The Marriage Bargain

by Sandra Edwards

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Crazy For You ~ Excerpt

  The Wedding Wager ~ Excerpt

  Chapter Two ~ Excerpt Con't

  Chapter Three ~ Excerpt Con't

  Backlist

  About Sandra Edwards

  THE MARRIAGE BARGAIN

  by

  Sandra Edwards

  The Marriage Bargain

  Copyright © 2012 Sandra Edwards

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Sandra Edwards.

  Published by Amazon KDP

  Seattle, WA

  Electronic KDP Edition: September, 2012

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

  Camille Chandler is a tabloid journalist whose career is right on track—until her boss sees a curious ad in the L.A. Trades.

  Wanted: Single actress for an extended gig abroad.

  France’s mega-rich playboy Julian de Laurent is up to something and Camille’s boss expects her to find out what. Who knew the eccentric gazillionaire was looking to hire a temporary wife?

  When Camille refuses to accept Julian’s proposal, and secretly write a juicy tell-all about the de Laurent family, she’s fired and left financially destitute, forcing her to entertain Julian’s proposal for real.

  But what’ll happen at the end of the contract period after Camille has spent six months as the wife of a man she learns is capable of stealing her heart?

  CHAPTER ONE

  JULIAN DE LAURENT had lost faith in his plan. He thought the ad he’d placed in the L.A. Trades, looking for a regal-type actress for an extended gig abroad, would bring out the finest America had to offer. So far that hadn’t happened, at least in Los Angeles.

  Evident by the young lady who’d just left his table in the back corner of Donato’s, a high-end bistro on the coast just south of Malibu. The scent of her cheap perfume lingered long after she’d gone and snuffed out the more pleasing aroma of the fresh grilled Panini Julian had dined on for lunch. Between her fragrance and her appearance, Vanessa Indigo had failed miserably at meeting Julian’s standards.

  Not that there was anything wrong with her blue-tipped hair and excessive tattoos, but Julian needed a woman with an air of sophistication. His choice had to look and act like she’d been groomed for one thing—to marry into the de Laurent family.

  In addition to her savoir-faire, it would help if she had fine hips and long legs. He didn’t particularly care about the size of her breasts. They could be small, medium or large. Her mouth was more important. Kissable lips, or the lack thereof, was a deal-breaker. Her hair color wasn’t a factor. Neither were her eyes. He just had to look into them and see love.

  The girl he chose would have to be one hell of an actress if he hoped to convince Papa.

  Julian was ready to wind up the interviews when a young blonde walked through the entrance. Every physical trait he’d deemed important was wrapped in cultured class.

  She’s perfect.

  She stopped at the hostess, and Julian dared to consider that she might be there for him. He sighed when the girl pointed Ms. Perfect toward Soren, Julian’s valet, sitting at the bar patiently waiting to greet the applicants.

  She was here for him. Thank God.

  Soren glanced his way, and Julian nodded. He’d told Soren no more today, but that was before she’d waltzed in. She was the answer to his predicament.

  Ms. Perfect followed Soren to the table and Julian stood as she stopped in front of him.

  “Mademoiselle.” He pulled a chair out for her. She looked ideal for the part. Hopefully she’d be as refined as she appeared.

  “My name is Camille Chandler,” she said, dropping into the chair and perching her purse onto her lap and a briefcase at her chair’s side.

  “Julian de Laurent.” He snuck a peek at her hands, her left hand in particular. No rings. Good.

  She thumbed through the satchel and offered him a single piece of paper. “Here’s a bit of my acting history.” A shadow of insecurity darkened her turquoise eyes so briefly he questioned its realism. She settled her gaze on him and his heart danced with excitement.

  Julian didn’t care about her acting history. He was more interested in whether or not she’d come across as convincing. It was one thing to act like his wife, and completely another to look the part.

  He took the resume, glanced over the paper and dropped it onto the table next to his plate. “Are you hungry, Miss Chandler? Can I order you something?”

  “No thank you. Nothing to eat. But I wouldn’t mind having an iced tea.” Her voice lulled him into a relaxed mood.

  Julian waved at the waiter. “Could you bring the lady an iced tea?” he said, and glanced at Camille. “Sugar or unsweetened?”

  “Unsweetened,” she said, reaching for the sugar substitute.

  Hm. Did women as young and softly rounded as her worry about their figures? He saw nothing wrong with hers. It belonged in a Ferrari.

  Another waitress passed by with a piece of apple pie.

  “Ooh, is the apple pie fat free?” she asked.

  “No ma’am. But we do have a nice low fat custard.”

  “I’ll have a piece of the apple pie. And can I get a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side?”

  She fiddled with a couple of Splenda packets, waiting for the iced tea. Julian tried to figure the odds against her putting the sugar substitute in her drink.

