Page 1 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Prologue

Camille uses the palm of her hand to shove her stubborn bathing suit bottoms into her bag, zipping it shut. Her carry-on is next. The anger helps her focus on grabbing everything left of hers in the second-floor loft. The last thing is her sunglasses that she hooks behind her ears, pulling her hair from her face as she sets the frames on top of her head. She shoves the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder in a huff. She has to get out of here. Every second she stays, the harder it is for her to keep her emotions in check. It felt like a dream when she stepped onto the sprawling Los Angeles compound.

What did Delilah tell her? Millionaires have mansions. Billionaires have compounds with breathtaking views.

She was such a pretty little fool. In her amazement at being allowed access to the world’s elite, she was blind to the fact that billionaires become such by stepping on pretty little fools just like her.

And what did she do when she came face to face with the handsome Mr. Bloom?

She fell head over heels.

One

Camille pulls her cardigan tighter over her chest as the airport air conditioning chills her back. She didn’t want to be back in an airport this soon after she and her best friend/business partner returned from Toronto, but here she was. Searching the screen mounted above her, she finds her gate.4:15 pm Dallas to Los Angeles: Gate 12.

She takes a left, falling in behind four women, all in their forties, rolling suitcases almost twice the size of hers. “It was a steal, I’m telling you,” the woman pulling the black Louis Vuitton suitcase says. “There were three of us in the class, and it only cost eight hundred a piece for him to teach us how to paint with gold foil like he did in his latest collection that’s sweeping Europe.None of us did near as good as him, of course, but it was fun.”

It takes Camille a second to realize that the woman istalking aboutspending eight hundred dollars. Not that you typically pay for stuff any other way, but spending almost a grand to paint?

“That is a steal,” the woman beside her with thehardaluminum suitcase agrees–the two women walking on the side of her exchange a look. The woman at the end catches Camille’s attention with a knock-off Michael Kors bag, who has the same shocked expressionon her face.She leansintoward the woman, pulling an all-black suitcase with a large, engraved sugar skull across the frontof it.

“Is that cheap?” she asks her friend.

The sugar skull woman nods. “Considering one of his paintings can go for north of ten thousand, it’s cheap, but I wouldn’t pay two hundred dollars for a painting class unless itwasthe artist doing the painting for me.” Camille nods along with her, not that any of the women notice her behind them. “I tried to help Charles Jr. with his art project once, and all I could manage was drawing a stick person with a tuft of spaghetti hair. You should have seen the look of disappointment he gave me. You’d think he was my first husband.”

The two women giggle, causing the woman on the other end to cut her eyes at them as she continues to describe the art class. Camille’s cell phone rings, and she slows, parting from the women. Evelyn’s ringtone blares insideofher oversized purse as she digs to the bottom for her phone.

“I know, I’m late,” she answers in a huff. “I’m almost to the gate.”

“You have over an hour,” her best friend groans. “You have plenty of time.”

“You know how I like to be early,” Camille chuckles. “I’ll see you in a sec.”

“No,” Evelyn calls quickly over the phone, her voice growing louder, “don’t hang up.”

“I’m here,” she says, walkingupto gate twelve. She looks around at allofthe people waiting idly outside the terminal; her business partner is nowhere to be found.

“I’m not there,” Evelyn admits, lowering her voice.

Camille’s already frowning. “I can see that.”From the other end of the phone, she can hear the road noise.“I should’ve known you wouldn’t be early,” she says, walking up to the seating in terminal twelve. “You better hurry up.”Like Evelyn’s father, the great real estate turned restaurant king of Dallas, being early has always beenadifficultfeatfor her.

“That’s why I’m calling. I won’t make the flight. Dad has me heading to La Mexicana. Two managers just walked out. The night manager came in early to cover for them, but she’s new, and she’s freaking out. My parents won’t be back from Florida ‘til Saturday, so they need me to finish out the day and hire new managers for the morning.”

Camille plops down on the closest seat, letting go of her suitcase to rub her hand tiredly over her eyes. “Can’t your dad send a manager from one of his other restaurants?”

Evelyn’s parents called themselves retired, but in reality, they quit the real estate business and started buying local restaurants ranging from Mexican cuisine to fried chicken. When the restaurantsstartedmaking more than double their annual real estate income, they “retired,” giving the restaurants their full attention if you call giving your full attention to something when you’re on vacation four months out of the year.

“You know he doesn’t trust anyone but me to put out fires,” Evelyn exhales, sounding as tired as Camille feels.

Thisis the last thing she needs. Evelyn takes care of the business side. Camille is just the brains. So far, in their attempts to make it big with her invention, Oxygen Recycler—the first device of its kind that provides portable at-home oxygen recycling, focusing on the aging marketthatrequires constant home oxygen delivery—only two of the top five medical supply companies have responded to Evelyn’s requests to meet.The only meeting they’ve had so far sent them to meet the Flexinburg Groupall the wayin Toronto, and itwas a total bust.

When they returned from Toronto, Evelyn got the call that Bloom and Bloom Enterprises wanted them to come to Los Angeles for a meeting, and they didn’t want to wait. They wanted them in California bright and early Thursday morning. Itgave them merehours to provide Bloom and Bloom with their information, get their plane tickets, pack, and head for the airport.

Camilleeyesthe vacant seat beside her where Evelyn should be sitting,going overtheir game plan for the meeting.“I’ve already spoken to Bloom’s assistant. You fly out tonight, and I’ll fly out in the morning. I’ll be there before lunch.”

“Why wouldn’t you get them to change both of our tickets? I don’t want to show up there alone.”

“Cammy, you can do this. I forwarded you the email they sent me. You already have your ticket,you’re packed, and you're at the airport. Why not go and impress them with your brilliance?”

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