Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (24 page)

“There was something about Julian from the get-go. He makes you want to help him.”

“He has that effect on most people.”

“I told my boss I wouldn’t write the story. She threatened to fire me. So I quit.” Camille had no regrets about standing up to her ex-boss at Disclosure Magazine, but right now her ethics weren’t making her feel any better.

“For a young girl, alone in the world, and having no job or viable job prospects…the world is a scary place.” Claudette’s expression softened. She did understand.

Camille sighed, relieved.

“I’m sure you were very afraid. And, the tiniest part of you probably wanted to help Julian.”

“That’s true. But it was more about me.” She admitted with a regrettable shrug. “I was afraid for myself. I was afraid of ending up homeless.”

“So you went to Julian and accepted his offer.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell him about your boss or that you’d quit your job because of him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And somewhere along the way, you fell in love with Julian.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” If she said it, that’d make it real. And it couldn’t be real because she’d end up heartbroken.

“So what happened?” she asked, studying Camille. “Did Julian find out about your job?”

Camille nodded. “Maurice made it a point to dig up the dirt on me.” She laughed at the irony.

“Of course!” She threw her hands into the air. “This has my husband written all over it. Jackass that he is.”

“Julian is so angry with me,” Camille said. “He thinks I’m here to get that story.”

“And he’s not going to believe otherwise. Unless you come up with a way to prove it to him.”

Camille hadn’t thought of that.

“That is the way of the de Laurent men,” her spirited voice pealed on, “Loveable as they are…they’re idiots when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“I’m going to divorce Julian.”

“It is the only thing to do,” she said. “Especially if you want him back.”

Camille came out of her despondence and looked at Claudette. “What makes you think he’d have me back?”

“Because he loves you.”

Camille had given up on that when Julian lost the spark in his eyes. “Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I just want this to be over.” The words shuddered through her. “I can’t stand the way he looks at me now.”

“He’s going to have to lose you before he can appreciate you.” Claudette leaned toward Camille. “But don’t be foolish. Don’t give him any ammunition to validate what he thinks is the truth. Take every piece of his so-called proof and ram it back at him before you leave.”

Camille tried to think of how she could make that happen.

“Don’t tell him you’re leaving either. He’ll talk you out of it,” she said. “And you’ll both lose if that happens.”

“You’re probably right.” Camille wasn’t willing to spend the next six months learning to hate Julian. She’d rather lose now, than have hatred attached later on down the line.

“I happen to know that Andre is planning a trip to the U.S.” Her tone was born in suggestive innocence. “To see your friend.”

Camille laughed inside. That would snap Maurice’s sanity.

“Do you know someone who can draw up divorce papers quickly?” Camille asked, walking a tightrope of hope.

A thought, an idea came to her. It was risky. She’d lost all hope for any kind of solid relationship with Julian, but if she had any hope of proving herself to him, she had to take that chance.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JULIAN’S LIMOUSINE ROLLED TO A STOP in front of the house. The weather hadn’t bothered to cooperate for his return from a business trip to London. Rain continued in a torrential downpour and he jumped out of the car without a second thought and faced the brunt of the storm head-on.

While away, he’d had plenty of time to think things through. Perhaps he’d been a bit hard on Camille. Sure, she’d come to him under false pretenses, but when had that ever stopped him? Where was his sense of adventure? Who said he couldn’t change her mind, charm her out of her intentions? She’d come there for a story, but who’s to say it couldn’t turn into something more? Something meaningful. Something real.

He slinked out of his overcoat and shook the water off his hands and arms. Papa would want to see him, but Julian was more interested in talking to Camille and figuring out if there was a chance for them to salvage their amiable relationship or if he was just fooling himself.

There were only two places she would be. The gardens or their suite. And the rain canceled out the first option. Julian headed up the stairs taking them two at a time.

“Chéri…?” he called out, entering their suite.

Nothing.

He moved from one room to the next, expecting to find her in each.

Again, nothing.

