Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (14 page)

“Well, she is heartbroken.” Camille reminded him. “Thanks to you.”

“Heartbroken?” His abruptness shook Camille, awakening her senses. “She’s up to something. You be careful.”

Budding fear swept through Camille. “Once again, I don’t have to be worried about my physical safety, do I?”

“Madeline’s not the physical kind.” Julian dashed down the stairs. “She’s more devious,” he said, with Camille following him. “More backstabbing than that. She’s more apt to discredit you. Make you appear unworthy, incapable of fulfilling the position my wife would assume in European society.”

Geez, he made being his wife sound so hard. What had she gotten herself into?

At the front door, Julian brushed his lips against her cheek, and Camille forgot all about her insecurities. “Remember—” His tone held a mixture of order and suggestion. “—If the excursion gets to be too overwhelming, just call Soren and he’ll bring you back to the house.”

“Where are you going?” She wasn’t being nosey. Just curious.

“I have an empire to run.” He opened the door and headed outside.

“I thought that was your father’s job.”

“He leads the family. I run the business.”

“Oh.” Her response flittered off her tongue. His revelation surprised Camille, maybe even impressed her a little.

He moved toward the car and Sebastian opened the door. Julian stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back around six,” he said before disappearing into the limo.

Six? Didn’t he say something about four at breakfast?

Camille had a lot to learn about the inter-workings of a multi-billion dollar family and its very enigmatic, but oh so sexy, second-in-command.

Clouds sprinkled the morning sky like wisps of cotton balls. She was getting married in a couple of days; was this a bad sign?

Hell no. There aren’t any signs, good or bad, for arranged marriages.

The car drove away and Andre appeared from inside the house, as if he’d been waiting for Julian to leave. He looked at her and smiled, slipping his hands inside his pockets.

“Camille. Is it all right if I call you Camille?” he asked, a little too friendly-like.

“Yes.” She hesitated, unsure of his motives, and erected a sober reserve. “Do you work with Julian? He’s left already.”

“I work
for
Julian. And we rarely ride in together. He’s always got me off running errands.” His tone was free of animosity. Not only did Andre appear to know his place, he seemed content with the position.

“And you like that just fine.” She realized out loud.

“Hell yes.” He grinned, openly amused. “He’s always stuck inside the office, making business deals and whatnot.” Andre’s tone illustrated his distaste for his brother’s post. “I, on the other hand, am always off globetrotting. Visiting new and exciting places. Wining and dining clients…and friends,” he said, with a wink. “He can keep his job. I like mine just fine.”

“Well, then…” A covetous feeling of contentment swept over Camille. “I envy you. To love what you do for a living is a godsend. A luxury not many people can afford.”

“Speaking of my job…” He chuckled. “It’s my job to retrieve your friend in America. You might want to contact her. I’ll send a car for her.”

“She can meet you at the airport.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it.”

What a gentlemanly thing to say. It reminded her of Julian. Always thinking of someone else’s comfort and ease. Maurice and Claudette had taught them well the art of courteous behavior.

“It’s no trouble at all.” Camille raised her tone with insistence. “There’s no need for you to go traipsing all over L.A., just to bring Tasha to the airport.”

Andre’s laughter cascaded across the wind whipping past. “Ah, yes, Americans…so independent.”

She glanced at him through narrowed eyes and then looked away. “Which airport?”

Andre studied her with raised eyebrows.

“Which airport do you want her to meet you?”

“Which is more convenient for her?”

“Let’s ask her.” Camille pulled out her cell phone and began texting Tasha. Within seconds, she had an answer.
LAX
.
Where 2 meet
?

Camille showed Andre the cell phone screen and waited for his response.

Andre snatched up her phone and began pressing buttons. When he was done, a satisfied look warmed his face and he returned the device to Camille.

She studied the phone a moment, half-curious to know what he’d texted to Tasha.

“Ooh…” Andre smacked her arm lightly with the back of his hand. “Tell her to send a photo,” he said, a flicker of amusement lighting his face.

