Conflicted. I’m never conflicted over anything.
“I can’t believe you’re not devouring this,” she said. “Then again, you probably eat stuff like this at every meal. On silver platters, of course, with silver forks, all while pretending to be blasé when your chef serves heaven drenched chocolate confections.” She waved the fork, eyes glittering with mirth, her sexy bottom lip pressed into a faux pout.
“Actually, I usually only pretend to be blasé when I’m eating off crystal. That whole silver bit? I think it’s archaic, myself.”
Her laughter bubbled out, surprising him with its unfettered joy. The curl of her red lips drew him further into her spell while the bright sound warmed something inside him, a piece of himself he thought long dead and buried. A twang of regret reverberated through him when she stifled her merriment to sip her wine. “I’m glad it’s just you and me. For tonight, at least, I can enjoy the way the wine makes my head just a little fuzzy and eat like a pig. I think if I really was this disgustingly rich, I’d have a butt the size of Texas in a week. The food? Really amazing. Compliments to the chef.”
“I’ll pass along your compliments.” With a flick of his fingers, he dismissed the wait staff. He’d do more than pass along the compliment. The chef would receive a hell of a bonus for impressing her tonight. He chose not to look too closely at his motivations, even as he leaned forward and steepled his fingertips.
“Thank you.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “You did good today, really rolled with the punches. Not everyone would have followed my lead. Probably, it’s going to get more complicated. We won’t have a lot of moments like this.” He wasn’t sure why he felt like warning her, but his life wasn’t conducive to private and stolen moments. He lived in a spotlight, part and parcel with who he was and what he planned to be.
She twisted her wine glass, some of her ease leeched away by his serious tone. “My dad used to say nothing worth having comes without risk. Do you think people are really going to buy this, though? I mean, you’ve upped the stakes with the bet.”
“I think it could work.” And that was true. He did.
He also calculated the wager before he’d gambled. She’d slip at some point. He could fix a small leak without a lot of work, spin being something he wielded without qualms. He wouldn’t slip, not for a moment.
Pretending to be in love with her wasn’t hard.
He might not believe in love, but he believed in attraction. He wanted her, regretted within hours his own hastily typed no-sex clause, and decided he would have her before the act was done. Sure, they’d agreed to no sex. But if she then agreed to renegotiate? If she decided she wanted him as much as he wanted her? Platonic business arrangement or not, he’d take her like he’d never taken a woman before.
He believed in planning. She’d make a perfect wife. No illusions about romance or need to win her affection—since he’d paid for her to fake adoration—would create balance and order where most relationships dwelled in a constant state of chaos.
He firmly believed marriage to be a social and economic arrangement. If both players understood their roles, it lowered the risk of unhappy surprises rising up and nipping the union in the ass. Her fierce devotion to her sister? Fantastic if he eventually decided to have children. She protected her sibling, so she’d be absolutely brutal in her defense of her own offspring.
If he’d written out a list of characteristics he desired in his bride, she’d earn checkmarks for every item he could think up.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry, woolgathering. Did you say something?”
“Just that I am probably going to head to bed, if that’s okay. Or do you need me to dangle off your arm this evening?” Her smirk revealed her amusement.
“No, I don’t need arm candy tonight. Thanks for asking, though.” Polite. He wasn’t doing too badly at staying polite.
Her snort, as she rose, contrasted with the elegance of her body wrapped in the black silk dress. “Fantastic. Do you have a game plan for tomorrow or is it more flying by the seats of our asses?”
“Flying, always flying. Planning isn’t needed if you think fast enough.” He didn’t need to share his plans. She seemed to react well to impromptu, he didn’t want to rock the boat and have her appear stilted as she tried to fit a scripted set of actions.
