One million dollars had been transferred back into its originating account.
Joy over the notion that she’d chosen him was overshadowed by the fear that she’d gotten a better offer for her story.
Oh, shit.
Julian’s first instincts led him to the closet and her dressers. All her things—the things he’d bought her—were still there.
Good.
He stormed out into the hallway. She was here in the house somewhere, and Julian set out to find her. He ran into Andre coming up the stairs.
“Andre, have you seen my wife?” he asked, stopping just past his brother on the staircase.
Andre grabbed the banister and crooked halfway around and flashed Julian with a confused look. “Your wife?”
“Yes. Camille. Have you seen her?”
“You didn’t know?” Fear darkened Andre’s demeanor.
“Know what?” Julian asked, having little patience.
“I thought you knew.” Andre paused, slinking up the stairs, outside Julian’s reach.
Claudette appeared at the top and moved down between them. Julian didn’t pay much attention to her and he didn’t think Andre had either.
“I went to see Tasha while you were gone and Camille hitched a ride with me. Her words, not mine.” He chuckled, seemingly amused by the axiom.
“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.
Camille 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 4th 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.