The Marriage Bargain (2 page)

Julian was waiting outside, leaning against the white limousine. Camille’s heartbeat pounded in overtime, pushing those pheromones through her system. This guy was serious eye candy, with jet-black ringlets hanging nearly to his shoulders. His hair was a little long for her tastes, but it suited him well, complementing his broad shoulders and masculine frame as if it, along with each portion of his body, had been handpicked by the gods. And those aqua eyes, they stood out against his bronze skin like Atlantic jewels.

He pushed himself off the car and stepped toward her
.

Not knowing what to say, she smiled. Julian reached for her hand and brushed it with a kiss. “Chéri, I am honored to have the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening.”

Is this guy for real
? An involuntary snort rumbled up her throat and she tried to subdue it by holding her breath. No such luck. “Yeah. Likewise, I’m sure,” she said, and moved closer to the car.

Julian chuckled and waved the driver off before opening the car door himself. With an elaborate hand gesture, he beckoned Camille inside the vehicle. “Chéri, I can assure you my intentions are nothing less than sincere.”

Sure, it was probably a line. But Camille got the impression it was a line he genuinely meant, even if it was fueled by ulterior motives. Julian de Laurent wanted something, and in a bad way. Otherwise, she doubted he’d be in L.A. looking for an actress on the sly. Her boss, Margo Fontaine, had made it clear it was Camille’s job to find out what.

The longer he stalled, the more worried she became. What was he up to? She drew a breath, wanting more than anything to enjoy the luxury of the evening. Nights like these didn’t come along very often for Camille. But until Julian was ready to reveal his motive, she saw no relaxation in sight.

Julian climbed inside the limo and scanned her seductively before scooting up against her. The smell of his aftershave, cool and slightly erotic, and their close proximity melted her insecurities and prompted her to consider other, more appealing activities. Activities that involved kissing and touching and....

A delicious shudder heated her body, embarrassing Camille. She was too smitten to look at Julian as the car pulled away from the curb. For her own sake, she needed to get a hold of the attraction quickly. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she had a good idea it wasn’t love.

“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.

C
amille 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.”

Stunned surprise yanked Camille back. She shook her head with an air of resignation. “No.” Camille’s voice cracked with her failing optimism. She studied Margo’s stark face, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she began to realize the severity of her boss’s resolve. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

Margo waited, letting the silence linger on the space between them. A tactic to let fear of the unknown build in her enemy. “Camille.” Her tone was calm. A little too calm. That couldn’t be good. “How long have you been interning at Disclosure? A year now?” She grabbed a fountain pen and rubbed her thumb along the edge. “Our internships typically last a year. Then I decide whether or not to offer a full-time position, or quite possibly to offer recommendations elsewhere, if I’m so inclined.”

“Margo, I’d love a permanent job with the magazine.” Camille leaned forward and rested her arm on her boss’s desk. “But I’d also appreciate a recommendation if that’s your decision.”

“Camille, how would you like to come on board with your own column?”

“That’d be a dream come true.”

“You get me that story and the column is yours.”

Tempting as that was, Camille wasn’t prepared to play the game by those rules. She stifled her cynicism and retreated back into her chair. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She dared to raise her gaze and look at Margo. “Is there anything else? Other positions available?”

Margo stared at her in a forceful, gritty way. “Camille, your continued employment with Disclosure is contingent upon your accepting this assignment and getting me that story.” Her tone hardened to match her cynical words. “People like de Laurent make me sick. They think they can come over here and buy people at will.”

Wasn’t that what Margo was trying to do with Camille?

“Well, I guess I’ll have to decline a position with the magazine then.” Camille wanted to go back to the beginning, before the ad showed up in the L.A. Trades. That was the beginning of the end of her basic belief that her employer abided by the rules of human decency.

Julian de Laurent’s actions, as far as Camille could see, were no worse than the average superrich guy who’d gotten himself into a bind and was trying desperately, albeit foolishly, to wriggle out of a disagreeable situation. That didn’t mean he deserved to have some reporter disguised as an actress spying on him and his family to write a juicy tell-all.

Not that Camille wouldn’t mind helping out Julian. She wouldn’t mind living the luxurious life for few months, except she’d probably get too used to it. That’d be her luck. She’d become too attached to the life and Julian’s charms.

Margo cleared her throat. There was no mercy in her countenance. “That’s really unfortunate,” she said with a faint bitterness. “I guess I was wrong about you.”

“Wrong?”

“I thought your career was your top priority.” Her comment was no question. “As opposed to protecting the privacy of someone you don’t even know.”

Maybe Margo had a point. Why did Camille care about the ramifications for Julian and his family?

Why? Because she wasn’t raised that way. Granny Mae had made sure of that. Camille had lived with her grandmother ever since she could remember, after being deserted by both her parents, and Granny Mae had infused Camille with some old-fashioned values. Values that wouldn’t allow her, in good conscience, to do something so underhanded.

“I’m sorry Mar—Ms. Fontaine. I guess there is a line I’m not comfortable crossing.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Might I perhaps garner a letter of recommendation?” Desperation pushed the hopeful inquiry out of her mouth. Camille would have to find another job and quickly. The bills for the student loans she’d acquired while putting herself through college would soon inundate her. She didn’t want to have to compete in a job market that was overcrowded with aspiring actors and actresses. Not that there was anything wrong with waitressing, but that was supposed to be a temporary gig for college students and people like Tasha, who were waiting for that big break. It wasn’t meant to be an option for people with college degrees in journalism.

“Recommendation?” Margo’s ridiculing laughter shattered what little esteem she had left. “Camille, it’s all or nothing.”

“All or nothing?” Camille’s light tone failed to fit the moment.

Margo leaned over her desk and propped herself up on folded arms. “How’s your serving skills?”

“Serving skills?” What the hell was she talking about?

“Well, actresses who can’t act, waitress. Reporters who can’t report, well, they waitress too.”

What
? “Waitressing?” Surely she’d misunderstood Margo’s meaning. Camille had graduated from Stanford University with honors. It shouldn’t be that hard to land a job with some sort of publication in southern California. “I think I’ll be able to do better than that.”

“Not when I’m done, you won’t.” Margo pushed herself up and marched around in front of her desk. She leaned against it and folded her arms and crossed her legs, staring down at Camille from behind a mask of artificial sympathy. “In case you’ve convinced yourself that I’m nicer than people have tried to warn you in the past year, by the time I’m done, you’ll be lucky if you can get a job at a fast food restaurant.”

CHAPTER
TWO

BANG. BANG. BANG
.

Camille Chandler rapped on the hotel room door so hard her knuckles hurt. But damn it, Julian de Laurent owed her. Big time.
He’d
gotten her fired. Well, sort of. He was definitely the reason she wasn’t going from an internship to a permanent position with Disclosure Magazine.