Camille shakes her head. “Because I could do something stupid or put my foot in my mouth. What if I ruin this opportunity before you get there?”
“You are going to be fine. You probably won’t even meet Mrs. Bloom tonight. Listen, I’m pulling up to the restaurant.You’re going toget on that plane, go to L.A., and charm the socks off of those execs at Bloom and Bloom just like you do with everyone else. I gotta go.”
“But—” Camille begins. Evelyn hangs up before she can finish the word.
She takes a deep breath, letting her head fall back on her shoulders enough so that her head brushes the person behind her. “Sorry,” she coughs, sitting up. She looks around at all of the bored faces waiting about gate twelve. “This is going to be great.”
Two
The sun is setting on Los Angeles’s horizon when Camille’s flight lands. As she walks out of the terminal, she reviews the terms Evelyn sent her. Keeping a firm grip on her Dillard’s clearance rack carry-on bag, she hunches over her phone, following the crowd to baggage claim.Two million and thirty-three and a third percent ownership in Oxygen Recycler. If they want a buy-out—three and a half million and we maintain five percent royalty for life.
She looks up from her phone when she gets to the baggage claim to retrieve her luggage. With her suitcase in tow, she walks up to the line of men in suits of various builds and ethnicities holding dry-erase boards, except for one older man at the end holding a bouquet of pink roses. His face lights up as a woman rushes to him.
“I have missed you something fierce,” she exclaims, throwing an arm around his neck as he holds onto the flowers with one hand and wraps his other around the small of her back.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” he chuckles, giving her a kiss.
“I won’t as long as you come with me to my mother’s next time.” The man’s smile turns as though pained at the thought, but it quickly disappears as he hands her the flowers and takes her luggage.
Camille stops in front of a stalky man holding the sign that readsIntegrity Heights. He has a thick neck that she’s pretty sure would make it impossible for him to fasten the top button, left intentionally undone, no doubt behind his black bow tie. He’s too busy watching the blonde in yoga pants walking past him to notice her.
“That’s me,” Camille states with a gentle grin, internally jumping for joy.
He glances down at the back of his board. “Mrs. Lee?”
“Miss Lee, actually.”
“Welcome to Los Angeles. I’m Buck.” He reaches out with his big hand to her suitcase. Mistaking his gesture for an invitation, she shakes his hand.
“Oh, thanks,” she murmurs awkwardly, realizing his true intent. She releases his hand.
She keeps ahold of her carry-on, stepping back so he can grab her suitcase. As he leans past her, she catches a glimpse of the sharp point of a tattoo sticking out from under the crisp collar of his white shirt. This gives his thick neck even more of a macho appearance. Wondering if this guy is a bodybuilder, she follows him out of the main entrance to a car parallel-parked across the street.
“Is this really my ride?”
The chauffeur glances back at her as he opens the rear driver’s side door. Her eyes double in size as the car door opens in the opposite direction.
“Suicide doors?” she squeals, walking up to the sparkling white, early edition Rolls-Royce. She stops ten feet from it to admire the car in its entirety.
“All Phantoms have them,” Buck replies, unamused.
A mental image pops up of Buck wearing the half mask from Phantom of the Opera, driving the car around with the soundtrack blaring. Camille can’t help but laugh. Buck rolls her suitcase to the back of the car, looking over his shoulder at her, frowning. A taxi lets out a loud honk as the driver punches its brakes to avoid running into her. It scares her enough that she flies forward, diving into the back seat of the car. She tosses her carry-on bag on the seat beside her.
“I’ll get the door,” Buck calls from the trunk. He reappears at her door a moment later. “I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, but you shouldn’t stand in the middle of the road in L.A.”
He presses a button on the inside edge of the door before she can respond. Her eyes continue to bulge as the door shuts itself.
“My bad,” she tells him as he climbs into the driver’s seat, not wanting him to think that she’s some crazy chick who stands in the road for fun. “I was thinking about the opera,”
He glances at her through the rearview mirror, giving her the exact look she was hoping to avoid. “The opera?”
“Yeah, you said phantom, and it made me think of you wearing that white mask covering half of your face belting “The Music of the Night…” Her voice trails off as the line between Buck’s brow deepens in the rearview mirror with her every word.Yup, he thinks I’m a nutcase.
Buck shakes his head, pulling out onto the road. “I’m more of a heavy metal fan.”
She grins.I bet you are.Camille barely notices the traffic outside as she stretches out in the spacious backseat, rubbing her hand across the soft-white leather and yellow pipping. She inhales deeply. It smells brand-new, but the leather is too soft with a faint worn spot on the seat for that to be true. It makes her wonder if the rich have somehow figured out how to bottle that authentic new car smell. Not the little cut-out tree car fresheners you get for a dollar-fifty at the car wash, but the real, authentic aroma that only cars fresh off the lot have.
As it grows dark outside, the tiny interior lights illuminate the ceiling in a starry landscape, setting the mood for a quiet, gentle ride. She could lay back and go to sleep in seconds.