“Camille?” Anxiety knotted in his gut as he opened the door to the bedchamber, the only room left to examine inside the suite.

The bed was made, the room was empty and the bathroom door was open. Julian stopped, perched his hands on his hips and surveyed his surroundings. Where in the hell was Camille?

Maybe she was in town with Claudette and Lecie. They’d probably gone shopping and were likely to return in time for dinner. Along with a big hefty bill.

Julian laughed. He was beyond caring. He just wanted to see Camille.

He went back into the outer rooms of the suite and prepared to meet with Papa. He would’ve made it out the door too, if it hadn’t been for the document lying on the table along with Camille’s wedding rings and her necklace.

Curiosity pushed him to check it out. His heart rate increased as he reached for the folded document.

A Bill of Divorcement.

Her signature had been penned in black ink. All he had to do was sign it and he’d be a free man—free to get pushed in the direction of Madeleine.

The hell with that.

She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t throw him to the wolves. She couldn’t pretend they’d never happened.

Where was she?

He tossed the document back onto the table and the bank receipt fell out. Julian snatched it up and looked at the paper.

One million dollars had been transferred back into its originating account.

Joy over the notion that she’d chosen him was overshadowed by the fear that she’d gotten a better offer for her story.

Oh, shit.

Julian’s first instincts led him to the closet and her dressers. All her things—the things he’d bought her—were still there.

Good.

He stormed out into the hallway. She was here in the house somewhere, and Julian set out to find her. He ran into Andre coming up the stairs.

“Andre, have you seen my wife?” he asked, stopping just past his brother on the staircase.

Andre grabbed the banister and crooked halfway around and flashed Julian with a confused look. “Your wife?”

“Yes. Camille. Have you seen her?”

“You didn’t know?” Fear darkened Andre’s demeanor.

“Know what?” Julian asked, having little patience.

“I thought you knew.” Andre paused, slinking up the stairs, outside Julian’s reach.

Claudette appeared at the top and moved down between them. Julian didn’t pay much attention to her and he didn’t think Andre had either.

“I went to see Tasha while you were gone and Camille
hitched a ride
with me. Her words, not mine.” He chuckled, seemingly amused by the axiom.

“What?” Julian’s voice shrieked as he lurched toward his brother.

Andre backed up the steps. “She said you’d understand, not to mention agree.”

“No, I don’t understand.” Julian huffed out his disapproval. “And, no, I don’t agree.”

“Well, don’t yell at me.”

“Why not?” Julian asked. “You took her away.”

“What’s the big deal?” Andre shrugged. “Just go get her.”

Julian considered it—for a second. He shook his head. That’s no good. What if she’s gone to L.A. to sell her story? What if she didn’t care about his feelings at all? What if she turned out to be just like his mother?

“If you’re not sure you can trust her,” Claudette said, as if she’d read Julian’s mind, “you can always play the wait and see card. That way, you’ll know.”

That was a great idea.

Claudette headed down the stairs and a few steps from the bottom, she glanced over her shoulder. “But don’t wait too long.”

Julian stormed outside, where he hoped the rain had stopped. He’d talk to Papa later. Right now, he needed to think.

If he made it outside without running into Papa, he’d be happy. Just a couple of steps and he was home free. He laid his hand on the doorknob, expecting to hear Papa’s voice spoiling his escape. The door opened in silence and Julian slipped outside.

Luckily, the rain had stopped.

Julian ran through the gardens until he got to the hidden clearing that not too many people beyond the gardeners had discovered.

He sat on the bench—the same bench he’d sat on with Camille just weeks earlier—and ignored the pool of rainwater.

The Roman goddess statue, the protector of the garden, offered no comfort today. In fact, the rain made her look like she had tears falling from her porcelain eyes. Julian hated that. It made him feel like his mother was crying since she was the one who’d put the sculpture in the garden.

Julian had to forget about his own feelings and consider the family’s welfare. He had to figure out if Camille had come there looking for a story.

Only time would tell.