  The waiter returned and set a glass in front of her. “Your pie will be right out.” He paused just a second or two and then moved away from the table.

  Camille ripped the Splenda packets open and dumped the contents into her tea. Fascinating.

  “Have you been able to earn a competent living as an actress?” He began fishing for information just to get a feel for her potential as an actress.

  She gave an impromptu shrug. “Not as much as I’d like, but I do okay.” She paused as the waiter appeared with her ice cream and pie. Once he’d left, she continued on. “I get enough commercials and bit parts to pay the rent,” she said with a hint of laughter and then scooped her ice cream and pie together onto her fork.

  The most satisfied look crossed her face as the sweet treats mixed together inside her mouth. It wasn’t a depraved expression, but said I really like this and I’m not worried about over-indulging. She picked up her iced tea and washed the remnants down with her artificially sweetened drink.

  The whole concept confused Julian. He drew a breath. A sweet soft scent, one that reminded him of lavender, invaded his senses. It wasn’t an overwhelming or an expensive perfume, but it did its job effectively.

  He summoned the bravado to discuss her odd eating habits. “I’ve got to ask about your method of sweetening your tea.”

  “Artificial sweeteners melt easier in iced tea,�
�� she said. “There’s nothing worse than bitter, under-sweetened tea.” Her features contorted in an expression of distaste.

  This girl’s major complaint was unsweetened iced tea? That suggested an easy-going demeanor. He liked that.

  He also liked her wholesome good looks. She was dressed simply but smartly in a plain, skirted suit of pale blue. Designer labels wouldn’t be found on the garment, and it wasn’t as chic as a snug custom-made fit, but it was adequate for her station in life. And, it complimented, brightened her blue eyes.

  “So what’s your deal?” she asked.

  “My deal?”

  “Yeah.” Her fingers, tapered and delicate, caressed the glass. “What exactly is this acting gig?” She gave him a scrutinizing look. “I take it you’re not a movie producer.”

  “No, I’m not a producer,” he said. “You won’t win any Oscars with this role, but it pays well.”

  Her face drew into a terribly serious expression and she peered at him shrewdly. “Well, if I’m not going to get an Oscar nod...then it’d better pay damn well.” She took another bite of her dessert.

  “The part also requires the actress be single.”

  Her head shot back and she hit him with a lethal glare. “Not that I see how that matters, but I am not married.”

  “The location is in Europe.”

  Her gaze traveled off to the side. “I’ve got a passport.”

  “Let’s have dinner this evening,” he said. “We’ll discuss the part in further detail then.” He wanted the chance to show her the benefits of the acting assignment. Just a taste of what accepting his offer would involve before revealing the particulars. If she saw the luxury in which she’d be living, perhaps it would induce a positive reaction.

  “Okay, sure. Why not?” she said, after a second of thought.

  “I’ll have a driver come for you at six?” he suggested.

  “How about if I meet you?”

  “All right,” he agreed, impressed that she was so easily evasive. The trait would come in handy if she accepted his proposal. “Come by the Montage in Beverly Hills.”

  She gave him one of those raised eyebrow looks that wasn’t so much about his extravagance as her vigilance.

  “We’ll meet in the lobby.” He hoped his calm demeanor was enough to satisfy her concern.

  Her face relaxed and melted into a smile. “Okay.”

  Julian reached for the pocket inside his blazer and drew out a business card and an ink pen. He jotted down the hotel’s name and his room number on the back. “Here’s my hotel information. My cell is on the front.” He offered her the card. “My room number is on the back.”

  She took it, glanced at it and slipped it inside her purse. “I don’t have a card,” she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  An actress without a business card. Odd. But she was a struggling actress. Perhaps it came down to food or business cards. He could understand why she’d choose the former.

  “A cell phone perhaps?” he asked. “In case I need to contact you.”

  She rattled off a ten-digit number and he keyed it into his phone.

  She pushed the empty plate away, sighed and then smiled. “I’ve got to go. I have another appointment.” She grabbed her purse and brief case as she stood.

  Julian rose, out of habit more than anything else. “Well, Camille, it was a pleasure meeting you.” He reached for her hand and kissed it. “Please don’t accept any other acting jobs without giving me a chance to make a counter offer.”

  If she landed another role in her afternoon appointment, that would be disastrous.

  The setting sun cast its golden hue across the Santa Monica Mountains and showered the city in a honeyed haze. Luckily, the cab she’d gotten into had tinted windows, and shielded her from the glare ricocheting off the Pacific Ocean.

  Camille looked at her face in the lighted compact mirror. She painted red lipstick on with practiced precision, for all the good it would do. No amount of makeup would make her as appealing as her friend Tasha claimed she needed to be.

  “If you want to get the dirt on what he’s doing here, you need to entice it out of him,” Tasha had insisted when Camille objected to the slinky black dress.

