The Trade: A Billionaire Office Fling

by Tharp, Emma

  She shakes her head as if she can't believe what's going on here. "I'll try, but I don't want to get too comfortable. This seems like the kind of life that's hard to give up, and impossible to recover from."

  All I can do is smile at her before I close the door behind me, because I have no idea how to respond to her comment. We made a deal, a trade. That’s what this is, or at least that’s what I have to keep reminding myself.

  While she's having her massage, I give Eloise instructions for dinner. I'm not sure what she enjoys so I have Eloise prepare pasta, chicken, and salmon.

  When Camille comes out, looking pink-cheeked and relaxed, I'm in the kitchen uncorking a bottle of wine, and food is laid out on the dining room table.

  "It smells great in here. And you see, you keep proving my point."

  I don't know how this is all going to turn out or how it will end, so how do I even have a conversation about her leaving? This is all so new and has taken me by surprise. Best not to entertain her comment. "It’s no problem at all. Now, have a seat and dig in. Would you like a glass of wine?"

  "I better not. But I'll take some water." She has a seat at the table and stares at the spread in front of her.

  Pouring myself a glass of wine, I re-cork the bottle and open the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. I take the drinks to the table and have a seat across from Camille. I set her drink in front of her. "How was the massage?"

  "It was amazing. She's very good. Thank you." She piles some pasta on her plate next to a small piece of salmon.

  I take a bite of lemon chicken and nod. "I agree. She's a skilled masseuse. If you think you'll need another one after the surgery, we can schedule that. Just let me know."

  She nods and her shoulders turn in. Picking at her food, she cuts the salmon with her fork.

  "Is everything okay with the food?" It certainly looks and smells wonderful. Eloise is a phenomenal cook, specializing in French cuisine.

  "No, everything is great. I just can't help but feel guilty that you're taking care of me like this."

  I set my fork down and take a deep breath. "No. This is a no-guilt zone. I'm doing all this because I want to. And I'm not going to feel guilty about what happens later. I don't do anything I don't want to do. Do you understand?"

  She nods slowly and puts a single rotini pasta in her mouth. "Got it."

  Silence spreads out between us like an ocean. This isn't how I pictured our first dinner going. I’m not doing a good job at reading Camille. When it comes to business, I pride myself on my ability to deal with many different personalities, but personally, I’m clearly lacking. If only I could get her to open up and tell me what she needs.

  "Can I ask you a question?" Camille says.

  Relief eases the tightness in my chest. "Sure."

  "If it's too personal, tell me to butt out. But, the room where I had the massage…"

  The food in my stomach feels like a rock churning around. "The nursery. Yes, Adriana and I had it decorated when we first found out she was pregnant. I haven't had time to redo it. But I will."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I didn’t realize she was pregnant. And it's been so long since I've seen her. I'm sorry," she says again.

  I put a hand up. I didn't plan on this conversation either, but there's no need to not be transparent. "She went out on our marriage and got herself pregnant with someone else's child. I thought it was mine for a while, but it's not. Hence the divorce and the need to redo the nursery."

  She nods and finishes off the rest of her water bottle. "I didn't know. That's awful."

  "It was. But I prefer not to talk about her anymore, if that's okay." My tone comes out colder than I mean it to and I wish I could tug the words back and say them differently.

  "Sure." She stretches her arms above her head and yawns. "I'm thinking about turning in early."

  Damn. I definitely ruined the evening. "Right. To get enough sleep before your big sleep. Makes perfect sense."

  She stands and brings her plate toward the sink before I can stop her. "Eloise will take care of this. I'm wired. I think I'm going to watch a movie before turning in, and there's dessert," I tell her.

  "Two of my favorite things. Can I join you?"

  "Yes." I wasn’t expecting it, but that’s exactly what I hoped she’d say.

  We get up and go to the living room where I turn on Netflix and we agree on a comedy. We sit next to each other on the couch but there's no touching. It's okay. All of that will come later.

