The Marriage Bargain (24 page)

“What?” Julian’s voice shrieked as he lurched toward his brother.

Andre backed up the steps. “She said you’d understand, not to mention agree.”

“No, I don’t understand.” Julian huffed out his disapproval. “And, no, I don’t agree.”

“Well, don’t yell at me.”

“Why not?” Julian asked. “You took her away.”

“What’s the big deal?” Andre shrugged. “Just go get her.”

Julian considered it—for a second. He shook his head. That’s no good. What if she’s gone to L.A. to sell her story? What if she didn’t care about his feelings at all? What if she turned out to be just like his mother?

“If you’re not sure you can trust her,” Claudette said, as if she’d read Julian’s mind, “you can always play the wait and see card. That way, you’ll know.”

That was a great idea.

Claudette headed down the stairs and a few steps from the bottom, she glanced over her shoulder. “But don’t wait too long.”

Julian stormed outside, where he hoped the rain had stopped. He’d talk to Papa later. Right now, he needed to think.

If he made it outside without running into Papa, he’d be happy. Just a couple of steps and he was home free. He laid his hand on the doorknob, expecting to hear Papa’s voice spoiling his escape. The door opened in silence and Julian slipped outside.

Luckily, the rain had stopped.

Julian ran through the gardens until he got to the hidden clearing that not too many people beyond the gardeners had discovered.

He sat on the bench—the same bench he’d sat on with Camille just weeks earlier—and ignored the pool of rainwater.

The Roman goddess statue, the protector of the garden, offered no comfort today. In fact, the rain made her look like she had tears falling from her porcelain eyes. Julian hated that. It made him feel like his mother was crying since she was the one who’d put the sculpture in the garden.

Julian had to forget about his own feelings and consider the family’s welfare. He had to figure out if Camille had come there looking for a story.

Only time would tell.

C
amille had never hated the sound of an alarm clock beeping incessantly as much as she did this morning. She awakened from her deep, dreamless sleep.

Reality set in; she was in Tasha’s living room.

The last few days, hanging out and sleeping on her best friend’s couch was a far cry from the luxury she’d experienced with Julian. But she didn’t belong in Julian’s world. Now she was back in her own, and it was a shock to say the least.

But not nearly as much of a shock as waitressing at the
4
th
Street Diner
. A couple of months ago, Camille would’ve never pictured herself working there. But Julian de Laurent had taught her a thing or two. First, she was capable of taking care of herself. And that brought her to the second—maybe writing wasn’t quite so important to her, after all. Not if she had to compromise her principles for the sake of some tabloid’s bottom line.

She sighed, threw the blanket back and swung her feet onto the floor. The clock said 10:30 am. She was due at work in less than four hours.

Oh, God
. She dropped her face into her hands, fearful of never finding a way out of the fog between her heart and her mind.

How was she ever going to get off Tasha’s couch, averaging a lousy two hundred and fifty bucks a week?

Tasha dropped into the chair kitty-cornered from the couch. “So, I’m thinking...” she said in that provisional tone that told Camille she was up to something. “Let’s use some of the money you gave me to get a two bedroom apartment.”

Camille wanted to send the money back to Julian—what was left of it, anyway. Using it was a bad idea.

“Just hear me out.” Tasha’s hand flew up. “We need a bigger place so you’ll have your own bedroom. We can send Julian what’s left, with an IOU for the remainder.” She was optimistic about her plan, more so than Camille. “We can make monthly payments to him on the rest, which is actually more my bill than yours.”

“But I
gave
you that money,” Camille reminded Tasha. “I’m the one in debt.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this.” Tasha’s voice heightened and she leaned toward Camille. “Either we’re both in debt, or neither of us is in debt.”

Camille didn’t like it. She didn’t like being indebted to Julian for anything. She wanted a free and clear break from him. If nothing else, she wanted him to understand that she’d never set out to use or hurt him. She’d just wanted to help Julian. And if she was being honest, she wanted to help herself.

