Julian’s accusing laughter raked her. “Does this mean it’s for sale to the highest bidder?”
Huh? She fought the cobwebs of angst-filled confusion. What’s for sale? She wasn’t about to let Julian get the better of her, or make her look like an idiot. “Sure.” She folded her arms and tapped red-tipped fingernails against her skin. “But there’s a reserve on it.” She paused, trying to read him. Trying to figure out what he thought she had for sale. “I’m not giving it away for free.”
For a second he almost looked pleased, but that was quickly overshadowed by his hatred. “How much?”
Her pride concealed her inner turmoil. “How much for what?” Frustration poured out in her broken voice. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You are a writer.” His nose flared and his eyes bulged. “Are you not?”
He knew? Reality shuddered through her. Defeat escaped in her sharp sigh.
His lips tightened as if he was biting back the words of disapproval. He shook his fist and then pointed an accusing finger at her. His cold, hard stare froze her in place like a statue and left her quivering with fear. She wasn’t afraid of him physically. Just emotionally.
Nobody else was going to desert her. She’d break this bond before he had the chance. “It really doesn’t matter what I say,” she said. “You won’t believe me.”
She wanted him to dispute that. She wanted him to say he wanted to hear her explanation. But he didn’t.
“What do you say we dispense with the pleasantries?” It sounded like a question, but she knew it was an order. An order for something she couldn’t define. She wished she knew what he was talking about.
“How much?”
“Huh?”
“How much will it take for the exclusive?”
“Exclusive?” She was starting to sound like a parrot.
“You’re insulting my intelligence.” He glowered and turned away.
“Look,” she said, through the mounting pressure of tears. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Do you deny that you answered my ad as a staff member of Disclosure Magazine?”
Oh, that exclusive. No, she didn’t deny it. “Why do you ask?” She bit back the hurt. “You’ve obviously got it all figured out.”
“How much for the exclusive?” he repeated his question.
Camille stiffened, momentarily abashed. He’d never believe her story. She felt ice spreading through her heart. “What’s it worth to you?” she asked, suddenly wanting him to share in her pain.
And damned if she was leaving. The way she saw it, he owed her five million bucks. She was staying until he paid up.
“How about one million dollars?” he offered.
She hesitated, torn by his audacious belief that everybody had a price.
He’d obviously read her silence as a bargaining tactic because he went into full negotiating mode. “I doubt that rag you were working for would pay that much. You Americans really don’t care that much about what the crazy French are doing.” He rolled his eyes and showered her with stinging laughter.
The accusation broke Camille’s heart, but she held the hurt inside. How could he think so little of her? There were a ton of things she could say to defend herself, but none of them moved her stoned lips. Finally, a single word escaped. “Deal.”
Julian’s cold glare bored through her for what seemed an eternity before he stuck his hand out. She accepted it reluctantly. His firm grasp was cold and unfeeling, and elicited no fire, no compassion, no desire.
“There will be more papers to sign.”
“I figured.”
“I’ll pay for the exclusive once I have your signature.”
“That’ll be fine.” Her voice cracked but she held the pain inside. She swallowed the overwhelming urge to cry, holding her lips together tightly to keep the tears from escaping.
The glittering necklace, Julian’s gift, sparkled, reminding her that his genuineness was not nearly as solid as the jewels clarity. She reached for it, clasped it in her fist for a moment before unfolding her fingers and offering it to him. “Here. I’m sure you’ll want this back,” she said over her aching inner pain.
Julian’s cold stare squeezed her heart. He pivoted on one heel and walked away. The slamming door echoed through her.
Camille folded her fingers around the pendant and sighed heavily. She’d done it this time. Gotten herself into a real mess. One she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to squirm her way out of. Damn.
Julian slowed his pace once in the corridor leading to the main wing. An odd twinge of disappointment filled the empty cavity that used to contain his heart. He’d been deserted—again.
He should’ve known better. The minute he put his faith and trust in a woman, she turned out to be a liar and a cheat. Camille had deceived him, just like his mother had when she told him she’d always take care of him. How was checking out fulfilling that promise?
Stunned and furious, he fisted his hands at his sides. He struggled to hold his temper. God, I’m so stupid.
Julian took the stairs, two at a time, and headed for the side service door, preferring not to run into any of the family. He had to think.
“Julian!” Papa’s voice assaulted him from behind.
Damn it. He thought about not stopping. But that was a bad idea. He slid his hands into his pockets, stalled a moment and then turned to face the criticism.
All sorts of things ran through Julian’s head, none of them good. Not the kind of things you say to your father. He wished Papa hadn’t been so hell-bent on destroying his marriage, as faux as it was, to Camille. This was one time Julian would’ve much rather been left in the dark. At least, until they were closer to the end of the six months. If Papa wanted to destroy it then, more power to him. But why’d he have to do it now, especially now that Julian and Camille had come to an understanding.
“Did you take care of our problem?” Papa asked.
“We don’t have a problem.”
“That’s not the way I see it.”
“How do you see it, Papa?” Julian dared to raise his voice to his father. “She’s my wife and has no bearing on anyone else in this family.”
“I might buy that if she weren’t a reporter after a story about this family.” His voice matched Julian’s.
“What’s the matter, Papa?” Julian’s animosity escaped in his words. “Are you afraid some of your skeletons are going to come out of the closet?”