“Goodnight, then.” She paused in the doorway, a sensual silhouette. Without looking back, she said, “Strange, isn’t it? This morning, you were a stranger I’d only seen from a distance or in a magazine. Tonight, I’m going to sleep in your home with your ring on my finger after having you repeatedly shove your tongue down my throat. Life—it changes in a heartbeat, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled. She had no idea. His life constantly changed at a rapid pace, leaving him scrabbling to catch up. He lifted his glass, toasting her back. “To more adventures tomorrow.”
Her laugh trailed after her, elusive as the scent of her perfume lingering in the room and blending with the decadent aromas from their meal.
He glanced at the wall and toasted the woman in the large golden frame. “So, Mom, I think I met the future Mrs. James. She’s not like you—she’s stronger, more likely to not be destroyed by this family, but I think you’d like her.”
His mother didn’t answer, smiling eternally in dried oil paint, a ghost of the one person who’d ever loved him, monster that he was.
“She has a kid.” He sipped the water, swirled the glass, listened to the chink of ice on crystal. “I need to find out more about the kid. There’s something there, something she hasn’t told me.”
Secrets, in his world, never stayed secret. Someone would reveal the truth.
He just hoped Jeanie would be the one to reveal whatever she kept hidden rather than her past coming back to haunt her. He understood ghosts, believed in them more readily than the idea of love, and lived with his daily. After all, his father killed his mother as surely as if he’d wielded a weapon and taken her life. Ignoring her depression, practically being disgusted by her weakness—his father might not have killed her in a literal sense, but he’d betrayed her and been a deciding factor in her suicide. Camden wouldn’t risk doing that to a woman.
Not when he knew he’d devoted his life to the company long ago. He would take the power from his father and then destroy the old man.
Another glance at his mother reaffirmed his resolve. He wouldn’t rest—he’d promised her he wouldn’t—until he avenged her.
Chapter Eight
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Jeanie resisted the wild and burning desire overwhelming her.
The stylist held out several different fabric swatches. “I’m leaning toward the reds. What do you think?”
Jeanie swallowed a gag as the motion sent another wave of the stylist’s too-strong perfume rolling her direction. A headache wasn’t just threatening at this point—it throbbed happily, right at home between her aching temples and blazing like a fiery sword behind her eyes.
If I look at one more piece of fabric, I’ll scream, that’s what I think.
Two days. She’d lived lifestyles of the rich and famous for two stinking days, earning every cent of the money Camden would pay her, per her contract. The time stretched out like her cheeks—which were sore from all the faked smiles.
“Stella, I think we’ve got all we need for now. You go ahead and order the things we’ve—” And by we’ve, I mean you, since you don’t actually care about my input. “—chosen.”
“Are you sure? We have—”
With a wave of her hand, Jeanie silenced her. “We’re perfect.”
Jeanie stood and escaped before the woman could follow her. Why Camden hired a stylist for a few days of faked engagement was beyond Jeanie, but she didn’t question him.
Why bother? She was an employee. If he wanted her to sit with a stylist for an hour, she sat. Moments like the ones she just endured made her wish, if fleetingly, she actually planned to marry the man.
If she were his
real bride-to-be, she’d give him a piece of her mind for hiring the over scented Frenchwoman to design her wardrobe. But she wasn’t a real fiancée, so she stuck it out. Saved her bickering power for the arguments that mattered, rather than ones that didn’t.
Seeing Lucas—the house elf, as she called him—Jeanie wiggled a finger. Actually in charge of the house staff, Lucas kept everything in Casa Rich Kid running smoothly. He also was a total sweetheart. “House elf, please tell me you can play Calgon and take me away?”
Lucas laughed and passed her a white plate. “I brought you some ibuprofen. You look like your head is hammering.”
“Good eye, house elf. I love you, you darling man. Please tell me—” Before she could finish, he passed her a bottle of water. “My kingdom to you, sweet man. I’d give you a sock to set you free, but I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”
Lucas leaned in to whisper, “Don’t let the boss hear you, Miss Jeanie.” He smirked. “I think he might get jealous, hearing you flirt with his gay-Jarvis-minus-the-motherboards.”
