Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (23 page)

“Here she is.” Julian offered no smile. His eyes didn’t light up. In fact, he just looked annoyed.

“Okay,” she said, dropping onto the couch. So he was going to be a jerk. Two could play that game. “Let’s get this over with.” She winced as the words poured from her mouth.

Julian shuffled across the room and sat beside her. Draping his arm around her, he whispered, “Now, darling.” He called her ‘darling’ instead of Chéri. She didn’t like that. “There’s no need to be a bitch.”

“No, that’s your girlfriend’s job.” She flashed him a look that must have been effective because his confidence wilted, if only for a second or two.

“Good one.” He winked at her and pushed himself off the couch. He stood over her, extending his hand. She took it, trying to erect a stronger guard against his charms.

Julian tugged her across the room, settling her at the bar where his attorney had a mass of paperwork laid out. She waited for an introduction. None came.

The lawyer handed her a fountain pen. She took it and looked at Julian. “You signed it already?”

He nodded.

“If you’ll just sign here.” The attorney pointed to a blank line beneath Julian’s signature.

Camille snatched the papers off the counter and began reviewing them. Julian snickered. She ignored him. He was not as cute as he thought.

If she kept telling herself that, sooner or later she might buy into the notion.

The document read pretty standard. She was selling her story exclusively to de Laurent Enterprises. Pretty amusing, since she hadn’t planned on writing one in the first place.

Camille signed all copies of the agreement and laid the gold-plated pen on the counter along with the papers.

“Is that all?” she said to Julian.

“For now.” He winked at her and turned away.

Jerk.

Camille pushed off from the bar and headed for the door. There wasn’t a reason in the world that she should put up with his asinine ways.

She let the door slam behind her as she left.

J
ulian jumped and laughed comically. She was mad. Good. So was he. “How long before the money is wired into the account?”

“Tomorrow,” Jasper
said, gathering the documents. “I’ll get these filed and bring your copies around tomorrow.”

“Can you bring some documentation from the bank confirming the transfer?”

“Of course,” he said, stuffing the paperwork inside his attaché. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?” he added, closing the case.

“No, I think that’ll do it.” Julian moved behind the bar and headed for the liquor. It was time for a drink.

He grabbed a glass and filled it with a generous serving of the closest bottle. Julian studied it for a moment before pouring it into his mouth. He swished it and swirled it around, letting the sting diminish before swallowing the tart liquid.

He slammed the glass down on the bar. It wasn’t often that he got married and taken for a ride, all at the same time. There was almost something enticing about her outwitting him.

Almost.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WITHIN TWO DAYS PAPA HAD moved Madeleine to town. For the first time, Julian felt he’d won in a battle of wills with his father. It wasn’t often that Papa gave up, in effect admitting defeat.

Too bad Julian’s victory was overshadowed by Camille’s deception. But still, he had to honor his end of the bargain no matter what her motives were for accepting the deal. He didn’t have to like it, but he had to accept the inevitable.

Camille had handled the constant shuffling between the house and the yacht like a champion. When he said it was time to go back to Pacifique de Lumière, she’d agreed without a second thought. She looked bored over the whole mess, more than anything else.

He’d been holding onto the filed papers and the bank transfer receipt for the last couple of days just because he could. Since they’d signed the documents, he wanted to see how long it’d take her to ask for the money. She hadn’t, and he found that irksome.

She spent her time inside their suite or in the garden. Usually alone. He felt sorry for her and envied her at the same time over her aloneness and her ability to find solitude in it. Having no one to beleaguer or infuriate you must be great, yet lonely. If there’s no one to bother you, there’s also no one to love you.

But since when had that mattered to him?

He opened the door to the main parlor in their suite. She was sitting facing the window. Her still frame didn’t move. She didn’t acknowledge his presence.

He tapped the manila envelope against his palm and cleared his throat. She glanced over her shoulder, stared right through him and turned back to the window. After a moment of immobility, she pushed herself up and turned to face him. Her stoic expression gave nothing away about what she was feeling.

