“You are who you are. The story is yours to tell.”
Julian had to make sure Camille was as comfortable as possible, because soon enough she’d learn about the couple of bulldogs waiting in her near future. It just couldn’t be right now.
Sure, the story may be mine to tell...but is he going to end up dictating it to me?
Even though Camille had her reservations, she intended to go through with his charade. What other choice did she have? Life on the streets in L.A. wasn’t pretty, and she didn’t want a firsthand look.
Marrying Julian wasn’t a jail sentence or anything. She’d love to know what it was like to slip into a one-of-a-kind Christian Dior, if only for a little while. And slipping into Julian’s arms wasn’t a bad idea either.
She peered at him, trying to find a reason to back out while sifting through all the advantages of following through at the same time. Money. A hottie husband—who cared if it wasn’t real. No worries for six months. Some potentially great sex. Luxuries beyond anything she could envision.
“Well, it might be fun to play rich for a little while,” she said, selling herself on the idea.
“On the contrary, Chéri, you will be rich, moderately so anyway. Remember, I am paying you five million dollars.”
Julian did have a point. But Camille had a feeling the degree of wealth she was about to experience was beyond her wildest dreams.
A fun prospect, but she was more concerned about ending up homeless and unable to find a job in the field which she’d spent tens of thousands of dollars on in educational fees.
She just wanted to get on with it and secure her future. And right now, marrying Julian de Laurent for the whole of six months seemed appealing for more than one reason. Of course, the option would cruise out the window real quick if he knew why she’d changed her mind.
No way could she tell him she’d lost her job at Disclosure Magazine when she refused to accept his proposal and turn the experience into a story. Like he’d really believe that now.
The question was, could they get to a wedding chapel in Vegas before he found out she and her employer had parted ways—or worse yet, ran across her bombshell of a friend Tasha?
CHAPTER THREE
CAMILLE HURRIED CLOSE behind Julian as they ascended the stairs up to the aircraft. He paused long enough to grab hold of her hand before entering a private jet that rivaled the size of most commercial airliners.
Her stomach churned with the uncertainty of not knowing if she was doing the right thing. Too late now. Her career was already ruined. And Julian owned at least part of that blame. If only he hadn’t come to America in search of a temporary wife.
Geez, weren’t there any gold diggers in Europe? Did he have to travel halfway around the world to buy himself a temporary wife?
Julian’s redeeming quality, besides his appeal, was that he seemed like a nice enough guy. Yeah, and they say Ted Bundy was charismatic too. Trusting him had gotten a whole lot of women killed.
Good Lord. Camille shook the insecurities out of her head. Julian was no killer. Unless you counted kindness and his to-die-for good looks as a weapon.
He stopped just inside the cabin and turned to face her with a gorgeous smile curling on his lips. “Make yourself comfortable.” He fanned a hand about the cabin. “I must speak with the captain, but I’ll return momentarily.”
Julian disappeared through a door near the plane’s entryway, leaving Camille alone with her paranoid insecurities.
Just breathe. Camille scanned the cabin. She should take a seat but she questioned her choice to be there. Did she deserve a five million dollar reward for perpetrating a fraud?
Probably not. But she didn’t deserve to be forced out on her ear either. She had no prospects of employment here in L.A.—thanks to Julian—and thousands in overdue student loans that he had agreed to pay off as part of their arrangement.
She’d bet the plush couches, even the chairs, were sumptuously comfortable and would lull her into a quick nap. The prospect of an uncertain future in L.A. lured her toward a beige leather chair. Easing down, she felt like she was settling into a cloud. She’d never experienced such luxury or comfort and welcomed it, encouraging it to settle her nerves.
Camille opened her eyes and studied the door where Julian had disappeared. She grabbed her purse and dug out her cell phone. Not that there were too many people who’d be looking for her if she came up missing now that she’d lost her job, but there was Tasha. She’d make a big fuss. Camille didn’t want that. She’d better contact her but not on her cell. She brought up Tasha’s home number and set the call.
After a couple of rings, Tasha’s seductive voice greeted her caller. “Hey, it’s Tash. If you don’t know my cell then leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.” Her flirtatious delivery was overshadowed by her cutting words pointing out that some callers had limited access.
“Hey, Tash, I tried your cell but got nothing.” The lie came easily since it was for the greater good. “Listen, Margo gave me that big promotion I’ve been waiting for. The catch is, I’ve got to go out of town on a story. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but it’ll probably be an extended assignment.” She stopped talking when Soren entered the cabin and approached her.
“Ms. Chandler, may I get you something to drink during our short flight to Las Vegas?” He paused, resting his hands behind his back. “Mr. de Laurent asked if the Bellagio will be satisfactory until we leave the U.S.?”
“I’ll call you later, okay?” she said into the phone. “Don’t worry. Everything’s cool.” After a bit of brief hesitation she disconnected the call. After a brief interlude of silence she turned to Julian’s valet. “Soren. Is that your first name?” she asked, slipping her phone into her bag.
“Yes ma’am.” He stood waiting for her direction.
“Can I just get some water or something?” Alcohol and her empty stomach weren’t a good match.
“Of course.” He moved to a small bar on the far side of the cabin. “And I take it the Bellagio will do?” Behind the counter, Soren prepared to serve her request.
Not used to having someone wait on her, Camille went to Soren’s side. Politely, she slipped the bottled water and the ice-filled glass from his hands and filled it herself.
“Sure.” She tried to hide her surprise and anticipation of a visit to the ritzy hotel. “The Bellagio is fine with me.”