  Eloise brings us both a piece of chocolate peanut butter pie and sets the plates in front of us before she turns in for the night. I don't touch mine, but Camille finishes hers off. To my surprise, she rests her head on my shoulder and that's how she stays until the movie is over. My entire body is warm, and it feels so good, so right to have her close to me.

  Her breathing is even when I turn off the TV. Instead of waking her, I carry her to her room and lay her on the bed. I have a crazy urge to lie down next to her—not for sex, but to be close to her. I watch her sleep, her face free of the stress and guilt she’s been carrying around today. She’s beautiful. I turn off the light and pad out of her room.

  I wake her at five in case she wants to shower before we leave. While she gets ready, I have a cup of coffee and check my stocks. We're out the door and make it to the hospital check-in a few minutes early.

  They call her name and I follow her back to surgery prep. She's pale and keeps chewing on the corner of her thumbnail, to the point that it seems like she could draw blood at any moment. To keep her entertained, I share funny memes with her on my phone.

  "You're nothing like I expected," she mumbles after the Versed kicks in. I impulsively kiss her forehead before they wheel her away.

  What did she mean by that? I’m assuming that she had a low opinion of me on a personal level. She’s only ever known me at the office when I’m all business. I hope she’s pleased with the man I’ve been showing her.

  Waiting is not my strong suit. The entire time she's in surgery I pace the waiting room, unable to focus on getting any work done in my downtime even though I have my briefcase with me.

  I made sure that the staff knew I wanted to be the first face she sees when she wakes up.

  Relief spreads through me when a nurse comes to the waiting area and tells me to come back. "It went well. The cyst appears benign. Naturally, they're still going to send it away to pathology to be sure."

  “That’s great news. Thank you,” I say and follow the nurse down the hallway.

  In the recovery room, Camille looks so small under her blankets. Her eyes are closed. I brush her hair away from her face. "When you're feeling well enough, I can take you home." And something about saying those words heats up my chest. I love the feel of it, the way the words fly off my tongue.

  Ten

  Camille

  When the initial grogginess from the anesthesia wears off, the first thing I'm aware of is Garrett staring down at me. His eyes are warm and comforting, and he's holding my hand. And while this feels nice, to have a man care for me since it's been too many years since one has, I'm too smart to get comfortable. And I'm too wise to think this is anything more than my lonely boss being nice to me. I can handle being a rebound as long as I can remember that that's all I am, just a rebound. That will be the challenge for me.

  After my time in the recovery room, the nurse helps me get dressed and Garrett calls to have the car pull up. The nurse gives us at-home instructions and then she pushes me out of the hospital in a wheelchair. Garrett walks beside me the entire time.

  We ride home in the back seat and I lean on Garrett more than I'm comfortable with, but I'm tired and weary. I fear they may have over-anesthetized me because all I want to do is sleep.

  "Rest," he murmurs. "I can carry you to the elevator and put you back to bed."

  He’ll carry me like he did last night after the movie. Small butterflies flap their wings in my belly. As much as I'd like to fight it,
I pass out long before we make it back to the penthouse.

  The rest of the night is pretty foggy. I have coherent moments, but they are few and far between. What I do know is that when I woke in pain, he was waiting there with my meds. And when I woke hungry, he was sitting there with a bowl of soup. At one point, I start crying. "Stop being so nice to me."

  He tucks the blankets under my back, a gesture so sweet and intimate that the tears fall faster. "The doctor mentioned the anesthesia might make you more emotional. I’ve got you, Camille."

  This is what I was afraid of. I'm really enjoying having him take care of me.

  Despite having a housekeeper, Garrett stays with me all of the next two days. He waits on me hand and foot in a way I didn't expect since he's my boss and ridiculously rich.

  The first day, I’m bent over as I try to get out of bed, the pain in my side is deep and sharp. Every cough to clear my lungs is torture. The next day I'm slightly better, but still can't stand completely upright. The days are long, but Garrett is here for me.

