Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (21 page)

“Come.” Papa’s voice traveled through the walls.

Julian opened the door. Papa’s bottle was already out of the drawer. An audacious move that desiccated Julian’s confidence. If he was bold enough to flaunt the liquor, in the off-chance Claudette walked in, whatever had Papa so troubled, it must be bad.

“Papa…” Julian took to his pockets to keep from openly fiddling with his hands. His knees weakened as he progressed across the room, which seemed much too small today.

Papa gestured toward the empty chairs in front of the desk.

Julian hesitated and sank into one.

“How was the cruise?” Papa’s tone was much too gentle and accommodating.

What’s this
?
A trap
? Julian hesitated. In the whole of Julian’s life, Papa had never made small talk with anyone, not that he’d ever heard. His attempt reminded Julian of a spider stalking a fly that was on the verge of landing in his web.

That was a snare Julian wasn’t about to fall into. “Fine.”

Papa filled a shot glass and pushed it gently across the desk. Julian reached for it, feeling like a fly that was coming dangerously close to the spider’s web. He pulled the drink toward him and left it sitting on the edge of the desk.

Take that. Two could play this game. Julian had after all learned from the best.

Papa saluted and drained his glass. Julian didn’t have the guts to say,
should you be drinking that, and so early in the day
? But it was on his mind. His father’s health worried him daily.

Papa opened the center drawer, pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it across the desk.

“What’s that?” Julian asked, avoiding it. He wasn’t playing.

“It’s a dossier on your wife.”

Julian tried to keep a stoic face. “Why?” His discomfort snuck out as awkward fidgeting.

Maurice’s right jaw twitched. “See for yourself,” he said, waving his hand over his desk.

“Why don’t you just save me the trouble and tell me what you think you’ve uncovered?” Surely there couldn’t be this much commotion over finding out Camille had acting aspirations.

Papa studied him for a moment with that cold, calculating glare of his, and pulled a box of cigars out of his desk.

Not the cigars. He brought out his trademark technique of smoke screening a weak accusation. On the surface, that looked like a good thing. But Papa could be brutal when he didn’t get his way—and Julian wasn’t about to let that happen.

The sweet scent of cognac followed the smoke as it floated about the room. Julian loved that smell, it reminded him of his childhood. But Papa rarely smoked the aromatic cigars anymore. Not because he couldn’t afford them, but because Claudette’s nose was stronger than a Bloodhound’s.

She must be in town. Or perhaps Paris. Nothing else ever induced Papa to act so carelessly.

He puffed on his cigar a couple of times. “You’ve brought a wolf into the lion’s den.”

What
? That made no sense. Julian searched his brain, coming up with nothing. Papa was losing his mind. “Perhaps you’d better spell it out for me.” Julian met Papa’s accusing eye without flinching. “I have no idea what wolf I’ve let into what lion’s den.”

Did this have something to do with a business deal? He’d wrapped up the merger—ala-takeover—of Dine Shipping nearly a month ago. Which is why he’d felt comfortable going to America to find Camille and then taking another ten days for the honeymoon. There was nothing pressing on his calendar.

“The lion’s den would be this family.” Papa’s icy stare surrounded him with a chill.

This family?
What
…? Papa had nothing. It had to be so. Julian was always careful about what he subjected the family to. He may have let Madeleine down a little hard, but he’d never once put the family in harm’s way.

“And the wolf is your wife.” Papa looked like a cat with feathers in its mouth.

Julian’s laughter echoed across the room. That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That’s a stretch, Papa.”

“Please tell me you had her sign a confidentiality agreement?” It wasn’t a question so much as an opinion.

Confidentiality agreement? The thought hadn’t crossed Julian’s mind. Surely the attorneys had her sign one as part of the pre-nup.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Papa’s voice faded and he glanced down at his lap. It was only a second or two, but it felt like forever to Julian.

