I felt my whole body flush as I realized Chris had just witnessed every single thing that had transpired between Cam and me. Even if he wasn’t looking, he’d heard. He probably even knew where Cam’s hand was at that moment, still teasing me. Almost reflexively I pushed Cam’s hand away and slid off of his lap.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
I infinitesimally nodded my head in Chris’s direction. It wasn’t like he was consciously paying attention to us, but I figured we’d already drawn too much attention since I’d gotten in the car.
“It’s okay,” Cam assured me in a hushed voice. “This isn’t the first time he’s seen something like this. I promise you have his full discretion.”
I faltered for a second as what he’d just said worked its way into my brain. “So I’m not the first girl you’ve made out with in the back of a car?”
Cam must have suddenly realized his mistake, but he didn’t try to cover it up. “No, you’re not,” he said contritely. “But Andi, please don’t read into this. It’s not what you think. I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you.”
I saw what I thought was desperation in his eyes. He was afraid I was mad. I kind of was.
“I feel like I should say thank you, but forgive me if I don’t exactly feel grateful,” I said, not really sure how I was supposed to respond. “Actually, I take that back. Thank you for being respectful to me and not seeing other people, but that’s not it.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have been so flippant about my past. I’m sorry,” he said regretfully.
I looked up into his green eyes that I loved so much. “Cam, I know I’m not the first girl you’ve ever been with. I’m not naïve. I was just sort of hoping I wouldn’t have to hear about any of the others. The last thing I want to do is picture you with them, even though I’m well aware that I can probably Google you and find more than enough pictures of you with other girls.”
I’d done exactly that, which was what was probably leading to my insecurity.
“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
I suddenly felt bad that he was apologizing. I knew I shouldn't be upset, but I couldn’t help it. I was being completely irrational. I just wasn't sure how to rectify things after essentially making a big deal about nothing.
“Maybe we should go to dinner first,” I suggested. “I mean, you have reservations for us, right?”
Cam nodded. “I do.”
“Okay, then let’s do that,” I said, slipping my hand into his. I didn’t want him to think I was angry with him. In truth, I wasn’t sure what I was. I was confused, maybe.
He smiled, but it wasn’t the full watt grin I’d gotten accustomed to, and I suddenly wondered if I’d screwed up. Things had been so great between us, and now I wasn’t sure what was going on. I hated that I was being so sensitive. We weren’t even together. I didn’t have a right, but I’d just gone ahead and let myself be all vulnerable and insecure. I shouldn’t have done that.
“I’m going to a premiere with an actress next week,” Cam suddenly blurted out. “Willow Blake.”
“Oh,” I said, not wanting to get upset, but hearing that stung just a little.
Cam looked over at me. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you. It’s not a date. It’s business, and it’s been planned for a while, since before we met.”
“Business?”
“Yes. It’s a publicity thing since I’m technically single. She has a movie coming out, and with our album, Katherine thought it would be a good way to get exposure. The other guys are going to the premiere too.”
“Okay.”
He nodded. “I just felt like you should know so you weren’t surprised. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Cam, you don’t owe me an explanation,” I assured him, even though I hated saying it.
“I feel like I do,” he said, and then he let his head fall back against the headrest.
I had a feeling he was regretting seeing me during this trip. I had no idea where that seemingly irrational fear had come from, but it was there, front and center, staring me in the face. And I knew then that in my mind, regardless of what I’d been telling myself, I’d been thinking of Cam as my boyfriend. He wasn’t. We were barely even dating. But I didn’t want to be with anyone else. I just wanted to be with him.
Cam lifted his head and looked at me. “Why is this so hard?”
He was feeling it too. That made me feel marginally better, although it didn’t give me the assurance I needed. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to get that with him. Our circumstances made things too complicated.
“Because it’s life,” I said, feeling like I needed to say something. It was a simplistic yet loaded explanation that seemed to fit what we were dealing with.
Cam nodded. “Right.”
Shit. I needed to say something or this night was going to crash and burn before it started. I needed to fix this.
“Hey, let’s just focus on tonight, okay?” I suggested, hoping I could salvage our time together. I needed this with him. “Let’s have fun and not put so much pressure on ourselves. Let’s do what we did the last time you were here. That was one of the best weeks of my life, and it was because of you. That’s why I’ve been so excited about seeing you again. I want that feeling back.”
“I know,” he said simply. “I want that too.”
“So let’s do it. We own this. No one else can tell us what to do or what to think. Just us.”
“Just us,” he echoed. “Okay.”
He kept his gaze on me, so I offered him a small smile. Then he reached up and fingered a lock of my hair that I’d curled at the ends.
“You really do look so beautiful tonight,” he said softly.
He leaned forward and kissed me. It was restrained and a bit chaste, but it was sweet at the same time. It made me feel revered, and it was exactly what I needed.
“We’re here, Cam,” Chris said then, looking into the rearview mirror to meet Cam’s gaze.