  The following day is Friday.

  "We're taking the day off," Garrett announces. "I know the doctor told you to take forty-eight hours, but I don’t think that’s enough time. No need to rush back. And we’ll have a nice long weekend while you recuperate."

  I open my mouth to object, but he silences me with his finger.

  “So, what do you want to do first? Movie marathon? Games? Talk?"

  I shrug, completely baffled by this side of Garrett. All I've ever seen is his shrewd business side and it's hard to reconcile that with the man standing before me now.

  "Maybe we should get to know each other better, so that our trip in six weeks won’t be so awkward," he suggests.

  I blink in confusion. "Our trip?" In the post-anesthesia haze I've been in, I can't remember if I agreed to a trip. "I don't remember talking about that."

  Garrett grins and all his perfect white teeth show. "It's supposed to be a surprise. Obviously, I'm terrible at that."

  "Well, the cat is out of the bag now. Where are we going? And why are we going?" Don't get me wrong, I love a nice vacation as much as the next person, but I can't help but feel apprehensive. I still don't know what to expect from Garrett Monroe.

  "Our deal. I want it to be special." He clasps his hands together and stares at the floor. "I know it's not what you were expecting. You figured it would be one weekend here, right? And then you’d be on your way?"

  I shrug because I really had no idea what to expect. We never talked about the details. "Sure. I haven’t really thought about it." I look away because obviously I'm a lousy liar.

  Garrett laughs. "Well, I don't want that. I want it to be special. I want us to be alone. I’m taking you to my private island in the Caribbean."

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “Oh. You have an island? How did I never know this?”

  “I like to keep certain aspects of my life private. Like my oasis in the Caribbean. Only people close to me know about it.” There’s an undercurrent to his tone and I’m caught up in it. He’s implying that I’m close to him. Well, I guess we’re going to be very close in six weeks. Maybe that’s all it is, but his eyes…they’re looking at me like I do mean something to him.

  Dammit, Camille, don’t get swept up. It’s only going to hurt you later.

  I’ve never been good at listening to my own advice. “Who have you taken there, to your island paradise?”

  “My ex, of course, and my family. You’ve met my brother Donovan and my sister Giselle. And we’ve had friends come stay a few times.” He shrugs. “Like I said, it’s quite private.”

  “Your brother is a nice guy. And your sister seems nice, too,” I say. Donovan stops by the office all the time, his sister, not as much.

  “He’s a shameless flirt and Giselle, well, she’s like me. A workaholic who takes life a little too serious. She and I are like my father. Donovan is like my mom. Both my parents are gone now. Dad passed away when I was twenty, and Mom, two years later.” His face is tight and he has a distant, empty stare.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I know how it feels.” We have that in common. It’s heavy thinking about the loss of my parents and now his.

  “They were good people. I only wish that they’d have lived to see my successes. And they would’ve loved the island. It’s really a dream. I can’t wait for you to see it. The sand is white, like soft sugar, and the sea is teal. It’s heavenly.” The smile returns to his handsome face. “We’re going to have a good time. That is, if you’ll join me, since I never actually asked you if you’d like to go. We could simply stay here.”

  Who says no to going to a private island? And I haven’t taken a vacation in too many years to count. “It sounds like paradise. I can’t wait to see it.” And we’re going to be there together with nothing but time and each other. A pulse begins low in my belly and heat spreads up my neck. Nerves and excitement course through me and I have almost six full weeks to wait.

  Something tells me the anticipation might kill me.

  Eleven

  Garrett

  I spent all day Friday doting on Camille. This is the kind of thing I hated with my ex. Adriana took advantage. She always ran me ragged. And what's worse is that she was never satisfied. Obviously. She needed more than one man to make a baby. Now I have Camille here and she is so damn sweet and appreciates everything, all while expecting nothing. And what all of this means is that I want to give her more and more.

