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“This is bullshit.”
Jerome sat in his chair and gave a slight shrug. “I’m sorry, Camille.”
“This can’t be right. He can’t do that.”
“Grave did the same with Elise. Subleases happen.”
“But it was without my knowledge.”
He gave another shrug. “The guy who owns the contract can do whatever he wants.”
“I’m a fucking person.”
He just stared at me.
“There’s gotta be a way out of this.”
He shook his head.
“I won’t do it. Get me another client.”
“I can’t, Camille.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because Bartholomew is still paying his fee, which means you’re unavailable.”
“He doesn’t have to know anything.”
“I’m not stupid enough to take on both Bartholomew and Cauldron. And no one is going to want to buy a contract when they know you’ve already got a contract and a sublease with two powerful men. You’re stuck.”
I slumped in the chair, devastated. “This can’t be happening.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should have read the fine print before you signed the contract.”
Shame on me.
“Do your time. Make the best of it.”
“Make thebestof it?” I snapped. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
22
CAMILLE
He knocked on the door—at seven o’clock sharp.
“Here we go…” There was no escaping these two men. I was either at the mercy of Grave or at the mercy of Cauldron. Depending on the day of the week, it could change. I assumed we were going somewhere fancy, so I’d put on a black cocktail dress with pumps with a sharp point, you know, in case I needed to kick him in the balls.
I opened the door, seeing him standing in his signature long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans.
His eyes were locked on mine, and they looked empty down to their core. When he’d come to my home to talk to me about Bartholomew, he’d worn his heart on his sleeve, showed a side of himself that hardly existed, but that was long gone now. He was back to his former coldness. Now that he owed me, he didn’t have to be nice, didn’t have to say a word to me. “You look beautiful.”