And in turn, her whole world had been turned upside down. But she didn’t have time to worry about that. She had to get something to eat and get ready to go to work. Plus, if she didn’t agree to Tasha’s plan, she’d never hear the end of it. Nor could she keep living on her friend’s couch. She’d have to go along with Tasha and hope Julian understood.

“Okay, okay.” Camille pushed herself up and stumbled toward the one and only bathroom in the small, one bedroom apartment. “Can you get us a bigger place here?” That’d be convenient.

“There’s a two bedroom available downstairs.”

“Ooh, downstairs.” The possibilities swarmed Camille’s mind as she entered the bathroom.

She checked her reflection in the mirror, ignoring her disheveled hair and the dark shadows surrounding her reddened eyes. She’d made a mess of things. Who knew she’d end up actually wanting Julian’s approval?

Camille squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She’d have to make the best of the bad situation, and accept that her life was going to be lonely without Julian.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JULIAN LAID THE FOLDER
on his desk and pushed it inches away from him. The report on Camille had been enlightening, and disheartening. He drew a breath, taking in all her woes and troubles as if he could relieve her burden.

A soft knock at the door caught him off-guard. Who? It wasn’t Andre...too light. Same for Papa. And his secretary had that two-tap rap going on, so it wasn’t her. Who had showed up at his office unannounced? He had no appointments this afternoon.

“It’s open,” Julian called out, intrigue heightening his curiosity.

The door opened and surprise shook Julian as Claudette sauntered across the room.

“Claudette?” He stood and moved around the desk.

“Julian.” She hugged him lightly and kissed his cheeks, one after the other. “I hope I’m not intruding.” She scrutinized him. “I should have called, but it’s a spur of the moment visit. Sorry.”

Julian shushed her. “You know you’re always welcome here.” He led her to a chair and leaned against the front edge of his desk as she sat. “What can I do for you?”

She laughed. “So much like your father. Right down to business.”

Julian crossed his arms in front of him. He didn’t like being compared to Papa.

“Relax,” she said, reaching for him. “I just came by for a friendly chat.”

A friendly chat? Since when did he and his stepmother have friendly chats?

“All right,” he said, knowing she was up to something and it behooved him to find out what. “Anything in particular that you’d like to
chat
about?”

“Have you made up your mind?”

“About what?”

“Your wife.”

“My wife?” He was unable to contain the skeptical laughter erupting from his gut.

“She is still your wife, isn’t she?”

“She left me.”

“And...”

“And what?”

“Is she or is she not still your wife?”

Julian paused. It wasn’t right to lie to Claudette. She’d stepped in when his mother checked out and had been a suitable replacement to both him and Andre. “Technically.”

“Technically?” Claudette scoffed. “Either she is or she isn’t. Did you or did you not sign the divorce documents?”

Julian had lost this battle and he didn’t like it. “No,” he said in a defeated manner. “I did not.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Yes, there was a reason. Papa was still hanging around like a vulture, shoving Madeleine at Julian every chance he got. But the way Julian saw it, he couldn’t get married if he already had a wife.

“Was it just a means to divert your father regarding Madeleine? Or is it something else?”

“What else could it be?” He laughed skeptically, to hide his anxiety that someone saw through his pretense.

“Maybe the bride herself?” Claudette asked. “Maybe you’re not quite ready to let go of her?”

No. Julian wasn’t going to admit that. Not out loud.

“The look on your face tells me everything I need to know.”

She gave him one of those
you-poor-pitiful-soul
glances.

“That bad?”

“That obvious.” Claudette hesitated and leaned toward Julian. “Did she sell her story?”

Julian snapped his head toward her. She knew? But how...? Papa would’ve never divulged such a potentially damaging thing to Claudette. Things that affected the family in an adverse way were never released outside the boardroom or Papa’s study.

Julian examined Claudette with scrutinizing eyes.

“Well?” she asked, shrugging.

“No.”

“Why? Did you buy it?”

