“Chéri, how can you suspect me of ulterior motives?” He laid it on thick. Between his velvety-smooth voice, sparkling eyes, and a hint of a smile, a girl could get talked out of her good graces.
But Julian had already done that. No, he wanted something else from her, and Camille wanted to cut to the chase to find out what. “Spill it.”
“I just thought you might like to vacation in California for a while,” he said in a more serious tone.
A pang of longing shot through Camille and wafted out in her voice. “California?”
“Perhaps Tasha could go with you.”
An even better idea. “Maybe we could stay at Lecie’s?” She nodded. Julian grinned, and in that instant Camille knew she’d stumbled upon his motive. “Ah…I see.”
“I think it might be best if you and Tasha go with Gerard. I think your presence will make it easier for her to accept a butler in the house.” Julian stopped and laughed softly. “One she’ll undoubtedly think is Papa’s spy.”
“And just how long is a while?” Caution had invaded her voice.
“Some weeks.” He shrugged. “However long it takes.”
Some weeks? However long it takes? Why so long? It’s not like Lecie was socially inept. Camille crossed her arms at her waist and peered at Julian through narrowed eyes. “And what else should I be doing while I’m there?”
Julian laughed and waved a surrendering motion at Camille before taking her hand and tugging her toward the chairs by the window. “Well…” He waited for her to sit, then he did. “Now that Lecie knows how far Papa is willing to go to bring her home, she’s bound to retaliate.”
“Would he really have her deported?” That was low even for Maurice.
Julian looked at her and grinned. “In a New York minute.”
“She’s not going to like that.”
“No, she’s not.” Julian paused, and Camille could feel his eyes on her. She shifted her gaze toward him. “That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” she asked with a curious innocence.
“And Tasha,” Julian added.
Camille squinted her eyes. “I’m not going to talk the girl into coming home,” she said, shaking her head. “And I highly doubt that Tasha will either.”
“I don’t want you to talk her into coming home.”
“Then what do you want us to do?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SEATED BEHIND THE DESK IN HIS OFFICE, Nick held the telephone’s receiver to his ear. He’d left the door open when he’d come in to make the phone call, and now he mindlessly watched Bethany and Diane ready the dining room for the lunch crowd that’d be pouring in as soon as the doors opened at eleven. Nick checked his watch. 10:15.
Once he got Tony over at Molina’s Bakery on the phone—there was no use talking to anybody else, Tony owned the place and was the only one who could definitively give him a yes—Nick started with a casual, “Morning, Tony, it’s Nick Matthews.”
He could damn near hear Tony tensing up across the airwaves. Uh oh. Was he going to get all weird about the wedding that didn’t happen? Tony said to him, “Nick…I’ve been meaning to give you a call.”
But you thought it might turn out awkward, right? Nick chuckled to himself. “There’s just never enough hours in the day, are there?” Nick gave him an out, hoping he’d take it.
“Not when you’re the bearer of bad news.” Tony’s voice tightened.
Bad news? Nick stiffened, straightened in his chair. Did Tony think Nick didn’t know he’d been stood up at the altar? He couldn’t possibly know about the banking issues. Could he? “Well I’ve had plenty of that lately, Tony.”
“And I hate to make things worse for you.”
Worse? How could things possibly get worse? “But you have a job to do.” Nick felt a burning itch prickling at his gut. He could, and probably should, let Tony keep tiptoeing around his point, but Nick said it anyway, “So why don’t you just tell me what you’ve been beating around the bush about.”
Tony cleared his throat. “Nick, your account with us hasn’t been paid in nearly six months.”
“What?” Nick bellowed.
“Ginny kept coming up with excuse after excuse. Mostly to do with how she’d been so busy because of the wedding. Each time we talked, she’d promise to get it in the mail, but if she did, we never received it.” Tony’s voice remained shaky, but he kept talking. “I kept excusing it because of your reputation, but quite honestly, Nick, we can’t extend any more credit or supplies to you until your account is paid in full.”
“Look, Tony, I’ll be straight with you.” Nick sucked in a breath, hating to admit, say it out loud, what Ginny had done. But what else was he supposed to do? Tony Molina wanted his money. He expected it and had every right to it. Trouble was, Nick didn’t have it to give. He had to buy a little more time. “Between you and me, Ginny did more damage than just leaving me at the altar. She cleaned me out.”
There was a silence between them that went on for so long that Nick thought the call might have been dropped. But finally, Tony said in a less than agreeable tone, “I see.” More silence, then he cleared his throat again. “How are you set for supplies?” Tony knew, as well as Nick, that without supplies the restaurant would close right away. And without the restaurant, Nick didn’t stand a chance at coming out of this intact.
“A couple of days. You know the fresh foods come in almost daily.”
“I wish I could help.” But Tony’s voice was so fixed that Nick knew he wouldn’t be getting any more credit from Molina’s Bakery.
Still, he had to try. “But without your breads, I can’t run the restaurant. Without the restaurant, I don’t stand a chance at squaring these debts.”
Debts that Nick owed because of Ginny. It’s a good thing he didn’t know where she was. If he did, he just might kill her.
“I’m sorry. I can’t give you any more credit.”
“What if I can pay for the new order?”
“We’re going to need some form of payment on the unpaid balance, too.” Tony paused. “You might want to consider a mortgage on the restaurant to tide you over.”
Nick nodded. “Hang Ten is already mortgaged.” Nick had already thought about that, but in light of his current financial problem, nobody was going to give him a mortgage on the restaurant. The likelihood of Nick coming out of this on top was not good.