Almost choking on the water, Jeanie laughed. “Where is my hubby to be? I haven’t seen him around all morning.”
“Uh.” The tips of Lucas’s ears turned red, a sure sign he wasn’t allowed to tell her something.
She patted his shoulder, then swigged back more of the water, hoping the pills kicked in fast. “No worries, house elf. I’ll find his lordship, my precious Penthouse Prince.”
“He hates it when you call him that,” Lucas warned her, taking the bottle back. “One might think you intentionally rile him at times.”
“I’m starting to think I’m the only one who dares poke or rile his royal pain-in-the-assness.” She shrugged and headed to her suite.
“You are. No one else would dare…” The words, soft and barely heard, made her turn to ask Lucas what he meant, or if she’d heard him right, but the man had disappeared.
“Oh, the secrets in this fancy house.” Jeanie removed her shoes and let her bare feet sink into the carpet as she continued to her rooms. “We’re not in Kansas, and I can click my heels together all day, but I couldn’t make this museum a home.” Not that she wouldn’t put a damn good effort into trying if she won the bet, but still…
The highlight to her days were the moments she managed to escape her fake life and return to the real one. Kaycee kept her anchored, reminded her why she pretended to smile at all of the liars and snakes Camden kept around for reasons beyond her understanding. Reaching her room, she paused with one hand on the doorknob, as the child’s laughter streamed through the closed door, embracing her in familiarity.
“What are you—?” Her words snapped off, killed an early death by shock.
Kaycee twirled, her princess costume—topped off with a shining tiara—showcasing her little girl beauty. The sight of the laughing child, wearing what had to be a real tiara rather than a toy, might have been enough to surprise her—though in this house, maybe not.
She stepped forward into the room, but then she saw Camden, sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sitting cross-legged in designer jeans on the carpet, with a pink and sparkling boa finishing off his ensemble, as he sipped from a tiny tea glass.
“Mommy!” Running full-throttle, Kaycee launched herself at Jeanie.
She dropped the heels—worth at least a week of her former paycheck—unceremoniously, scooped up the child, and rounded on Mr. About to be Dead Bachelor of the Year. “Why are you in here?”
“He visits me every day while you do assignments and learn how to be a princess,” Kaycee answered, plucking at Jeanie’s hair with her soft fingers.
“He visits. Every day?” Apparently, he had at least a tiny sense of self-preservation, because he stood, palms out in a peacekeeping gesture, while she closed the distance between them.
“Yes. He brings presents. I like him.” The little girl squirmed, bored with affection. “Let me go find Mr. Lumpkins. He should come to tea.”
Jeanie let Kaycee escape out of the room, then fisted her hands on her hips, one brow cocked. “You have all of three seconds to explain.”
“I told you I was curious about the kid. You caused this. Playing all mysterious about her wasn’t smart. You’ve got to have figured out at least that much about me—just give me the information and satisfy my curiosity, and I’ll leave it alone. So, really you should blame—”
She stabbed her finger into his chest, and he backed up. “Try again.”
“Um, well, I like kids. They’re simple, and this one is cute, so I just wanted to get to know her. Hey, I gave her a tiara, and every little girl should have her own tiara—”
This time, she smacked his chest with the flat of her palm…and tried to ignore how great his hard pecs felt under her hand. “Last shot.”
“She’s part of you, and I’m trying to figure you out.” His gaze slanted away from her, and he twisted his lips into a fast grimace before shoving his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t figure out any deep and meaningful answers about you, but I like her. She’s sweet. And she calls me a handsome prince.” He shrugged, a small smile ghosting across his lips while his eyes gleamed bloodshot cobalt. “What guy can resist a kid who thinks he’s the hero in a fairytale? She also makes a killer cup of tea, especially for a child who hasn’t been abroad.”