Cam turned to smile at me. “You ready?”
“Yes,” I said as I let go of his hand in favor of slipping my coat back on.
We were in a back alley near some dumpsters, but this was apparently what we had to do in order to achieve privacy. Cam slid out of the SUV first and reached his hand out to help me. I appreciated that with the sky-high heels I was wearing. And the best part was that he didn’t let go of my hand as we started to enter the door that had opened at the back of the building.
“Good evening, Mr. Baylor,” a maître d’ greeted us in a French accent. “Ms. Cutler.”
“Good evening,” Cam said as we stepped through the doorway. We were in a hallway right off the kitchen.
“Right this way, please.”
Cam and I followed the maître d’ down a short hallway before turning down another hallway that was wood paneled and lined with elegant carpet. Elaborately framed artwork adorned the walls. The maître d’ stopped outside a set of double French doors before whisking them open with a grand gesture to reveal a small candlelit table in the center of a larger room.
“Our private dining area, monsieur. I hope this is to your liking.”
“Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you,” Cam said as he slipped something into the man’s hand, no doubt tipping him.
“Mademoiselle, may I take your coat?” the maître d’ asked me, catching me by surprise.
“Yes, thank you,” I said as I worked to slip my coat off. He helped ease it off my shoulders and then disappeared with it.
“Please sit,” Cam said.
I smiled at him as I settled into the seat across from him, next to the ice bucket of champagne. “This is really nice, Cam.”
He grinned at me. “Well, I wanted tonight to be special.”
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t need such pomp and circumstance, but he’d gone to all the trouble, so I wanted to be appreciative. The last time we’d gone out to dinner it had been to a quaint Italian place in Lit
tle Italy. We’d drunk wine, ate the most delicious pasta, and laughed the whole time. It was a perfect night, but after my outburst in the car, I didn't dare say a word.
“Oh,” I said as I opened my menu. Not only was it all in French, but there were no prices as far as I could tell.
“What’s wrong?” Cam asked.
“I can’t read French. And there are no prices.”
He reached forward and pulled my menu from my hand. “Don’t worry about anything. I actually asked the chef to prepare us something special. We don’t need the menus.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, not even wanting to think about how much this night was costing him.
“Good evening, monsieur, mademoiselle,” a man said as he entered through the double doors. “I am Claude, and I will be serving you tonight. Would you like some champagne?”
“Please,” Cam said, sitting up straighter in his chair.
The waiter filled our glasses and then let us know the first course would be out momentarily. When he was gone, Cam lifted his glass of champagne, so I did the same.
“To you,” he said sweetly. “It’s great to see you again, Andi. I hope tonight is everything you imagined it to be.”
“I’m sure it will be,” I said as I clinked my glass against his and took a sip.
Cam did the same, although he couldn’t quite mask the slightly pained look on his face as he pulled the glass from his lips.
“Not a fan of champagne?” I teased him.
He looked at me sheepishly. “I’ve never been able to get used to the taste.”
“Then why did you order it?”
“Because I wanted tonight to be special. I figured champagne was a must.”
“Well, that’s very sweet of you, but don’t drink it if you don’t like it. Order a beer or something.”
“I don’t think they serve beer here,” he said as he choked back another sip. “Nope, I can’t do it. I’ll just drink water.”
“Get a glass of wine,” I encouraged him. “Or a mixed drink.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he said as he took a fortifying sip of his water.
When the waiter appeared a few minutes later, he set a plate in front of each of us with what looked like small cheese balls on it. I looked up at him for an explanation. I was always up to try new things, but I wanted to know what I was eating first. No brains or stomachs for this girl.
“Our first course tonight is Chevre Truffles. The chef seasoned chevre des neiges three different ways for you to enjoy this evening. Bon appetit.”
With that he was gone, and Cam and I were left looking at each other in question. “He seasoned what in what way?” I asked him.
“I’m not sure,” he said, poking at one of the balls with his fork. Then he leaned down and sniffed it. “It smells like cheese.”
“Try it,” I said, giggling a little at the prospect of not knowing what was on the plates in front of us.
“I will,” Cam said, forcing bravery into his voice.
I bit my lip as I watched him and cringed a little when the bite went into his mouth.
“It’s tastes like goat cheese with herbs and spices as far as I can tell,” he said after he’d swallowed. “It’s good.”
“No intestines?”
“Not as far as I can tell,” he said as he forked another bite. “Try it.”
I slid a little onto my fork and only hesitated a little before I tasted it. Cam was right. It was good.
“It’s delicious,” I told him.
“Try the slightly orange one,” he said, pointing to my plate with his fork. “It’s spicy.”
He was right. It was good.
“So where are the guys tonight?” I asked him, hoping to get a conversation going.
“Van flew in earlier. He’s staying at Phillip’s apartment since Phillip’s having a little get-together. Dillon’s taking a later flight. He gets in around midnight.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you’re missing Phillip’s party.”
