Could he possibly be after what it sounded like? Was Julian looking for a wife?
Camille dismissed that notion, as tempting as it was. It didn’t make sense. “Okay, but I’m not really getting how hiring an actress is going to help you.”
“My father thinks it’s his god-given right to choose a wife for me.” His brow drew together in a conflicting frown. “I disagree.” His demeanor faded into defeat. “But you can only push a man like my father so far.”
“And you’re too rich to be poor?”
“Precisely.”
Was Julian trying to pull a fast one on his father? Camille insisted her brain not go there. It didn’t listen. “A man who’s already married can’t get married.” She laid it out there in the vaguest terms, just in case she was wrong.
“It’s not quite that diabolical.” He chuckled. “You see, my father feels he also bears a certain sense of responsibility for my happiness, as well as securing a future heir—”
Whoa! Nobody said anything about heirs.
“He wants a daughter-in-law.” Every muscle in his face tightened. It was hard for him to say the words, much less consider making them happen. “But I’m not ready for a wife.” He paused with a wide-eyed innocence that Camille suspected was a smoke-screen. “Not a real one, anyway.”
She shrugged to hide the bit of disappointment behind her growing confusion. “So, you think getting an actress to pretend to be your fiancée will fend off your father long enough for him to get over his fascination with you getting married?”
“No.” Julian shook his head with a calm resolve. “My father can’t be placated so easily.”
A soft gasp escaped her. “You want somebody to actually marry you?”
He remained silent, and his mouth curved into an unconscious smile. She’d finally stumbled upon the root of Julian’s purpose.
“Okay, I’m missing something here.” Her breath caught in her lungs and she forbade herself to lose her sensibility. “You don’t want to get married so you think it’s a good idea to hire an actress to marry you?” She paused, trying not to let her composure falter. “How is that going to fix your problem?”
“It’s temporary, Chéri,” he said with a bit of complacency. “Six months, long enough for my father to move on to my younger brother. Then my wife and I can divorce amicably, and I’ll be free from the confines of a real marriage.”
“Why would anyone agree to that?”
Julian rested his arm along the back of the seat and wound his hand in her hair. “Perhaps five million dollars would be an ample inducement?”
Five million bucks? Hell yeah. Camille knew a ton of would-be actresses who’d practically kill for half that.
Camille suspected her boss, Margo Fontaine, enjoyed her throne perched high upon the eighteenth floor. Who could blame her? A corner office with two walls of windows displaying, almost smugly, a commanding view that overlooked downtown Los Angeles.
On this day, Margo ignored the scene outside. Instead, her face fell into exaggerated melancholy as she stared at Camille. “What do you mean you told him no?” Margo’s voice shrilled across the desk and withered Camille’s self-assurance.
Disbelief twisted and knotted in Camille’s gut. How could Margo expect her to agree to this charade?
“Margo.” Camille’s nervous laughter fogged around her like a thick, suffocating vapor. “You really can’t expect me to marry some stranger just to get a story?”
Margo stiffened and displayed short-tempered impatience. “Of course I don’t expect you to actually go through with the marriage.” She heard a heavy dose of sarcasm in Margo’s voice. “You can change your mind the day before the ceremony,” she added, as if that was okay.
A dense tangle of ideas swarmed inside Camille’s head and tightened her muscles with dread. Was Margo serious? She had to be joking. But Margo Fontaine rarely joked about anything. Especially assignments.
“Margo—” Camille stalled, long enough to find her credible voice. “—I can’t do that. Not even to a stranger.”
Julian de Laurent had come across as a little eccentric and he was most likely a pain in the butt because he was probably used to getting his way, but toying with him just didn’t seem right.
“Sure you can.” Margo crossed her arms defensively. “And you will.”
Stunned surprise yanked Camille back. She shook her head with an air of resignation. “No.” Camille’s voice cracked with her failing optimism. She studied Margo’s stark face, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she began to realize the severity of her boss’s resolve. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”
Margo waited, letting the silence linger on the space between them. A tactic to let fear of the unknown build in her enemy. “Camille.” Her tone was calm. A little too calm. That couldn’t be good. “How long have you been interning at Disclosure? A year now?” She grabbed a fountain pen and rubbed her thumb along the edge. “Our internships typically last a year. Then I decide whether or not to offer a full-time position, or quite possibly to offer recommendations elsewhere, if I’m so inclined.”
“Margo, I’d love a permanent job with the magazine.” Camille leaned forward and rested her arm on her boss’s desk. “But I’d also appreciate a recommendation if that’s your decision.”
“Camille, how would you like to come on board with your own column?”
“That’d be a dream come true.”
“You get me that story and the column is yours.”
Tempting as that was, Camille wasn’t prepared to play the game by those rules. She stifled her cynicism and retreated back into her chair. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She dared to raise her gaze and look at Margo. “Is there anything else? Other positions available?”
Margo stared at her in a forceful, gritty way. “Camille, your continued employment with Disclosure is contingent upon your accepting this assignment and getting me that story.” Her tone hardened to match her cynical words. “People like de Laurent make me sick. They think they can come over here and buy people at will.”
Wasn’t that what Margo was trying to do with Camille?
