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And the pink vibrator.
I almost let out a chuckle at the memory of Camille hiding the device beneath her pillow. Her embarrassment hung heavy in the air.
There’s nothing wrong with a woman satisfying herself.
Seeing this side of Camille, the ordinary woman who’s not wearing a mask of sophistication to impress everyone around her, impresses me a hell of a lot more than the socialite act.
The socialite I saw at the event last week fits with the luxurious penthouse with overprized décor.
The girl in the shorts and T-shirt is much more down-to-earth and relatable.
Honestly, her life seemed so superficial. Then I found out she loves to take photos and develops them herself. She loves binge-watchingBig Bang TheoryandHow I Met Your Mother. She doesn’t count the calories she puts in her mouth.
She’s human.
It’s fucking refreshing.
Even though the penthouse is bathed in expensive furniture and tasteful décor, the packets of half-eaten snacks lying all over the place make it feel homey.
I’ve drawn the curtains shut, but there’s still a lot of natural light coming in through the skylights in the high ceiling.
When she came downstairs, wearing a t-shirt with a chocolate stain on it and a pair of shorts that were so tight around her plump ass, I was hit with a wave of attraction I haven’t felt in a long time.
The dress and heels she wore to lunch did nothing for me. But damn, those shorts…
I remove my suits from the garment bags and hang them in the closet. Opening the duffle bag, I remove the weapons, and taking two guns, I hide one beneath the mattress and another on top of the cabinet in the ensuite bathroom.
I grab the duffle bag, and heading out of the guest room, I go downstairs and strategically hide weapons in the living room and kitchen while memorizing the layout of the penthouse.
Not wanting to step on Camille’s toes, I head back to the first floor and knock on the door.
“Yes?”
I push the door all the way open. “I need to hide a weapon here and in your bedroom.”
She blinks at me for a moment. “What?” A frown forms on her forehead. “Nevermind.” She waves a hand around the room then continues to frame the photo she took of the busker on Thursday night.
I place a Magnum on top of the cabinet containing all her supplies. “If you find a weapon somewhere in the apartment, just ignore it.”
Her features tighten, but instead of arguing, she nods and continues with her work.
An uneasy feeling settles in my chest, and my eyes sharpen on her face.
She’s unhappy.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll try my best to stay out of your way.”
Her fingers stop fidgeting with the frame, and for a moment, she just stares at her desk, then she says, “This is all very sudden.” Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes meet mine. “I understand my father employed you, but I’ll feel better if I could get to know you. Right now, I have a strange man in my personal space, and it’s really unsettling.”
I respect her honesty and gesture to the doorway. “Coffee would be nice while I tell you about myself.”
Surprise flickers on her face, and she quickly gets up from her desk chair. When I follow her down the hallway, I glance at the photos covering the entire hallway wall, which overlooks the open space of the living room and kitchen below. “Did you take all of these?”
“Yes. It’s something I like to do in my spare time.”
Before she can head down the stairs, I ask, “Where’s a safe place to hide a weapon in your bedroom?”
“Not my drawers,” she answers immediately.