No. He didn’t say no. He didn’t say anything. But, as usual, Papa had a way of reading Julian as if he were an open book. Julian rallied his desire to believe in Camille. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Papa snorted. “The girl works for a Los Angeles gossip rag called
Disclosure Magazine
.” He paused, his face turning red. “I think we have plenty to worry about.”

“There has to be some mistake.” His voice weakened, right along with his confidence. Insistence and denial reeled through Julian’s mind.
She’s an actress
.
Not a reporter
.

“There’s no mistake.” Papa’s accusing finger pointed to the envelope that Julian still hadn’t touched.

But he had news for Papa—he refused to look at the information. Julian didn’t believe it. Camille wasn’t here under false pretenses. Whatever the truth was, he wanted to hear it from Camille herself. Not some suspect report given to him by his father.

“Find a way to handle this discreetly.” Papa’s voice cut through the silence.

“I’ll handle it.” Julian rose and paused in front of his father’s desk. “It’s not what you think.”

“Just see to it that she doesn’t do what I think she’s come here to do.” Papa’s voice followed him to the door.

Julian hesitated, pushing aside the thoughts invading his head. The woman he’d poured his heart out to in the garden. The woman who’d rocked his world just last night. The woman who’d promised to be his salvation. She couldn’t be here after a story.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CAMILLE STEPPED OUT OF THE MARBLE-LAID SHOWER with its gold-plated fixtures and grabbed a hand-woven towel, the softest she’d ever seen.

She draped an equally plush bathrobe around her and tied the belt before tousling her wet hair. One last quick glance into the mirror, and she pushed herself toward the gigantic suite she and Julian had moved into after returning from the honeymoon cruise last night. The suite was like its own little apartment inside this huge old house. Camille saw no reason to leave the sanctity of its walls. Anything not to run into Madeleine or Maurice.

The glittering diamond necklace Julian had given her caught her eye. Before getting into the shower, she’d placed it on the table by the window overlooking the rose garden. She touched the pendant, aroused by its romantic inference.

Flashes of their naked bodies tangled together flittered through her mind. The thoughts made her smile. Camille had no disillusions where Julian was concerned. She knew this was temporary—well it had started out that way—but she had six months to change his mind—and hers. Julian was starting to grow on her, and she dared to entertain the notion that he could be her Prince Charming.

Camille dropped into the nearby chair and glanced out the window. The roses looked like someone had come along and splattered a green canvas with every color imaginable. The suite’s décor with its yellows, golds, and reds had a pleasing and calming effect. She could get used to living in Julian’s world—and in his arms.

A glass of champagne waited on the table beside her necklace. Someone, probably Monique, had placed it there while Camille was in the shower.

Man, these people are really into drinking
. Bubbles floated up the amber liquid in relegated lines.
Just a sip
. Besides, she needed the extra edge to get her through the ups and downs of what was to come. She’d have to be careful not to become too dependent upon the crutch.

Granny Mae had said, more than once, that Camille’s father was an alcoholic and it was a blessing in disguise when he’d run out on Camille and her mother. Camille didn’t want to end up like that. Deserted and pregnant.

But if it did happen, she’d like to think she’d have enough wherewithal to stick by the child she’d created and not dump him or her off on the nearest relative. Not that Camille had that luxury.

The door opened and Julian entered. She glanced at him and sat up. He didn’t look happy. Uh oh, what was this about. She hoped it had nothing to do with Madeleine.

He began pacing the length of the room. His head jerked away from her and then back to her every couple of steps.

Nerves pushed Camille out of the chair. “Julian?” She moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”

His hands shot into the air, as if warning her not to touch him. He gave her a frown fraught with desperation. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Thoughts swarmed her brain and mingled chaotically to uncover his meaning. What had he discovered? Did he see right through her? Did he know of her secret desires now that they’d consummated their marriage? Did he not want to go there?

Julian elbowed his blazer back and perched his hands on his hips. “Are you or are you not an actress?” Every word came out of his mouth articulate and accusing.

That was not what she was expecting, and in fact, was the worst thing he could’ve asked. But did it really matter? Did he really care that much about her employment status?