“Well, I guess I’ll have to decline a position with the magazine then.” Camille wanted to go back to the beginning, before the ad showed up in the L.A. Trades. That was the beginning of the end of her basic belief that her employer abided by the rules of human decency.
Julian de Laurent’s actions, as far as Camille could see, were no worse than the average superrich guy who’d gotten himself into a bind and was trying desperately, albeit foolishly, to wriggle out of a disagreeable situation. That didn’t mean he deserved to have some reporter disguised as an actress spying on him and his family to write a juicy tell-all.
Not that Camille wouldn’t mind helping out Julian. She wouldn’t mind living the luxurious life for few months, except she’d probably get too used to it. That’d be her luck. She’d become too attached to the life and Julian’s charms.
Margo cleared her throat. There was no mercy in her countenance. “That’s really unfortunate,” she said with a faint bitterness. “I guess I was wrong about you.”
“Wrong?”
“I thought your career was your top priority.” Her comment was no question. “As opposed to protecting the privacy of someone you don’t even know.”
Maybe Margo had a point. Why did Camille care about the ramifications for Julian and his family?
Why? Because she wasn’t raised that way. Granny Mae had made sure of that. Camille had lived with her grandmother ever since she could remember, after being deserted by both her parents, and Granny Mae had infused Camille with some old-fashioned values. Values that wouldn’t allow her, in good conscience, to do something so underhanded.
“I’m sorry Mar—Ms. Fontaine. I guess there is a line I’m not comfortable crossing.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Might I perhaps garner a letter of recommendation?” Desperation pushed the hopeful inquiry out of her mouth. C
amille would have to find another job and quickly. The bills for the student loans she’d acquired while putting herself through college would soon inundate her. She didn’t want to have to compete in a job market that was overcrowded with aspiring actors and actresses. Not that there was anything wrong with waitressing, but that was supposed to be a temporary gig for college students and people like Tasha, who were waiting for that big break. It wasn’t meant to be an option for people with college degrees in journalism.
“Recommendation?” Margo’s ridiculing laughter shattered what little esteem she had left. “Camille, it’s all or nothing.”
“All or nothing?” Camille’s light tone failed to fit the moment.
Margo leaned over her desk and propped herself up on folded arms. “How’s your serving skills?”
“Serving skills?” What the hell was she talking about?
“Well, actresses who can’t act, waitress. Reporters who can’t report, well, they waitress too.”
What? “Waitressing?” Surely she’d misunderstood Margo’s meaning. Camille had graduated from Stanford University with honors. It shouldn’t be that hard to land a job with some sort of publication in southern California. “I think I’ll be able to do better than that.”
“Not when I’m done, you won’t.” Margo pushed herself up and marched around in front of her desk. She leaned against it and folded her arms and crossed her legs, staring down at Camille from behind a mask of artificial sympathy. “In case you’ve convinced yourself that I’m nicer than people have tried to warn you in the past year, by the time I’m done, you’ll be lucky if you can get a job at a fast food restaurant.”
CHAPTER TWO
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Camille Chandler rapped on the hotel room door so hard her knuckles hurt. But damn it, Julian de Laurent owed her. Big time. He’d gotten her fired. Well, sort of. He was definitely the reason she wasn’t going from an internship to a permanent position with Disclosure Magazine.
Granted, that wasn’t his intent when he placed his ad in the L.A. Trades. She was just supposed to find out what the mega-wealthy Frenchman was up to, and boy, did she ever. Not in Camille’s wildest dreams would she have ever imagined her hard-nosed boss would make such demands. Who knew rejecting a proposal for an arranged marriage was shunning her job duties. She’d missed that memo.
A little piece of Camille—the part that found Julian de Laurent as fascinating as he was handsome—had pushed her to his doorstep. But mostly, her fear of being homeless, not to mention broke and in debt, was her main motivation for relenting and giving in to his business proposal.
She glanced down at the red fitted skirt and tailored jacket she’d snagged off the clearance rack at JC Penney, the best an intern at Disclosure Magazine could afford. Should she have worn something sexier?
Sexier? Who was she kidding? Sex appeal didn’t come easy to Camille, not like her friend Tasha. The most flattering comment Camille had ever received was that she had nice eyes. Not very gratifying when the same guy told Tasha, “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Julian de Laurent must have liked something about her because he’d said she was perfect for the part. If he’d changed his mind, she was screwed.
Just breathe. Her stomach churned with the misgivings of her well-intended but ill-conceived scheme. Maybe this was a mistake. She considered a turn-and-run tactic before someone answered the door.
Too late.
Soren, de Laurent’s shadow, appeared from behind the door. The two times she’d met with Julian, this guy was with him. It made her wonder.
“Ms. Chandler, what a pleasant surprise.” Soren’s stoic expression showered Camille with intimidation.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. de Laurent.” The words trembled up her throat, right along with the desperation.
“Please come in.” Soren stepped back, moving aside. “I’ll let Mr. de Laurent know you’re here. Please make yourself comfortable.” Heading toward a closed door on the other side of the room, he gestured about the suite’s living area decorated with plush couches and chairs and other opulent furnishings that probably cost more than her car.