He hesitated. “I tried, but she backed out of the deal.”

“Backed out, huh.” Claudette’s stoic face gave nothing away about what she was thinking. “She tell you that herself?”

“No, but she turned down the payment at the last minute.”

“Maybe she thought it was wrong to get paid for something she never intended to write in the first place.”

Claudette stood and strolled toward the door. She stopped short a few steps and looked over her shoulder. “You know, de Laurent Enterprises isn’t going to fade away if you leave for a while.”

That’s what Julian was afraid of, people finding out they didn’t need him—for anything.

Perhaps Claudette was right, though. Perhaps he’d misjudged Camille. Perhaps she’d never intended to write a story about him and the family in the first place.

That was a notion worth investigating.

C
amille wasn’t particularly pleased about being called in to work on her day off for some private party renting out the diner. Why couldn’t one of the waitresses scheduled to work take the shift? Why’d it have to be her? And what kind of idiot rents out a run-down diner?

Camille wished they’d hurry up and get here because the sooner they did, the sooner she could call it a night.

She pushed the kitchen door open and went inside. There must have been something she’d forgotten, just as she did every day. Truth be told, Camille wasn’t the best waitress around, which explained her employment here.

“Okay, so how many people are going to be in this party?” she said to her boss, doing a poor job of hiding her unhappiness and the fact that she was tired and just wanted to rest. But there wasn’t any rest for people like Camille. The working class.

“Just two,” George said, leaning against the grill, which wasn’t turned on. There was nothing prepped.

Just two? So why was Ashley here too? Did George really think Camille couldn’t handle serving two people?
What’s going on
? No wonder this place sucked. George wasn’t any better at running this joint than she was at waiting on the customers.

Ashley burst into the kitchen. “They’re here.” There was something in her voice, her tone and her demeanor that alarmed Camille. Ashley was too happy, too excited.

Camille scoffed. She wanted to strangle the girl.

“Come on, lighten up.” Ashley came toward her with a wink and a friendly smile. “It’s not that bad.”

Of course it was that bad. Who was she kidding? The only way it could not be this bad was if Camille was a member of the dining party.

She sighed and shook her head. Julian’s world had gotten to her. When was she going to realize she wasn’t one of the fortunate ones? She wasn’t lucky. She wasn’t privileged.

Maybe Ashley was right. Maybe Camille should look on the bright side. Maybe this was her chance to score a hefty tip. One she could use to put a small dent in that massive debt she owed Julian.

“Okay, so where do I start. What should I do?” She turned to George. How was she supposed to ‘serve’ these people if George wasn’t cooking?

“Why don’t you go out and welcome our guest?”

“Okay.” Camille rolled her eyes. Greeting the customers was useless when there was nothing to serve them. But who was she to argue.

She shoved through the door and out into the dining area. This was ridiculous. She’d probably end up biting the dust on this one. She’d been holding onto this job by a very thin thread as it was, and she got the feeling the blame for the fallout from this unorganized private dinner would ultimately land at her feet.

Out in the dining room, the place was empty. There was no one there. She ambled toward the front of the diner with slow, almost guarded steps, scanning both rows of booths lining the walls. Pausing at the front window, she looked outside but saw nothing unusual.

Hm....
Her hands landed on her hips and she gave the exterior one last glance before turning back to the interior. Leisurely steps took her back toward the kitchen. Somehow, this was going to bite her in the butt.

She paused a few feet from the kitchen door, near the last booth, and glanced over her shoulder to give the empty restaurant one last look. Weird. And just her luck. The customers probably took one look at the neighborhood and split.

Camille decided to go back into the kitchen and face
George. He wasn’t going to be happy about closing up shop for nothing.

A glittering twinkle on the last table before the kitchen, caught her eye.

Julian’s necklace?

Her heart pounded. Camille sucked in a breath, as if that could calm it. She moved closer, inspecting it. It
was
Julian’s necklace.

The kitchen door swung open, drawing Camille’s attention.