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.
Julian de Laurent stood in the doorway, looking handsome and humbled.
Camille’s heart hammered against her chest. Fearing her mouth would fall open, she tightened her lips and forced them together.
Julian smiled one of those hopeful-looking smiles she was used to seeing from the diner’s gracious patrons. Not a bad thing, just not what she was used to seeing from Julian.
She looked away, not knowing why he was here, but still fearful of losing her heart. “What are you doing here?” she asked, forcing her gaze back to him. “What happened? My check bounce?”
Julian snickered with a one-sided grin and walked toward her. “Chéri...I have missed you so.” He scooped her hands in his. She stiffened.
“You missed me?” she asked. “That’s all you have to say?” Camille yanked her hands free and turned away, more afraid this was some kind of joke than anything else.
Julian, as if he’d picked up on her weakness, stepped closer and guided her face, with gentle fingertips, until her gaze met his. His touch rekindled the hunger she’d been trying to smote. And those green eyes caught her, holding her captive. Undressing her. Caressing her. Tormenting her.
Camille wanted to break the gaze and called upon her anger for assistance. “No. I’m not feeling this, Julian.” She backed away and shook her head. “What do you want?” she asked again, more forceful this time, stopping at the last booth before the kitchen.
He moved toward her. She braced herself against the booth, just in case her head swooned down into her heart.
“I came here to say I’m sorry.” There was none of the usual arrogance in his tone. Only regret with a hint of hope.
That shocked Camille and scared her at the same time. “Apologize to me?” Her fingers landed against her chest. “A liar and a cheat.” She hoped the words stung him. They had when she’d heard them pour from his mouth.
But her words didn’t seem to faze Julian in the least. He moved within inches of her and fenced her in, latching both his hands onto the booth.
“Here.” She tried to use the necklace as a barrier, holding it against his chest. That was a mistake. The feel of his muscular frame beneath his suit sent shockwaves of desire trembling through her.
Julian took the trinket and moved closer, draping it around her neck. She didn’t move, in fact, she held her breath. He took forever to clasp the damn thing. The lack of oxygen squeezed her lungs and fogged her brain. Just when she thought she’d pass out, he trailed his fingertips over her shoulders and down her arms, stepped back and released her.
She siphoned a deep breath and a shudder of desire slipped in. His magnetism was so potent.
A smile quirked Julian’s lips as he reached into his jacket pocket. “Close your eyes.” The arrogance had returned to his eyes, like he knew he had her right where he wanted.
But Camille couldn’t forget the hatred he’d dealt her back in France. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
He shushed her. “Close your eyes,” he said again, with forceful calm.
She did it, against her better judgment.
Camille felt Julian’s fingers engulfing her left hand and she started to get nervous. She yanked away, opening her eyes. “This is so not cool.” Somehow, she managed to slink out of his snare and rushed to the other side of the restaurant.
As she suspected, he followed.
“Chéri, you’re my wife,” he said. “Can’t you at least give me a chance to explain?”
She stopped. Irritation consumed her. She pivoted around and stuck a finger in his face. “First off...I’m not your wife. Not anymore.” She paused, trying to contain the irrational behavior building up inside. “Secondly...as far as explanations go, I’ll give you the same consideration you gave me.”
She tried to move away, toward the kitchen. Julian grabbed her wrist and pulled her roughly, almost violently against him.
“First of all...yes, you are my wife. Still.”
What? She’d signed the papers. They were divorced.