Camille’s phone chimed. “Hang on.” She raised a finger at Andre and took the call. “Yeah.”

“Chéri,” Julian’s voice, anxious yet comforting, poured over the phone. “Has Andre talked to you about bringing your friend over?”

“As a matter of fact, we’re just discussing that right now.” She glanced at Andre. “He wants her to text him a photograph…so he can recognize her at the airport, I suppose.”

“Let me speak with my brother, please.” Julian’s tone, short and to the point, reached across the airwaves and wrapped Camille in an icy chill.

She shoved the phone at Julian’s brother. “He wants to talk to you.”

Andre drew a heavy breath and rolled his eyes before laying the phone against his ear. Even so, she still heard Julian’s higher-pitched voice loud and clear. “No, Andre. There will be no pictures of Camille’s friend. You’re not going to get her for your own amusement, so get that out of your head.” Hope fell from Andre’s face as he listened to Julian’s orders. “Just bring her here and be on your best behavior.”

Andre disconnected the call and handed the phone to Camille. “Spoil sport.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And your husband. I had no choice in the matter.” An easy smile played at the corners of Andre’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, could have and should have run far, far away.” He nodded and slipped into the backseat of the car.

Oh, I know I should run
. But Camille didn’t have the desire.

She laced her fingers together behind her back and waited until Andre’s car disappeared down the long, winding driveway. Hands still clasped behind her, Camille was ready to return to the house when another limo rolled up in front of the house.

As if right on cue, Claudette, Lecie, and Madeleine exited the house. The three women looked like an expensive fashion ad for Europe’s finest designers. She glanced down at her own attire, a casual ensemble of white capri pants and a matching print blouse. Camille’s clothes cost more than two weeks her normal pay, and she felt ill-qualified to wear them. She didn’t do the outfit justice, especially up against her companions in their trendy styles.

“Are we ready?” Claudette asked, not giving the same attention Camille had to her attire.

Sure. Why not
? Camille shrugged her misgivings aside and climbed into the limo.

The morning passed quickly as a high profile wedding planner led them around the city, stopping at places like the florist and the caterers. Claudette was more than willing to weigh in on every aspect, but ultimately and respectfully left the final decision to Camille. Lecie gave no arguments to anyone. Loving everything, she only looked for the romance. Madeleine remained quiet but observant.

At lunchtime, they stopped at a sidewalk café and dined on a buffet. Lecie had excused herself and gone to the restroom. Claudette had gone back for seconds, saying, “I try to watch my figure, but one or two meals a week, I just let loose.”

Camille watched her sashaying away, contemplating Claudette’s age. She had to be at least forty-five. Damn, she carried it well.

“Camille,” Madeleine drew her attention away from Claudette and back to the awkwardness of the situation. “May I call you Camille?”

“Sure.” What else would she call her?

“I hope that despite the circumstances…you and I can remain civil to one another.”

“I don’t see why we can’t, Madeleine.”

“Well, that’s very big of you.” The kind words were there, but so was the nettling insolence. “Most wives aren’t so accommodating.”

“Accommodating?” Camille wasn’t quite sure what Madeleine was insinuating, and she wanted clarification.

“Well…” She looked away scandalously, then back at Camille. “He’s put you
by
his side, but did he tell you about his plans to keep me
on
the side.”

Camille tried to keep her jaw from falling, and failed. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“I can understand your reaction.” Madeleine said, as if they were discussing a business deal. “A month ago, I thought I might fill your shoes. But then, I find out Julian’s been swept off his feet by some bitch in America…pardon my English.” She smirked, shrugged and perched her hands in the air. “And now I’m relegated to mistress.”

“Guess I have a lot to learn about French culture.” She paused and nodded absently. “Where I come from, we call that a demotion.”

Camille displayed a picture of calmness for Madeleine’s benefit, but she didn’t understand Julian’s reasoning and didn’t like the idea that he wouldn’t marry the girl, but he’d continue to sleep with her after he married someone else. Even if it was just a business deal.

