Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (22 page)

The glittering necklace, Julian’s gift, sparkled, reminding her that his genuineness was not nearly as solid as the jewels clarity. She reached for it, clasped it in her fist for a moment before unfolding her fingers and offering it to him. “Here. I’m sure you’ll want this back,” she said over her aching inner pain.

Julian’s cold stare squeezed her heart. He pivoted on one heel and walked away. The slamming door echoed through her.

Camille folded her fingers around the pendant and sighed heavily. She’d done it this time. Gotten herself into a real mess. One she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to squirm her way out of. Damn.

J
ulian slowed his pace once in the corridor leading to the main wing. An odd twinge of disappointment filled the empty cavity that used to contain his heart. He’d been deserted—again.

He should’ve known better. The minute he put his faith and trust in a woman, she turned out to be a liar and a cheat. Camille had deceived him, just like his mother had when she told him she’d always take care of him. How was checking out fulfilling that promise?

Stunned and furious, he fisted his hands at his sides. He struggled to hold his temper.
God, I’m so stupid
.

Julian took the stairs, two at a time, and headed for the side service door, preferring not to run into any of the family. He had to think.

“Julian!” Papa’s voice assaulted him from behind.

Damn it
. He thought about not stopping. But that was a bad idea. He slid his hands into his pockets, stalled a moment and then turned to face the criticism.

All sorts of things ran through Julian’s head, none of them good. Not the kind of things you say to your father. He wished Papa hadn’t been so hell-bent on destroying his marriage, as faux as it was, to Camille. This was one time Julian would’ve much rather been left in the dark. At least, until they were closer to the end of the six months. If Papa wanted to destroy it then, more power to him. But why’d he have to do it now, especially now that Julian and Camille had come to an understanding.

“Did you take care of our problem?” Papa asked.

“
We
don’t have a problem.”

“That’s not the way I see it.”

“How do you see it, Papa?” Julian dared to raise his voice to his father. “She’s my wife and has no bearing on anyone else in this family.”

“I might buy that if she weren’t a reporter after a story about this family.” His voice matched Julian’s.

“What’s the matter, Papa?” Julian’s animosity escaped in his words. “Are you afraid some of your skeletons are going to come out of the closet?”

“You’d better worry about your own skeletons, boy.” Papa looked ready to explode. “There is such a thing as bad publicity. And we don’t want ours to start in some American trash magazine.”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Julian said, his tone calming. “From here on out you will say nothing, and I do mean nothing, about this to anyone.”

“You presume to tell me what to do?”

“Papa…you wanted me to fix it. I did.” Julian sucked in a deep breath. “Now, I’m asking you to drop it.”

Papa studied him for a long moment, his way of bullying. It wasn’t working. Julian was way beyond intimidation. Allowing the coercion would ruin his plan. He walked away.

“Where are you going?” Papa called after him. “Madeleine—”

Julian flung around and pitched his finger in the air at his father. “She’d better be gone.”

“Julian…” Papa chastised him with laughter. “You can’t really expect me to turn out an old family friend?”

“Fine.” Julian paused, preparing to call his bluff. “Camille and I will leave.”

“All right.” Papa waved his hands in the air. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Julian continued on, walking away. “When you figure it out—” He glanced over his shoulder. “—You can reach me at the Beauvau.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CAMILLE SAT ON ONE SIDE OF THE limousine next to one door, and Julian against the other. He’d made it clear, he wanted nothing more to do with her. She was there for a purpose, to help him avoid a ‘real’ marriage to Madeleine. And at the end of six months, he’d gladly release her.

Well, if he could walk away without so much as a second thought, she could reciprocate—even if she had to force herself.

She turned toward him but avoided looking into his eyes. “Is it too much to ask—where we’re going?” Her tone carried no pleasantries. Camille rotated her gaze back toward the window and glued it on the quick-passing scenery.

“The Beauvau,” he said in a flat monotone voice.