  Today, I've noticed a change in her mood. She isn't smiling as much and definitely not as expressive. I don’t think it’s something I said, because all of our conversations yesterday were easy and light. She seemed happy all day. There has to be something.

  We’re in the living room now. I’m in a chair and she's lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her hair in a messy knot on the top of her head. When she moves to change position, she winces. "You're not taking pain pills?"

  She looks away, but I catch the frown on her face. "It makes me feel weak," she murmurs.

  "Yeah? Well, without them, you're cranky. And you'll slow your recovery."

  She turns toward me and her eyes flash. "Is that what you're worried about?"

  I know immediately what she's thinking. "That isn't fair. Have I done anything these past few days to make you think that all of this is just about sex?"

  Her brows lower and she shakes her head.

  "Good. Because this is about your health and wellbeing." I move to sit next to her and brush a piece of hair away from her face. She blinks and almost leans into my touch. Doing my best to keep my breathing even, I push aside the impulse of wanting to do more because what I am telling her is the truth; all I want right now is for her to heal and get well. "I'm just as satisfied being close to you."

  Camille gives in and leans forward, taking her pill bottle off the coffee table. She pulls a pill out, puts it on her tongue, and takes a sip of her water.

  "Good. It will make you feel better. Let me get you some lunch," I tell her before heading toward the kitchen.

  Eloise left to run a few errands for me, but made some soup this morning. Taking the container out of the refrigerator, I ladle some chicken noodle into a saucepan and set it on the stove to heat. I also add water to the tea kettle and start that. In no time, I have two bowls of soup and two mugs of chamomile tea on the dining room table.

  In the living room, I give Camille my hand and help her up. Her legs are still shaky and she grimaces once she's fully upright. I'm glad she conceded and took the pain pill.

  At the table, Camille lifts the mug and blows on her tea. "Thank you for this. I appreciate you taking care of me."

  "I don't mind." In fact, I'm very much enjoying it.

  "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be well enough to go home tomorrow." She stares down at her soup, stirring it around.

  It would be so much easier if she’d just accept my help. I can see her struggle with it. I don't think she's used to this type of attention. "You'
ll stay through the weekend. And I'd be happy for you to stay longer." I wish she'd stay through our trip.

  "But I know I'm being a bother. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than take care of me." She sets her spoon down before she's even had a bite of her lunch.

  Her words are like a punch to the gut. How could she think that? "Please have some soup. You need to keep your strength up. And if I've done anything to make you think that you are a bother to me, please tell me what it is."

  She lifts her spoon and fills it with soup. She blows on it and finally takes a bite. "This is really good. I'll have to tell Eloise when she gets back." She wipes the corners of her mouth and sets her napkin back on her lap. "You haven't done anything to make me feel like I've been a bother. Believe me, it's all me. I know how hard you work and how valuable your time is. You’ve been nothing but gracious and welcoming, having me here in your home and doting on me." Her eyes dart down. "I don't deserve it," she mumbles.

  “Why would you say that?” And the better question is who in the hell made her feel this way? That she isn’t worthy of being cared for? I’d like to find the bastard and teach him a lesson.

  She wrings her hands together. “I don’t know. I mean, look around.” She gestures around the room. “You’re a very successful entrepreneur who lives in opulence. I’m your assistant and I live a shoe box.”

  Lifting her chin so she's forced to look at me, I take her cool hand in mine. "Enough of that. Hear me when I tell you that you absolutely deserve this. Money doesn’t make a person worthy. Their heart does, and yours is huge. Got it?”

  She blinks rapidly and nods.

  I’m not sure I’ve convinced her, but for now, it will have to be good enough. And I’m going to do my damnedest to prove to her that she’s worthy. “Good. Please stay through the weekend and we will see how you're doing on Monday. Okay?"

  She lets out a long sigh and nods again. “Okay.”

  I'm grateful she's agreed to stay, but I can tell she doesn't like it. Her objections keep mounting. I'm going to have to work very hard to get her to stay right through to the trip.