J
ulian scoured the house, looking for Camille, overwhelmed by his desire to hear the details of the shopping trip. He didn’t trust Madeleine, mainly because he didn’t trust his father to mind his own business. If Papa had his way, there’s no telling what kind of corruption he’d hold over Madeleine.

After having no luck inside the house, he headed for the gardens. He didn’t know Camille well enough to guess which direction she’d gone, so he took it methodically.

The scent from the roses called to him. Maybe it had done the same with Camille. The women in his life, first his mother and then Claudette and Lecie, were mesmerized by the fragrant flowers. Between the two mother-figures, he’d learned the meanings of all their colors at an early age.

In the garden, he snipped a lavender bloom, because he’d been enchanted with her at first sight and a blue bud because he figured she was pretty much unattainable—just like his mother had been.

His mother. Was that where she’d gone? The place his mother used to bring Julian and Andre to play.

The grove seemed to be one of the few areas left to look, even though Camille’s finding it made no sense.

He turned sideways and squeezed into the shrubs, scraping his shirt as he reached the clearing—a place he hadn’t been in over fifteen years. It looked the same, weathered with time but not necessarily neglect. Four windswept benches were centered on each side of the perimeter, four shrubs and the lawn they cornered were manicured, and various vines had spread across the trees behind the hedged borders.

To see her sitting on the bench, much like his mother used to do with her legs crossed at the ankles, warmed his heart. He cleared his throat and moved toward Camille.

Her gaze traveled up and met his, accompanied by a warm smile.

“How did you find this place?” he asked, taking a seat and leaving plenty of breathing room between them. Julian didn’t want to invade her space without an invitation. Anybody who’d search out this place was definitely after seclusion.

“Just my wandering curiosity, I guess.” She shrugged and draped her arms along the back of the bench, her hand nearly touching his shoulder.

Camille had learned to conceal her pain, the hurt carved into her heart over being abandoned by her parents. But here in the late afternoon sunset, her face, well modeled and feminine, gave away her secret.

Sadness twisted into a painful knot inside Julian. A take-charge man, he was used to getting his way and he wanted to remove her pain but didn’t know how. His inadequacy hammered at him, made him feel helpless.

“It’s funny that you should seek out and find this one place over all others.”

“Why’s that?”

“Andre and I used to play here as children.”

“Really?” She gave him one of those looks that said
you’re kidding, right
?

“It’s the truth.” He nodded, his thoughts wandering off toward his childhood memories. “My mother…my real mother…showed me this place.” He’d opened a door that’d been locked for over twenty years, immediately assaulted by an acute sense of loss.

As if sensing his grief and despair, she removed her arms from the back of the bench and laced her hands together in her lap. “What happened to your mother?” she asked, encasing her words in a careful tone.

Julian leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs and absently caressed the soft petals of the roses in his hands. “She, ah…” He stopped. Talking about his mother was hard; mentioning it meant he’d have to acknowledge the flaw that had consumed her sanity. Weakness. And what if Camille thought that had somehow rubbed off on him? What if she assumed it meant he was also weak?

Did it really matter what she thought? Last week he was sure the only thing that mattered was his wife staying put for the agreed time. After that he didn’t care what happened. But that was last week. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“She killed herself.” Julian continued on, hoping Camille’s presence would continue to bring him peace. “With a bottle of pills.” He hated the helplessness piling around him. “I was five, but I’ll never forget walking into her room and seeing her lying there on the bed.” He looked away, the words snagging in his throat. “I thought she was sleeping.”

Camille closed the gap between them and drew him into her arms. “Aw, Julian…I’m so sorry.”

Instinct, and maybe need, pushed Julian to embrace Camille and hang on as if she’d float away otherwise. A rush of vulnerability swarmed around Julian and he pulled away.

Okay. We can stop this now
. He handed her the roses, hoping that would sway her in another direction. “Here, these are for you.”

She took the flowers and draped her arms around him again. Julian wished she wouldn’t do that. He didn’t like how good it felt, but he didn’t try to stop it either. Instead, he welcomed her comforting embrace, even if it did mean he was losing his touch.