She wanted to say what he wanted to hear, but she wasn’t sure what that was. She hesitated and sighed.

“That’s what I thought.” He paused and glared at her.

He looked at her with such hatred it killed any confidence she’d built up during the course of the morning. Her pride and a fear of rejection wouldn’t let her crumble. This was going to turn out just like every other time in her life when she’d been deserted. Julian had found a reason to erect an impenetrable wall between them. Okay, so she hadn’t been completely honest but her intentions hadn’t been malicious.

It wouldn’t matter what she said. Julian had found his
out
, and she had to protect her heart from getting stomped on, once again.

“Just what exactly is your occupation?” His hatred lashed out at her.

Camille shoved the desire to sob back down her throat. “I am currently unemployed.” That wasn’t a lie. She had no job prospects, but she wasn’t about to tell him why. No way was she going to make herself look like an even bigger fool.

Julian’s accusing laughter raked her. “Does this mean it’s for sale to the highest bidder?”

Huh
? She fought the cobwebs of angst-filled confusion.
What’s for sale
? She wasn’t about to let Julian get the better of her, or make her look like an idiot. “Sure.” She folded her arms and tapped red-tipped fingernails against her skin. “But there’s a reserve on it.” She paused, trying to read him. Trying to figure out what he thought she had for sale. “I’m not giving it away for free.”

For a second he almost looked pleased, but that was quickly overshadowed by his hatred. “How much?”

Her pride concealed her inner turmoil. “How much for what?” Frustration poured out in her broken voice. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are a writer.” His nose flared and his eyes bulged. “Are you not?”

He knew? Reality shuddered through her. Defeat escaped in her sharp sigh.

His lips tightened as if he was biting back the words of disapproval. He shook his fist and then pointed an accusing finger at her. His cold, hard stare froze her in place like a statue and left her quivering with fear. She wasn’t afraid of him physically. Just emotionally.

Nobody else was going to desert her. She’d break this bond before he had the chance. “It really doesn’t matter what I say,” she said. “You won’t believe me.”

She wanted him to dispute that. She wanted him to say he wanted to hear her explanation. But he didn’t.

“What do you say we dispense with the pleasantries?” It sounded like a question, but she knew it was an order. An order for something she couldn’t define. She wished she knew what he was talking about.

“How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much will it take for the exclusive?”

“Exclusive?” She was starting to sound like a parrot.

“You’re insulting my intelligence.” He glowered and turned away.

“Look,” she said, through the mounting pressure of tears. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Do you deny that you answered my ad as a staff member of Disclosure Magazine?”

Oh, that exclusive
. No, she didn’t deny it. “Why do you ask?” She bit back the hurt. “You’ve obviously got it all figured out.”

“How much for the exclusive?” he repeated his question.

Camille stiffened, momentarily abashed. He’d never believe her story. She felt ice spreading through her heart. “What’s it worth to you?” she asked, suddenly wanting him to share in her pain.

And damned if she was leaving. The way she saw it, he owed her five million bucks. She was staying until he paid up.

“How about one million dollars?” he offered.

She hesitated, torn by his audacious belief that everybody had a price.

He’d obviously read her silence as a bargaining tactic because he went into full negotiating mode. “I doubt that rag you were working for would pay that much. You Americans really don’t care that much about what the crazy French are doing.” He rolled his eyes and showered her with stinging laughter.

The accusation broke Camille’s heart, but she held the hurt inside. How could he think so little of her? There were a ton of things she could say to defend herself, but none of them moved her stoned lips. Finally, a single word escaped. “Deal.”

Julian’s cold glare bored through her for what seemed an eternity before he stuck his hand out. She accepted it reluctantly. His firm grasp was cold and unfeeling, and elicited no fire, no compassion, no desire.

“There will be more papers to sign.”

“I figured.”

“I’ll pay for the exclusive once I have your signature.”

“That’ll be fine.” Her voice cracked but she held the pain inside. She swallowed the overwhelming urge to cry, holding her lips together tightly to keep the tears from escaping.