“I’d rather be here with you,” Cam said simply, making me smile. “So how was work today?”
He did that every day. I had a hard time believing he was actually interested, but I appreciated that he asked. He was sweet in that way, so I told him about what I’d been working on until the waiter returned.
“How did you enjoy it?”
“It was delicious. Thank you,” Cam told him.
He nodded. “Very well. I’ll return shortly with our next course.”
“One for one,” I said to Cam when he left.
He smiled. “Let’s hope the next course is just as good.”
“Hey, so can I share something with you?” I asked him, hoping now was a good time.
We’d broken the ice and were having fun. It felt safe to delve into more serious topics. I’d honestly debated mentioning anything at all, since I didn’t want to seem paranoid, but something had been bothering me for the past few weeks.
“Sure. What’s up?” Cam asked, concern worrying his brow.
“So, remember when I told you that the media hadn’t really approached me after those first few days when I got back?”
“Yes,” he said warily.
“Well, I’m not sure how to say this, but although no one has approached me in a while, I’ve sort of felt for the past few weeks like I’m being watched. Is that crazy?”
I thought I saw something akin to relief flash over Cam’s face, which was odd, because I certainly wasn’t feeling relieved. “I sort of feel that way all the time,” he said offhandedly, trying to play it off, but I felt like there was something he wasn’t telling me.
“That’s probably because you are being watched. I saw you on TMZ last night,” I teased him, remembering how adorable he’d looked as he’d joked with the camera guy about the movie he’d just seen. They’d caught him and Chris coming out of the theater.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, not commenting on what I’d said about seeing him on TV.
It had been sort of surreal in all honesty to see him being interviewed on the street. It was one thing to watch him perform, because I was used to that. I’d actually bought DVDs of Westside’s second and third tours and had watched them a few times, and not because I was suddenly obsessed with the music. It still wasn’t my taste, but I liked watching Cam, seeing him in his element, playing with the fans, and generally lighting up on stage. He really was a born performer, and the camera seemed to love him.
“Okay, but what if there are pictures of me online,” I rationalized. “I mean, what if some photographer is taking them with a telephoto lens or something. I might not even know they exist. That’s weird.”
It had been odd enough seeing the pictures of me online with Cam and then the solo ones of just me after he’d left New York. Why anyone cared was beyond me. I was a virtual nobody.
“There aren’t any recent pictures of you online,” Cam said softly.
“How do you know?” I asked, my eyes narrowed in confusion.
“I just do,” he said vaguely.
“Camden?” I prompted.
He sighed. “Okay, so possibly I had our PR people put a hit out on your name and face. They get daily updates on what’s said about all of us online, so I might have asked them to do the same for you.”
“Oh. Really? They do that?”
He shrugged. “Of course. How else are they going to be able to kill untrue stories or do damage control when something unfortunate happens?”
I nodded, vaguely remembering something like that in one of my PR classes in college. I didn’t need to use that kind of program in my current job. The companies I supported weren’t very newsworthy on a daily basis.
“Well, that’s good, I guess. But it doesn’t explain why I feel like I’m being followed.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s probably just your awareness that the press could be lurking.”
“It’s not.”
“It is, And
i. Just let it go.”
I reeled back a little at the directness in his tone. In all the conversations we’d had, he’d never snapped at me before. I realized fairly quickly that something was up.
“No, I’m not going to let it go. What aren’t you telling me?” I asked, expecting the worst.
Cam sighed, but he didn’t say anything for several seconds. When he finally told me the truth, I was shocked.
“I asked Bruce to stay in town and keep an eye on you,” he said softly.
“Bruce? As in your security guard?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“To make sure you were safe,” he said as if it was obvious.
“Was that necessary?”
“I thought so,” he said shrugging, and I realized then that his concern about the backlash of us being seen together hadn’t gone away like I thought it had. He might have acted flippantly, but he was anything but dismissive about it.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I didn’t want your life to be disrupted, so I asked him to stay hidden. He was only supposed to act if something happened, and thankfully it didn’t.”
Wow. I was in shock.
“So how long is he going to be following me?”
“Until I tell him to stop,” Cam said firmly. He seemed to feel very strongly that this was a necessary countermeasure.
“Oh, okay. And he’s alright with that?”
“I pay him to be alright with it.”
“You’re paying him?!”
“Of course. Now can you just let this go? I didn’t want it to be a thing, so I didn’t tell you.”
“Cam, I really don’t think it’s necessary.”
“It is,” he assured me.
“So, you’re going to keep having him trail me?”
That honestly sounded like the most boring job in the world. My life wasn’t exciting.
“Yes,” he said, and it sounded like there was little room for argument.
I started to say something but bit my tongue as the waiter re-entered the room. He presented us with a salad with a champagne vinaigrette.
I looked up at Cam who was poking at it with his fork. “The dressing doesn’t taste that much like champagne,” I told him.
Westside Series Box Set Page 18