The truth ringing in his answer relaxed her shoulders. “You’ve not let anything about her leak, right? No one figured out she’s here still, right?” Panic might have reflected in her tone, but Camden didn’t understand the shit storm looming if the world found out about Kaycee.
His brows snapped down. Shit. She’d made him more curious.
“No, no one knows she’s here.”
She breathed out in relief. Retreating might sometimes be a noble move. She spun to escape him before he started picking at her like she was an interesting lab rat.
Passing Lori, who entered the room with a guilty look Jeanie filed away to ask about later, Jeanie called out, “I’ll stop back in a little while, okay my Kaycee Princess?”
“Love you, Mommy!” The little girl didn’t make another appearance, probably busy with five-year-old business, and Jeanie escaped the room.
She hadn’t made it far, only partway down the hall, before his hand closed on her wrist, spinning her to face him. In one more move, he’d caged her against the wall.
“When are you going to tell me the big bad secret about your sister? I can’t help you, can’t fix it, if you won’t tell me what’s going on there. If this is going to work, honesty might be good, even if it’s just between us.”
The argument was becoming redundant; they’d circled this same topic so many times in the past two days without either giving up ground. On one hand, she wished she could just tell him and make it his problem. She’d carried the weight of it all so damned long that sharing the load would be a relief.
But the illusion couldn’t become the reality. He wasn’t an actual fiancé, he was a job.
“Camden, neither of us is being honest, so why try to use that? You’re paying me to play a role, and I’m playing it.” Usually, reminding him she wasn’t anything but an employee with the weirdest job on the planet would be enough to back him down.
Apparently, two days of repeating this conversation didn’t mean he couldn’t change it up. “So, pretend with me. Pretend you can trust me. Tell me what it is that makes you get that hunted look, as if someone might hop out of the shadows and attack. I’m here for you.” He stroked a lock of her hair, much as Jeanie might soothe Kaycee if she were upset. “Let me in, Jeanie.”
She cleared her throat and blinked fast. If she shed a tear, if she let him know he got to her, he’d use the chink in her armor, and she’d forget where the lies ended and the reality started. “I got your email. So, there’s a dance tonight and you want me in the green gown, correct?”
He sighed, sagging a little, looking a bit like a tired boy rather than a mogul man. She resisted the urge to comfort him, again fea
ring a slippery slope. He didn’t sleep, not that she knew of, which explained his constant look of exhaustion. She’d seen him pacing last night and wondered what would happen if she went to him in the darkness. Would she see the mask of fast-talking, quick-witted businessman, or the softer one—the face she caught peeking out in moments like this one, when it seemed he let his guard down? Or would he be a whole other man, some stranger no one ever saw?
She didn’t dare find out, so she backtracked, looking for an out from the intensity of his attention. “Camden?”
He blinked, the sleepy-eyed man vanishing in a heartbeat. “Yes, a ball for my fiancée. It’s a benefit for the art museum, so wear that necklace I asked Lucas to deliver to you yesterday. We’ll be doing dinner first. Meet me at the elevator by six.”
Nodding, she waited. He’d still not released her. “Was there something else you needed, Camden?”
Ever the good employee, Jeanie. Remember, he’s the boss.
A smile stretched his lips, gleaming white teeth flashed, and her sex clenched at the raw masculinity he could emanate with just a smirk. “Might be a few things on my want list, if you’d like to review it in my room.” Waggling his brows, he grazed his fingertips up her arms. “We can still make dinner and the dance, promise. I’m good at multitasking.”
Snorting, she refused to let him see what his constant refusal to respect her personal space, his scent, and their ‘pretend’ make out sessions did to her self-control. “Review them with one of your maids. I have a headache.”
Not a lie, which he seemed to recognize, because he shifted, and his fingertips delved into her hair to massage her head. She concentrated on not melting into a puddle, but a moan escaped at the pleasure his hands brought to her aching scalp.
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