C
amille had never hated the sound of an alarm clock beeping incessantly as much as she did this morning. She awakened from her deep, dreamless sleep.

Reality set in; she was in Tasha’s living room.

The last few days, hanging out and sleeping on her best friend’s couch was a far cry from the luxury she’d experienced with Julian. But she didn’t belong in Julian’s world. Now she was back in her own, and it was a shock to say the least.

But not nearly as much of a shock as waitressing at the
4
^th
Street Diner
. A couple of months ago, Camille would’ve never pictured herself working there. But Julian de Laurent had taught her a thing or two. First, she was capable of taking care of herself. And that brought her to the second—maybe writing wasn’t quite so important to her, after all. Not if she had to compromise her principles for the sake of some tabloid’s bottom line.

She sighed, threw the blanket back and swung her feet onto the floor. The clock said 10:30 am. She was due at work in less than four hours.

Oh, God
. She dropped her face into her hands, fearful of never finding a way out of the fog between her heart and her mind.

How was she ever going to get off Tasha’s couch, averaging a lousy two hundred and fifty bucks a week?

Tasha dropped into the chair kitty-cornered from the couch. “So, I’m thinking…” she said in that provisional tone that told Camille she was up to something. “Let’s use some of the money you gave me to get a two bedroom apartment.”

Camille wanted to send the money back to Julian—what was left of it, anyway. Using it was a bad idea.

“Just hear me out.” Tasha’s hand flew up. “We need a bigger place so you’ll have your own bedroom. We can send Julian what’s left, with an IOU for the remainder.” She was optimistic about her plan, more so than Camille. “We can make monthly payments to him on the rest, which is actually more my bill than yours.”

“But I
gave
you that money,” Camille reminded Tasha. “I’m the one in debt.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this.” Tasha’s voice heightened and she leaned toward Camille. “Either we’re both in debt, or neither of us is in debt.”

Camille didn’t like it. She didn’t like being indebted to Julian for anything. She wanted a free and clear break from him. If nothing else, she wanted him to understand that she’d never set out to use or hurt him. She’d just wanted to help Julian. And if she was being honest, she wanted to help herself.

And in turn, her whole world had been turned upside down. But she didn’t have time to worry about that. She had to get something to eat and get ready to go to work. Plus, if she didn’t agree to Tasha’s plan, she’d never hear the end of it. Nor could she keep living on her friend’s couch. She’d have to go along with Tasha and hope Julian understood.

“Okay, okay.” Camille pushed herself up and stumbled toward the one and only bathroom in the small, one bedroom apartment. “Can you get us a bigger place here?” That’d be convenient.

“There’s a two bedroom available downstairs.”

“Ooh, downstairs.” The possibilities swarmed Camille’s mind as she entered the bathroom.

She checked her reflection in the mirror, ignoring her disheveled hair and the dark shadows surrounding her reddened eyes. She’d made a mess of things. Who knew she’d end up actually wanting Julian’s approval?

Camille squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She’d have to make the best of the bad situation, and accept that her life was going to be lonely without Julian.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JULIAN LAID THE FOLDER ON HIS DESK and pushed it inches away from him. The report on Camille had been enlightening, and disheartening. He drew a breath, taking in all her woes and troubles as if he could relieve her burden.

A soft knock at the door caught him off-guard. Who? It wasn’t Andre…too light. Same for Papa. And his secretary had that two-tap rap going on, so it wasn’t her. Who had showed up at his office unannounced? He had no appointments this afternoon.

“It’s open,” Julian called out, intrigue heightening his curiosity.

The door opened and surprise shook Julian as Claudette sauntered across the room.

“Claudette?” He stood and moved around the desk.

“Julian.” She hugged him lightly and kissed his cheeks, one after the other. “I hope I’m not intruding.” She scrutinized him. “I should have called, but it’s a spur of the moment visit. Sorry.”

Julian shushed her. “You know you’re always welcome here.” He led her to a chair and leaned against the front edge of his desk as she sat. “What can I do for you?”