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“That’s a given.”
Camille rises from the couch and picks up the empty tumbler. “Would you like another?”
When I nod, and she walks toward the liquor cabinet, my eyes lock onto her ass.
My control slips at the sexy sight, and I wonder what it would feel like to spank her into submission.
She carries the tumbler of whiskey to the living room, and after handing the drink to me, she admits, “I’m enjoying this. Thank you for making an effort.”
It’s the second time she’s thanked me just because I’m interacting with her. Contact with people must be important to her.
I set the tumbler down on the side table and ask, “If you like people so much, why do you hate being a socialite?”
Camille searches for the sequel and draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks about her answer.
“I hate the fakeness surrounding socialites. Everyone’s always trying to one-up the other. It’s all about status and money.”
Understanding, I nod. “Why do you do it?”
“It’s what my father expects of me.”
Tilting my head, I ask, “But he loves you.”
Camille lets out a sigh and pops a chip into her mouth. “My father is a controlling man. He doesn’t want me to work and insists that I live the life of a socialite.” Her eyes meet mine. “He’s given me an amazing life, the least I can do is follow a couple of rules.”
“If you had a choice, what work would you prefer to do?”
She doesn’t have to think about her answer. “I’d become a professional photographer.” She scrunches her nose, a chuckle bubbling from her. “I doubt I’d make any money, but I’d enjoy it a lot.”
My eyes flick to the hallway, and I glance over her collection of photos. “You have a talent, Camille. I’m sure you’d make money from selling your work.”
When she doesn’t say anything, my eyes flick back to hers. Her lips are parted and her eyebrows drawn together, emotion trembling in her eyes.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
More warmth creeps into the icy chambers of my heart, and I start to worry that if I give this woman half a chance, she’ll make herself right at home in my chest.
That can’t happen.
“It’s time for bed,” I say as I rise to my feet.
“What about the movie?”
I shake my head and start to check every window. “It’s late. We can watch it another day.” When I’m done with my checks, I head to the stairs and mutter, “Good night, Camille.”
“Night,” she whispers, and I feel her eyes follow me all the way to my bedroom.
Christ, I’m going to walk a tightrope between trying to take it easy on Camille and not giving her too much attention.
Just make sure that fucking rope doesn’t become a noose around your neck.
While Camille is taking an afternoon nap, I pull my phone out and scroll through my contacts list until I reach Nikolai’s number. Pressing dial, I bring the device to my ear.
I haven’t spoken to him in a while and just want to touch base with him.
The call goes through, then my friend growls, “Yes?”
A frown forms on my forehead as I ask, “Everything okay?”
