton Street. The second daughter-in-law, Cecilia Woods, was an untouchable legend in the venture capital world.

Their father-in-law, Zane Reynolds, had been at the helm of Reynolds Group for 40 years.

Me? I was Yvonne Smith, the wife of Maverick Reynolds, the eighth son of the Reynolds family. To them, I was nothing more than a brainless gold digger who knew how to spend money and nothing else.

Right now, I was curled up lazily on a custom-made Hermès orange sofa, scrolling through my tablet. On the screen was a list of rare handbags the boutique had just sent me—three crocodile Birkin bags and two Birkins with diamond-encrusted clasps.

My finger hesitated over the screen.

"Cecilia, have you heard back from the Eurona fund?" Jocelyn asked, rubbing her temples. Her voice was painfully hoarse.

Cecilia closed her laptop and shook her head wearily. "They all refused. Our rivals came at us hard and drained the last of our cash. They used three overseas gold mines as collateral and cut off every possible escape route."

Zane sat in an antique leather chair in the living room. He looked as if he had aged ten years overnight. His hair had turned gray, and his back had slumped.

Maverick walked over carrying a plate of peeled grapes. He sat beside me, speared one with a toothpick, and held it to my lips. "Open."

His voice was gentle, as if the threat of bankruptcy did not exist.

I bit into the grape. The juice was incredibly sweet.

Jocelyn looked over at us, her expression complicated.

She said, "Maverick, how can you still be feeding her grapes at a time like this?"

Maverick gently wiped the corner of my mouth with a tissue. "Jocelyn, you all handle the company. Yvonne scares easily. Don't frighten her."

Jocelyn was speechless. She turned away and refused to look at us again.

In her eyes, I was nothing but a pretty little ornament with no brains and an endless appetite for shopping.

I could not be bothered to explain.

I opened the picture of the crocodile Birkin and sent it to my personal sales associate.

"I'll take this one," I said casually.

Cecilia heard me and frowned. "Yvonne, the family accounts are about to be frozen. Could you please buy a few fewer bags?"

Her voice was filled with restrained anger, but she did not actually yell.

That was the Reynolds family.

No matter how much they disliked me, they would never yell at me.