“Geez, Soren...you’re one loyal guy.” She envied it from Julian’s perspective, but felt sorrow from Soren’s standpoint. His loyalty seemed unappreciated because he and Julian weren’t friends. They had a working relationship and nothing more. Soren felt himself beneath Julian, evident by his own judgment that he didn’t deserve to eat at the same table.
Camille didn’t understand the ways of the wealthy.
“It’s all part of my job.” Soren nodded and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the comparison between himself and Julian.
“Do you ever worry that your efforts will be in vain?” she asked, thinking of her own misplaced loyalty in Margo Fontaine.
“No.” Soren’s head shook in defiance. “Julian de Laurent is an honorable man. And I’m certain he’d never put me in a position that would require me to compromise my values.”
“Really?” That surprised her. “So you’re okay with this little charade of ours?”
He paused for a moment, as if thinking it over. “It’s not like either of you are hurting anyone. He’s not taking advantage of you, and you’re not taking advantage of him. You’ve simply entered into a business deal where both of you are in complete agreement on the details.”
“That’s true.”
“And in the long run, I do believe this is what is best for Mr. de Laurent. He would never be happy....” Soren’s words trailed off and a look crossed his face suggesting he’d said too much.
“He’d never be happy...?” Camille repeated Soren’s words, turning them into a question.
He hesitated, as if guarding a secret. When he finally did speak, it was evasive. “Mr. de Laurent’s freedom is what will make him happy.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because he told me so.”
Camille chuckled. “Man, I need a friend like you, Soren.” If only Tasha listened this effectively.
“Does Mrs. de Laurent have a knack for picking fair-weather friends?”
Camille snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Perhaps Mrs. de Laurent is searching for friends in all the wrong places?”
“Sounds like a country song.”
Soren chuckled. “I see what Mr. de Laurent finds so fascinating about you.”
“He finds me fascinating?” Her voice escalated, like those cheerleaders did in high school when they just found out the captain of the football team was into them.
Soren looked at her with an absent stare. “Yes, I do believe those were his words...‘she’s simply fascinating’.”
Camille couldn’t fathom why that pleased her, but it did. “Soren...” She hesitated and then leaned toward him touching his arm. “How do you feel about going shopping with me?”
“Oh, I never miss a chance to spend de Laurent money.” He held a stoic face for about ten seconds and then burst into laughter. “Seriously, I also never miss a chance to see a pretty girl in fine clothing.” His amusement showed on his face. “It will be my pleasure.”
Pretty girl, huh? He’s definitely been listening to his employer, and taking notes.
“Does Julian have a favorite color?” Camille’s inquiry touched something inside her. For a wild moment she wanted to please Julian, and then she wondered why she cared.
“I believe it’s red.” A smile curled on the tips of his mouth. “A color that will no doubt suit you beautifully.”
A blush warmed her cheeks even though red wasn’t anywhere near the top of her favorite color list. She preferred electric blue or a spring green, both colors that brought out her eyes. But she’d make an effort to look like an obliging wife because that’s what was expected. She was just trying to meld herself into the part and nothing more.
Camille had given her loyalty to too many people who didn’t deserve it. Like her parents for instance. Her father had split when he found out her mother was pregnant. And her mother hadn’t lasted three months after Camille’s birth. At seventeen, a baby was too much trouble. Camille had forever after had a love-hate relationship with her parents, resenting them for not caring enough to stick around, thankful they’d left her in the care of her maternal grandmother. And still she carried them in her heart, waiting for them to prove she wasn’t a waste.
Those days of misplaced loyalty were over.
Julian entered the Bellagio’s main lobby and approached the front desk, fiddling with the jewelry box in his pocket. He hoped she liked it. He probably should’ve gotten her opinion on the rings but there wasn’t time, and he was old-fashioned about that sort of thing. It was his gift to her, not her gift to herself through him. But most women, he’d come to learn, weren’t overly picky as long as the rock was big.
“Is there a package for me?” he asked the concierge.
The lady’s polite smile offered confirmation before she answered. “Yes sir, a messenger dropped it off moments ago.” She stepped back and moved toward the cubicles behind her.
At the other end of the counter a stunning—artificial, but stunning—young woman was in the midst of an altercation with the clerk. Her blonde hair had been perfectly coiffed. Her dress was nice but gave the appearance of being more expensive than it really was. Her shapely body was too perfect. She’d spent a lot of money to look the way she did. Definitely not Julian’s type.
A girl like her would be too high maintenance. Not that he couldn’t afford it, but he didn’t want a woman who was so centered on vanity that nothing else mattered. No, this girl was more Andre’s type. Little brother loved sporting a trophy on his arm.
“Look, I know she’s here,” the Barbie doll said. “She said she was coming to this hotel specifically.”
“I’m sorry, Miss...” The clerk waited for her name.
“Ms. Gordon. It’s Ms. Gordon.” An irritated tone edged her voice. “And I know my friend Camille Chandler is here, in this hotel. Somewhere.”
What? She’s looking for Camille. But why?
The concierge handed Julian a large manila envelope. He took it and closed the gap between himself and the girl. “Excuse me, Miss...”
She gave him one look, smirked and raised a defying hand. “Are you hotel security? I’m not going anywhere. I know my friend is in this hotel, somewhere.”
“I can assure you that I’m not hotel security.” Julian laughed inside. Of course she was a friend of Camille’s. Neither of them took shit from anybody. “But I do know where Camille Chandler is.”