Page 58 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Sadie turns her head toward the hallway as if wanting Wade to hear her. “He’s probably hoping she’ll get rid of it, but he’s got another thing coming. Men who don’t care about human life make me sick.”

Camille snaps out of her disinterested trance. “Wait, get rid of what?”

Sadie rolls her eyes. “Have you not been listening? The baby.”

Her response sends Camille reeling.

“What baby?”

“I told you,” Sadie repeats, lowering her voice. “He took my sister out on this amazing date. She gushed to me the next morning about how charming and charismatic he was, how he listened, how they’d laughed together. I told her she’d been stupid to sleep with him on the first date. When he ghosted her, I kept my mouth shut. What was there to say besides I told you so?” Sadie waves her hand dismissively. “Plenty of guys do stuff like that, but when she told me she was pregnant and that she’d told him, and he didn’t care … I was beside myself. That’s when I found out that his brother happened to be in New York and thought maybe I’d get him back by stringing his brother along. I couldn’t believe it when Wade’s brother turned out to be such a great guy. I mean, I guess one piece of crap in the family is enough, am I right?”

Camille nods though she’s no longer listening. An amazing date followed by a one-night stand … how stupid could she be? Unlike Victoria, Camille didn’t have a sister to confide in, but she’d planned to tell Evelyn once she got back. She’s probably going crazy not knowing why she hasn’t responded since texting her about the last-minute trip out of town for a business dinner with Wade Bloom.

And a baby? Her head keeps circling around to the painful memory of laughing along with Wade at the poor woman who he never mentioned sleeping with. Not that he would have confided such things to a near stranger, but a baby?

“I hope you keep your distance from all of this,” Sadie scoffs, turning back to the kitchen phone. “Are you wanting anything besides toast?” She brings the phone to her ear. “I’m going to have the chef make me a vegan omelet.”

“I’m good,” Camille says, rising slowly from the island. “I need to go to the restroom.”

“Hello,” Sadie barks, ignoring Camille as she walks past her. “Yes, I can hear you. This is Ms. Quinn. We need you to come to the main house for some breakfast.”

Camille picks up the pace once she’s out of sight from Sadie. Surely, this is a mistake. Victoria Quinn could be dating plenty of guys, especially if she looks half as great as her sister. Sadie got them confused is all. Camille gets to the door, finding it partially ajar.

“That’s right, you heard me,” she can hear Wade saying.

She brings her hand up, about to knock, when his voice grows louder.

“Don’t tell me that. I’ve done my part. I’m telling you it’s a done deal. Okay? Then get your ass in your car and drive down there and get it signed if it’ll make you feel better.”

She opens the door quietly, peeking inside to see Wade standing in front of the window, his back to her. His silhouette is almost as menacing in the morning sun’s beams stream out around him. “Leah’s already got two other manufacturers getting started on production. The papers will be in your hand come Monday, Tuesday at the latest.”

He’s talking about her contract. It’s a done deal…I’ve done my part. Her stomach tightens. Was last night him doing his part?

What a fool. What a stupid, day-dreaming fool she’d been. Showing up to Los Angeles, thinking that this crazy rich family could truly be this good to someone like her. What if Sadie was right about her sister and Wade? There’s no telling what that contract really says within its pages. She hadn’t even bothered to look past the first page.

Wade turns and stares at her. He opens his mouth to speak. She doesn’t want to hear it, whether it’s to her or whatever employee of his he’s chewing out on the phone.

She bolts.

“What kind of chef doesn’t cook breakfast? Unbelievable,” Sadie’s complaining when Camille reappears in the kitchen.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as look in her direction. She’s out the door—through the back patio—across the lawn—past the pool.

“You coming to swim?” Easton asks, bobbing up and down in the deep, sitting on two pool noodles that stick out between his legs like a kid at play. She turns her head toward him. The hurt plastered on her face causes his smile to waver. Camille forces the corners of her mouth to curl into a hard smile.

“Wade really sucks, you know that?”

His smile returns to his face. “Oh, I know he does. Go get your bathing suit on, and I’ll tell you some stories.”

Eighteen

Marcy walks out from the guesthouse, cursing under her breath as she pulls her apron on over her head. Camille veers off past her toward the stairs. Neither of them looks at the other, their moods mirroring each other. She can’t get up to the second-floor fast enough.

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.

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