Camille clasped her hands together and raised her gaze to meet his. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him with cold, hard eyes.

Julian vowed to show her just how little she affected him. He drew a breath and acknowledged the envelope in his hand. “I thought you might like these.” He kept his voice calm, and on a low, even keel.

She shrugged and folded her arms in front of her. As if the distance across the room wasn’t enough, she’d erected another barrier.

Part of him wanted to reach out to her, but it was smothered by the part that loathed her actions. Loathed that she’d come to him under false pretences. Loathed that she’d made him look like a fool.

Nobody got away with that.

“This is your copy of our agreement.” He waved the envelope in the air. “The bank receipt is in here, too. Your acceptance of this money seals our deal.” He paused, ruthlessness invading his tone. “Make no mistake, if you discuss this family with any outlets of the media, I will sue you.”

She came toward him, her eyes darkening dangerously. Ignoring the envelope, she reacted with nothing more than a couple of pronounced blinks. Other than that, she was like a statuette poised in permanent indifference.

“Have you nothing to say?” His anger escaped in a harsh growl.

“What do you want me to say, Julian?”

He moved a couple of steps toward her and she backed up.

Julian’s heart ached with defeat. He wanted her to say it was all a lie. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t do that. So what was the point?

“Can you say it’s not true?” he asked. “Can you tell me you’re not a writer and you weren’t employed at some tabloid when you met me?”

The look on her face—guilt—said it all. “I thought so.”

“You’ve already passed judgment on me.” The vibrancy left her face. “Anything I say from here on out is just wasting my breath.”

True. She had a point. He was beyond listening to or wanting to hear excuses.

Julian had to give her credit for having her own sense of self-respect, even if it was distorted.

It was going to be an awkward six months.

There wasn’t much left to do or say. He looked at the envelope in his hand, then to the sofa before moving on to the coffee table to the left. One more glimpse of her cold, stoic face convinced him to toss the envelope at the table. It sailed through the air and slid across the tabletop, stopping in the center.

Julian gave her one last consideration. She hadn’t moved or changed her expression. He was wasting his time. Irritation shoved his regret aside and pivoted him around, forcing him toward the door. He left, letting it swing shut with a bit of a slam. He winced and headed on down the hallway.

The next six months were not going to be pleasant ones. He’d find a way to conquer his affliction because, as bad as this was, being married to Madeleine would still be worse.

C
amille grabbed a pillow from the nearby chair and threw it at the door. She’d been wrong when she called him a jerk. He wasn’t just a jerk. Julian de Laurent was a complete jerk.

Imagine, someone wanting you to defend yourself when they had no intention of listening to a word you said. Camille wasn’t groveling at anybody’s feet, least of all his. It would come to nothing because it was only for his own amusement.

The envelope he’d left on the table seemed to be his bargaining chip. Well sure, it contained the means to a million dollars. Or so he said. Curiosity pushed her toward the table. She picked up the envelope with casual grace and hesitated a moment before easing the flap open. The agreement didn’t interest her as much as the bank transfer.

Seeing all those zeros next to her name made her heart skip a beat. In a matter of seconds, all her financial problems had disappeared. A million bucks might be chump change to a guy like Julian, but for a girl like Camille it could change her life.

But was the payment of five million worth six months of what she’d just endured? Could she stand six months of ridicule and rejection and dismissal from Julian. She’d have to if she wanted the money.

Wait. She’d decided to stick around because she needed the money. Not anymore. She was now in possession of a million dollars. Payment in full for a story she’d never intended to write. Why should she stick around and subject herself to Julian’s BS when it was no longer necessary?

There was no longer a reason. Not anymore. And she liked the idea of being paid for a story much better than being paid for a marriage—even if it was less money. But hell, a million bucks was plenty for Camille. It would set her up nicely.

Okay, so all she needed to do was find someone to help her start the divorce proceedings. Julian wasn’t the best bet. He’d try to talk her out of it since he had a little problem he liked to call Madeleine.