  In case Tasha hadn’t noticed, Camille wasn’t the enticing sort. Her breasts were too small. Her butt was too big. And her legs were too thin.

  She tugged at the dress self-consciously as the car rolled to a stop in front of the Montage. Even though Tasha had told her not to, she pulled the sheer wrap up over her shoulders, clutching it tight against her chest in hopes of hiding at least one of her flaws.

  A doorman appeared instantly and helped her out of the taxi. She thanked him and moved indoors.

  Soren was at Camille’s side within a few steps. Damn. This guy was efficient.

  “Ms. Chandler, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He walked beside her, his hands clamped loosely behind his back. “Mr. de Laurent is waiting with a car at the back entrance.”

  Nothing about Soren raised red flags; still she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling suffocating her. But that probably had more to do with her reticence than Soren or Julian’s potential to be a threat.

  She followed Soren through the lavish lobby and into a back corridor that, although toned down, still reeked of extravagance. The pair walked in silence. Approaching the exit, Soren stepped a few paces in front of her and held the door open.

  Julian was waiting outside, leaning against the white limousine. Camille’s heartbeat pounded in overtime, pushing those pheromones through her system. This guy was serious eye candy, with jet-black ringlets hanging nearly to his shoulders. His hair was a little long for her tastes, but it suited him well, complementing his broad shoulders and masculine frame as if it, along with each portion of his body, had been handpicked by the gods. And those aqua eyes, they stood out against his bronze skin like Atlantic jewels.

  He pushed himself off the car and stepped toward her.

  Not knowing what to say, she smiled. Julian reached for her hand and brushed it with a kiss. “Chéri, I am honored to have the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening.”

  Is this guy for real? An involuntary snort rumbled up her throat and she tried to subdue it by holding her breath. No such luck. “Yeah. Likewise, I’m sure,” she said, and moved closer to the car.

  Julian chuckled and waved the driver off before opening the car door himself. With an elaborate hand gesture, he beckoned Camille inside the vehicle. “Chéri, I can assure you my intentions are nothing less than sincere.”

  Sure, it was probably a line. But Camille got the impression it was a line he genuinely meant, even if it was fueled by ulterior motives. Julian de Laurent wanted something, and in a bad way. Otherwise, she doubted he’d be in L.A. looking for an actress on the sly. Her boss, Margo Fontaine, had made it clear it was Camille’s job to find out what.

  The longer he stalled, the more worried she became. What was he up to? She drew a breath, wanting more than anything to enjoy the luxury of the evening. Nights like these didn’t come along very often for Camille. But until Julian was ready to reveal his motive, she saw no relaxation in sight.

  Julian climbed inside the limo and scanned her seductively before scooting up against her. The smell of his aftershave, cool and slightly erotic, and their close proximity melted her insecurities and prompted her to consider other, more appealing activities. Activities that involved kissing and touching and....

  A delicious shudder heated her body, embarrassing Camille. She was too smitten to look at Julian as the car pulled away from the curb. For her own sake, she needed to get a hold of the attraction quickly. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she had a good idea it wasn’t love.

  “You know, you seem like a really nice guy, Julian.” Camille kept her focus on the red sequined clutch she’d borrowed from Tasha, and tried to ignore the feel of Julian’s silk suit as it caressed temptingly against her bare leg. “If you�
�re not in movies, what can you possibly want with an actress?”

  Camille wished she could be this inquisitive with her boss, Margo. If she questioned that woman’s intentions, she’d be shot down before the words ever settled in the air. But with Julian, it was different. He didn’t seem to mind her wariness. Ever the gentleman, always on the verge of courtesy.

  He paused, his expression softening, his eyes closed and lingered shut for a brief interlude. “Chéri.” He looked back at her. “May I tell you about my family?”

  “Sure.”

  His demeanor was young, hip, and fresh but his words were old-fashioned, shaped in old-world charm, at least the kind of old-world charm she was used to seeing in the movies. If it was truly an act, he was a savant.

  “My family is deep-rooted in France. I will be honest with you because, if you accept my proposal, you will find out anyway.” For the first time he fidgeted, uncomfortable with his forthcoming information. “The de Laurents are, how do you say tactfully...a very wealthy family.” He shrugged as if it meant nothing. “The money is old and the principles are set in the ways of the past.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Decades ago. Hundreds of years even, in noble and elite circles, arranged marriages were, and still are, quite common. They worked well back then, and some Europeans aren’t ready to give up their old-fashioned ways.”

  “Kind of like the old saying...if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you telling me that you suffer from an arranged marriage?”

  Julian’s eyes lit up. “Of sorts.” He exhaled and his woes seemed to blow out with his excessive breath. “It’s more like an arranged engagement that hasn’t yet been announced.”