I was comfortable until he waltzed into my life. She stormed to the nearest couch and plopped down. The sofa melded around her like a cloud. Damn. Of course he lived in luxury. God takes care of children and fools. Anybody who’d place an ad in the L.A. Trades looking for an actress to pretend to be his wife for six months had to be crazy.
Mr. Crazy—AKA, the extremely hot Julian de Laurent, as Tasha would call him—entered from an interior room. The suit he wore, custom-tailored and no doubt silk, clung to him and maneuvered with his athletic frame as he moved toward her with laid-back grace.
Although a bit on the arrogant side, he was all about making those around him as comfortable as possible. Julian’s attentiveness was sexy as hell. His assumption that he knew what was best for everyone was just as exasperating.
Camille shot up from the couch, tried to feign indifference and waited for his lead.
“Ms. Chandler. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked in a low voice that sounded a lot like how chocolate tasted. Divine. “Have you changed your mind, perhaps?” His inquiry hadn’t come off as a question so much as an insinuation.
Was she that obvious? Did she have the words I’m desperate blinking above her in pink and green neon?
Camille shifted her shoulders and arched them back. She drew a breath that needed to contain both the confidence and the capability to get her through this nutty scheme. “I’ve been thinking about your...offer.”
“Really?” he said in a polite but patronizing voice. She had little time to think about his arrogance as he lured her back to the couch with a persuasive, cajoling gesture. “I took your rejection of my project proposal yesterday as your final word.”
Project proposal? God, he made it sound like a damned business venture. Something she had to convince herself of if she wanted to avoid failure. Failure wasn’t an option. Neither was stupidity.
“Let’s just say that given a little time, I was able to see some of the hidden benefits of your proposal.” Camille paused as a whiff of citrus and light spices danced through the air and played with her senses. The manly aroma, an effective calming agent, had her dreaming about cool refreshing breezes on warm summer evenings. “I’m willing to negotiate.” She pushed her anxiety and the temptation aside. “Unless you’ve come to an agreement with someone else.”
Julian’s arm stretched across the back of the couch behind Camille. He didn’t touch her, but she had a corporeal reaction to his nearness. It shivered through her like an arctic chill when he flashed his to-die-for smile.
“No. The position is yours if you want it.”
She sucked in a breath of relief and doused it with logic. “We have to set a few ground rules.”
“Such as?”
Like, you can’t change your mind once you meet Tasha. Letting him meet her bombshell friend was probably a mistake. Nix that idea.
Camille cast her insecurities and attraction to Julian aside in favor of a stereotypical cold and heartless business persona. Julian de Laurent could not find out about the recent change in her employment status, or that she had a slight ‘thing’ for him—which she fully intended to conquer. She had no intention of falling for him. Her mother had fallen for her father, and look how that turned out. The man deserted her long before Camille was born.
“I have some loans that need to be paid off before I leave the U.S.” She hoped her monotone voice came across as a shrewd negotiator, instead of a desperate fraud. “I don’t want to ruin my credit.” She added, hoping to downplay the loans’ significance.
“Done,” he said without asking how much.
That set Camille’s worry back in motion. Who would agree to such a thing without knowing the particulars?
“Our marriage must appear real.” The seriousness in his voice drew her focus back to him, just as his lips curled into a goading smirk. Camille co
uldn’t decide if she wanted to smack him or kiss him. “You and I will have to share a bedroom wherever we go.”
She nibbled at his baiting comment, trying not to let it get to her. “Wherever we go?”
“My family is very well known in Europe. The media lurks around every corner. You’ll have to be mindful of every move you make, including those in front of my family.” His aloofness siphoned the confidence from her soul, leaving her too spooked to do more than nod. Julian continued like he was relating a P&L statement. “Above all others, my family must believe the marriage is real.”
Was sex part of the bargain? Not that Camille found the thought of sleeping with him out of the question, but she wasn’t ready to start trading her favors for money either.
“You can’t buy me.” Defiance rumbled through her like a run-away train. “Not like that.”
“Chéri, if we make love, it will be your idea.” With a wink, he tilted closer and his devilish grin ignited the allure of temptation.
“We won’t. And I won’t.” She hoped he bought the resistance.
“Whatever you say, Chéri.” His mischievous smile gave way to roguish laughter. He turned her on. She didn’t mind that so much as not being able to control the desire itself.
Calling her by the wrong name bruised her ego and earned him a vengeful tone. “My name is Camille.”
“I know that,” he said, undaunted. “Chéri is, how do you Americans say...a term of endearment. I called you darling.”
“Sorry.” The bitter tang in her apology stung, but she didn’t give him time to exploit her blunder. “So, once we’re married, as long as I don’t leave you or tell anyone the marriage is merely a business contract, at the end of six months we’ll go our separate ways and I’ll get five million dollars for my troubles?”
“That is the deal,” he said through a half-smile with nothing behind it but teeth.
Damn. This guy must be really loaded.
“What do you want to pretend to be married for, anyway?” she asked. The reason he gave seemed a little extreme. “Why can’t you just tell your dad to get off your back?”
The Marriage Bargain Page 2