“The Beauvau?” She repeated his words and let her gaze take the slow journey to look at him. “Why are we going there?” she asked, overcome by guilt. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

“You give yourself too much credit, Chéri.” He sneered. “This is a war between my father and me. It has nothing to do with you.” He looked disgusted by the sight of her and directed his attention back out the window.

Julian rested his hand on his thigh. Long bronzed fingers that had caressed her so lovingly yesterday tapped out today’s irritation. There would be no gentle touches, no sweet caresses, no words of love.

If that’s the way he wanted to play it, she’d be more than accommodating. Camille crowded herself against the door.

This was probably just his staged way out. Julian de Laurent had turned every aspect of his life into a life and death drama. He’d gone to great lengths to avoid a ‘real’ marriage. Whatever happened to…“
Sorry, Pops, but I just don’t want to marry her
”?

Instead, he’d gone to America and hired her, a stranger, to pretend to be his wife for six months until his father got over his fascination. What kind of people did that?

Rich ones, that’s who. People with way too much money at their disposal. People who are used to getting what they want. People who give no forethought to those they step on in the process.

The next six months was going to be hell.

“What pisses you off more?” she asked, without looking at him. “My seemingly ulterior motive? Or, that your father had to do your homework for you?”

She suspected she’d jabbed him good with that one and mustered the courage to look at him. For a split-second, she almost saw the hint of humorous appreciation trying to light his eyes. Soon it was overshadowed by his swelling anger, or maybe it was hurt. He chose not to speak, just stared at her with a dark, infuriated glare. It unnerved her, and she had a pretty good idea that was his plan.

Camille would love to
not
give him the satisfaction of letting him get to her, if she could just figure out how. But he had. When had that happened?

Julian blasted her with a quick dousing of French—which she didn’t understand. But if she had to guess, she’d say it wasn’t good.

She stared him down with what she hoped said
your-lecture-is-falling-on-deaf-ears-with-me
.

“Of course you don’t understand French.” He gave her one of those dismissive looks he’d kept in reserve for his servants until now.

“No. I skipped that class in high school.”

“As if your high school French would’ve been adequate.” Julian’s obnoxious laughter bruised her ego.

Spiteful jerk.

“Look, I just want to know why we’re going to a hotel.”

“And I told you.”

Lord, he was making this hard. Harder than it had to be. “Okay…if we don’t want to stay at the house, for whatever reason.” She paused, trying to reason the frivolous expenditure in her head. “Why are we going to a hotel? Why aren’t we going back to the Naoma Louise?”

Julian shrugged. Obviously, he hadn’t considered that option.

“I know it’s none of my business. It’s your money and all.” Anxiety escaped in her nervous laughter. “But I just don’t understand why you’re spending money on a hotel when you’ve got a perfectly good yacht?” she said, even though she felt like she’d overstepped her boundaries.

Julian, on the other hand, looked like a light bulb had gone off inside his head. He turned to her, and seemed to be fighting a smile. “That’s a really good idea.” The anger and annoyance had deserted his voice, leaving behind nothing but indifference.

He nodded as if making the final decision and hit the intercom. “Sebastian, let’s go to the marina instead,” he said, and released the button.

The remainder of the drive passed in silence and the ever-growing presence of tension.

Was five million bucks worth all this? Was it worth six months of ridicule and hostilities from a man she could’ve easily fallen for? Was she seriously thinking she could survive that?

Not even close. No way.

S
ebastian opened the limousine’s door and a blast of warm, salty sea air hit Julian. He would’ve enjoyed it, if not for the circumstances. His main objective was to get onboard the Naoma Louise and go below deck where he planned on hibernating until he’d recovered from this malady. Or maybe he’d drop Camille off at the Naoma Louise and then head on over to the Beauvau.

If it weren’t for the reason he’d married her, to avoid a marriage with Madeleine, Julian would just give her the money he’d promised her and send her on her way. But that would put him right back where he started, and the one place he didn’t want to be. Available.

Julian stepped on board and without thinking, stopped and extended his hand to Camille. For the first time in his life, Julian had been civil without an ulterior motive. The consummate gentleman. His mother would be so proud.

