“You know, you seem like a really nice guy, Julian.” Camille kept her focus on the red sequined clutch she’d borrowed from Tasha, and tried to ignore the feel of Julian’s silk suit as it caressed temptingly against her bare leg. “If you’re not in movies, what can you possibly want with an actress?”
Camille wished she could be this inquisitive with her boss, Margo. If she questioned that woman’s intentions, she’d be shot down before the words ever settled in the air. But with Julian, it was different. He didn’t seem to mind her wariness. Ever the gentleman, always on the verge of courtesy.
He paused, his expression softening, his eyes closed and lingered shut for a brief interlude. “Chéri.” He looked back at her. “May I tell you about my family?”
“Sure.”
His demeanor was young, hip, and fresh but his words were old-fashioned, shaped in old-world charm, at least the kind of old-world charm she was used to seeing in the movies. If it was truly an act, he was a savant.
“My family is deep-rooted in France. I will be honest with you because, if you accept my proposal, you will find out anyway.” For the first time he fidgeted, uncomfortable with his forthcoming information. “The de Laurents are, how do you say tactfully...a very wealthy family.” He shrugged as if it meant nothing. “The money is old and the principles are set in the ways of the past.”
“How do you mean?”
“Decades ago. Hundreds of years even, in noble and elite circles, arranged marriages were, and still are, quite common. They worked well back then, and some Europeans aren’t ready to give up their old-fashioned ways.”
“Kind of like the old saying...if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”
“Exactly.”
“Are you telling me that you suffer from an arranged marriage?”
Julian’s eyes lit up. “Of sorts.” He exhaled and his woes seemed to blow out with his excessive breath. “It’s more like an arranged engagement that hasn’t yet been announced.”
Could he possibly be after what it sounded like? Was Julian looking for a wife?
Camille dismissed that notion, as tempting as it was. It didn’t make sense. “Okay, but I’m not really getting how hiring an actress is going to help you.”
“My father thinks it’s his god-given right to choose a wife for me.” His brow drew together in a conflicting frown. “I disagree.” His demeanor faded into defeat. “But you can only push a man like my father so far.”
“And you’re too rich to be poor?”
“Precisely.”
Was Julian trying to pull a fast one on his father? Camille insisted her brain not go there. It didn’t listen. “A man who’s already married can’t get married.” She laid it out there in the vaguest terms, just in case she was wrong.
“It’s not quite that diabolical.” He chuckled. “You see, my father feels he also bears a certain sense of responsibility for my happiness, as well as securing a future heir—”
Whoa! Nobody said anything about heirs.
“He wants a daughter-in-law.” Every muscle in his face tightened. It was hard for him to say the words, much less consider making them happen. “But I’m not ready for a wife.” He paused with a wide-eyed innocence that Camille suspected was a smoke-screen. “Not a real one, anyway.”
She shrugged to hide the bit of disappointment behind her growing confusion. “So, you think getting an actress to pretend to be your fiancée will fend off your father long enough for him to get over his fascination with you getting married?”
“No.” Julian shook his head with a calm resolve. “My father can’t be placated so easily.”
A soft gasp escaped her. “You want somebody to actually marry you?”
He remained silent, and his mouth curved into an unconscious smile. She’d finally stumbled upon the root of Julian’s purpose.
“Okay, I’m missing something here.” Her breath caught in her lungs and she forbade herself to lose her sensibility. “You don’t want to get married so you think it’s a good idea to hire an actress to marry you?” She paused, trying not to let her composure falter. “How is that going to fix your problem?”
“It’s temporary, Chéri,” he said with a bit of complacency. “Six months, long enough for my father to move on to my younger brother. Then my wife and I can divorce amicably, and I’ll be free from the confines of a real marriage.”
“Why would anyone agree to that?”
Julian rested his arm along the back of the seat and wound his hand in her hair. “Perhaps five million dollars would be an ample inducement?”
Five million bucks? Hell yeah. Camille knew a ton of would-be actresses who’d practically kill for half that.
Camille suspected her boss, Margo Fontaine, enjoyed her throne perched high upon the eighteenth floor. Who could blame her? A corner office with two walls of windows displaying, almost smugly, a commanding view that overlooked downtown Los Angeles.
On this day, Margo ignored the scene outside. Instead, her face fell into exaggerated melancholy as she stared at Camille. “What do you mean you told him no?” Margo’s voice shrilled across the desk and withered Camille’s self-assurance.
Disbelief twisted and knotted in Camille’s gut. How could Margo expect her to agree to this charade?
“Margo.” Camille’s nervous laughter fogged around her like a thick, suffocating vapor. “You really can’t expect me to marry some stranger just to get a story?”
Margo stiffened and displayed short-tempered impatience. “Of course I don’t expect you to actually go through with the marriage.” She heard a heavy dose of sarcasm in Margo’s voice. “You can change your mind the day before the ceremony,” she added, as if that was okay.
A dense tangle of ideas swarmed inside Camille’s head and tightened her muscles with dread. Was Margo serious? She had to be joking. But Margo Fontaine rarely joked about anything. Especially assignments.
“Margo—” Camille stalled, long enough to find her credible voice. “—I can’t do that. Not even to a stranger.”
Julian de Laurent had come across as a little eccentric and he was most likely a pain in the butt because he was probably used to getting his way, but toying with him just didn’t seem right.
“Sure you can.” Margo crossed her arms defensively. “And you will.”