But Julian had—like Granny Mae used to say—made his bed and now he’d have to lay in it. He’d hurt her feelings and stung her ego and there was no going back from that. Why should she continue to help him? Not even five million dollars was worth sacrificing her dignity.

With that in mind, Camille knew she had to confide in at least one member of the de Laurent family. And there was only one who could come close to relating. Only one that might listen before judging. Only one that might agree to help Camille.

C
amille was thrilled when Claudette kept their lunch date that afternoon. It meant Maurice hadn’t gotten to her, hadn’t told Claudette what he knew. She hoped she was right, and her stepmother-in-law still remembered and understood what it was like to try to fit into this family of well-bred jackasses.

They opted for a little sidewalk café where the staff knew Claudette and were overly attentive to her every desire.

Camille had rehearsed what she’d say to Claudette a hundred times in her mind, but that hadn’t helped to calm her nerves. What if she was wrong about Claudette? What if she was just as judgmental as the rest of them? What if…pigs could fly!

She pushed the silly anxieties aside. Nobody could be as judgmental as those de Laurent men. Maurice and Julian in particular.

Strategically, Claudette’s induction into the family was the place to start. Take her back to what it felt like when she first arrived.

“Claudette…” Camille let her name amble off her tongue. “What was it like for you when you married Maurice?” she asked, playing with the food on her plate. “Did fitting in come easy for you?”

“Easy?” Claudette laughed, and rattled off a few words in French before returning to English. “I not only became the mother of two small children, but I had to follow in the footsteps of a woman who’d been put up on a pedestal and then devastated an entire family when she fell off.”

Camille hadn’t looked at it like that. She’d only seen Naoma’s life and death from Julian’s point of view. A broken-hearted son.

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you.” Sadness stabbed at Camille’s chest. “I know it devastated Julian.”

“Julian.” Claudette’s face softened. Clearly, she loved him like any mother would love her son. “He was such a dear, sweet boy. And so young, and broken-hearted over losing his mother.” Her expression was one of quiet dejection. “It took a very long time to get him to accept my love. He was afraid I was going to leave, too.”

“What about you and Maurice? Did he have trust issues?” Camille regretted it as soon as she asked.

Claudette snorted. “Still does.” She rolled her eyes and a muscle quivered at her jaw. “Sometimes, I think Maurice doesn’t even trust himself.”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.” Her words weren’t bitter, just logical. “You made it impossible for him to get the daughter-in-law he wants.”

Camille hadn’t looked at it like that. Still, it wasn’t her problem. “He has another son.”

“Ah, yes. And a specific wife picked out for him too.” A flicker of amusement flittered across her eyes. “And he’s not likely to get that one any more than he did the last.”

“Well, he shouldn’t give up hope on Madeleine just yet,” Camille said, with some remorse. “He’s still got a chance. If he can convince Julian.”

Claudette studied her with a scrutinizing eye. “Julian doesn’t love Madeleine.”

“He doesn’t love me either.”

Claudette’s expression skewed into a “thinking face” that evoked her thoughts to the surface. “I think he does.”

“I’m going to tell you something that is going to violate a contract.” Camille paused. It was better to just say it and get it over with. That way the contract would be broken and she could go home. “Our marriage is a business deal. A marriage of convenience.”

Claudette’s mouth fell open. Clearly, a notion she hadn’t suspected.

“Julian came to America looking for a temporary wife, so he could avoid being pressured into marriage with Madeleine.” She searched for the next set of words that would make some sense of her reasoning, and not make her look like a villain. “He placed an ad in the L.A. Trades for an actress.” There was something liberating about admitting the truth. “I, at the instruction of my boss, answered the ad. I was just supposed to see what Julian was up to. That’s it. But my boss at Disclosure Magazine wanted a story, with all the dirt, on Julian de Laurent.” She shook her head. Even she was starting to see herself as the bad guy.

Claudette didn’t say anything. She just listened.