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As if he was hiding just around the corner, he popped into my view. “Yes, Mr. Beaufort?”
“Bring Camille. Tell her my father would like to meet her.”
He gave a slight bow. “Right away, sir.”
I rose from the desk when he was gone and pulled out the decanter of scotch and two glasses. I carried them to the coffee table and took a seat.
My father followed me with his gaze before his body did the same. “Hugo’s been in your employ for a long time.”
“He gets paid too much to leave.” I uncapped the crystal stopper and poured the glasses.
He brought the glass to his lips and took a drink. “You’re that insufferable?”
I relaxed in the chair with the glass in my hand. “If I am, that’s on you.”
“Really?” he asked, testing the waters.
“Listening to your mother get raped can turn you into an asshole.”
The mention of her dampened his mood. Wiped that smirk off his face. Aged his eyes by a couple decades. His gaze remained on me, but he seemed to be looking elsewhere, to a different time, a different place.
I almost felt bad for mentioning it. Almost.
“You and I are more alike than you realize.”
An insult. “How so?”
“Because you have a woman you love, and yet, you continue this ruthless life.”
“A woman I love?”
“If she’s not your whore, she’s your woman. And a woman only becomes your woman when she makes monogamy worthwhile.”
“Or when she’s so good in bed that you don’t need the others,” I snapped. “Don’t pretend to know me. You don’t know anything about me, asshole.”
He gave a subtle shrug and let the argument die.
Camille walked in a moment later, in a new outfit of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Her hair was down around her shoulders, but her face was still free of makeup, probably because she didn’t have time to put it on. Her confident posture had been replaced by timid uncertainty, and she approached the couch like she didn’t know whether she should sit or stand the entire time. She eventually decided to take the seat beside me.
My father locked his gaze on her as he took a drink.
“Camille, this is my father, Lorenzo Toussaint.”
She gave a quick nod. “Nice to meet you, Lorenzo.”
There was no handshake. Just a constant stare.
My father put his glass down. “My son tells me you’re an important person in his life, so I thought we should meet.”
I didn’t say that.
“I’m glad that the two of you are reconnecting,” she said. “Family is always worth fighting for.”
His eyes shifted to me, a look of approval in his gaze. “Well said, darling.”
Another stretch of heavy silence ensued.
I drank my scotch, but today, it just wasn’t strong enough to fight the unease.
“How’s Cauldron treating you?”
The question seemed to surprise her, because it took a while for her to answer. “We have our good days and our bad days. Right now, they’ve been really good.”
“Cauldron and I haven’t really spoken in almost ten years. The only reason we are now is because of you—so thank you.”
“Technically, you can thank Grave,” I snapped. “Because he’s the one who took her and forced my hand.”
His eyes shifted back to me. “But she’s the only thing that could force your hand, so I think the credit goes to her.”
Camille gave me an uncertain look, like she knew this conversation would spark a firestorm that she’d have to put out later.
“Tell me about yourself, Camille.” My father looked at her.
She sat with her legs crossed and her hands on her knee. “Well, I’m sure you know about my history with Grave…which means you know what my profession is. Or was. I’m not ashamed of what I had to do to survive, but I’m also not proud of it either. It was my hope to leave all of that behind…but Grave didn’t accept that decision.”
My father stared, as if waiting for her to say more.
Camille continued. “My mother passed when I was barely an adult, so I didn’t have a lot of options. That’s how I ended up in the profession. It allowed me to save money and led me to Cauldron…so I don’t have any regrets.”
“I can tell my son cares deeply for you.”
I shot him a glare, but he didn’t see it because he stared at Camille.
“I care for him too,” she said. “I know he has a lot of issues, but he’s worth my patience.”
My father stated the obvious. “Grave was a paycheck, but Cauldron is a hobby.”
“I guess you could put it like that…”
“Are you done interrogating her?” I asked. “Because she has more important things to do than talk to you.”
“I don’t mind, Cauldron,” she said.
“He’s an asshole,” I said, looking at her.
“Honestly, it’s not much different from talking to you…”
My father couldn’t suppress the laugh that came through. “Told you, Cauldron. We’re a lot alike.”