He knew he was probably smiling at Camille, and he remedied that right away by plastering on his hardest, practiced stare.

She looked vulnerable. He wanted to believe the best of her, but she made it hard. Falling back into her snare wasn’t wise. Julian dropped her hand, letting it fall away.

He opened the door and again, subconsciously waited for her to enter first. Cool air wafted past as he followed her inside.

“The papers will be delivered later today, sealing our deal.” He moved to the bar, ready to pour himself a drink but changed his mind.

“Whatever.” She dropped to the couch, crossed her legs and played with her fingernails, which she’d changed to a bright red. Very different from the pastel shades of pink and orange he was used to seeing.

Julian searched the bar for water, opening several decanters and sniffing the liquids inside. All were liquor of some sort. Frustration balled inside him and knotted in his gut. What did a man have to do to get some water?

He grabbed the phone on the bar and punched in a number. “Soren. Can we get some water in here?” He didn’t immediately hang up. Instead, he added, “Thank you.”

That probably surprised Soren as much as it did Julian. Maybe he was getting sick. Figures. He’d caught a case of the pleasantries.

He leaned against a barstool, caressed his forehead and massaged his temples.

“Julian…?” She paused, hesitating.

He cut a stealthy gaze toward her. She looked like she’d been defeated. “Yeah?”

“I, ah, if leaving the house had anything at all to do with me.” She stopped and drew a breath before continuing. “I know you say it wasn’t me, but just in case I was any kind of factor.” She dared to look at him. “I-I’m sorry, if I played even a small part in that.”

Amazing. She looked genuinely sorry. How could she regret that and in the same breath, turn around and make a mental note to add it in her story?

It was probably just a ploy to make herself look better in the final copy. She was doing a good job of assuming the role of
victim
. If she wasn’t an actress, she’d missed her calling.

“I told you,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why?” she asked. “Why did we leave?”

Maybe he should tell her. Keep her off his back. Otherwise, she’d go on, incorrectly, telling herself that she had somehow played a part in this disaster.

“It’s not about you.” He smiled, feeling like he’d won some small battle. “It’s about Madeleine.”

“Madeleine?”

“Papa wants her to stay. I want her gone.”

Camille nodded. “I can understand that, considering the lengths you went to, to avoid marrying her.” She snickered.

Perhaps that hadn’t been the smartest idea. His selfishness had allowed a member of the press to infiltrate the family, undetected. It’s a good thing Papa still had his wits about him.

Julian stood and headed for the door, stopping only to glimpse over his shoulder at Camille. “Soren will come for you when the papers arrive.”

He slipped into the hallway, needing to put some space between himself and Camille.

C
amille was awakened by the knock at the door. She lifted her head off the pillow and looked around groggily.

Oh, yeah
. She’d grown tired of sitting in the upper deck lounge all alone, but remembered closing her eyes for just a second. Nothing made the time pass like sleeping your life away. She sighed and fell back on the couch.

The knock came again. More persistent this time. “Mrs. de Laurent?” Soren’s voice floated through the walls.

“Yes.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Maybe he’d go away. Doubtful. He worked for Julian.

“Mr. de Laurent asked me to come for you,” he called through the door. “Your signature is required.”

Camille pushed herself into a sitting position. “I’ll be there directly.”

Damn
. She was starting to sound like Julian. Camille drew in a deep breath and sighed.
Okay
.
Time to face the music
. She just wished the musician played a more agreeable tune.

Having no other choice was the factor that pushed her off the couch. The plush carpet offered little comfort as she studied her messy hair in the mirror. Not caring about impressions, she ran her fingers through it a few times, straightened her blouse and headed out into the hallway where Soren was waiting.

Okay. So now she needed a chaperone? What? Did Julian think she was going to steal the silver?

Camille followed Soren to the top deck salon. Julian and his attorney—oh, what was his name? —were huddled over the bar enthralled in deep conversation. Julian looked up. She could tell when he’d seen her, his demeanor soured.