Page 30 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“You know how she is. Nancy’s here too.”

Easton frowns at him. He looks back at the TV, noticing Camille. “Hey Camille—” he starts.

“Nope,” Wade says loudly. “You’re not going to ask Camille to go fetch your girlfriend for you. She isn’t an assistant. She’s the future of our company.”

“I would ask you to go get her if I thought you would do it, and you’re the CFO of the company.”

“That’s because you don’t have any respect.” Wade plops down beside him. “Now, go get that chick you brought.”

“Sadie,” Easton corrects, picking up the remote. He pauses the game to glare at Wade. “Her name is Sadie.”

Camille steps around the back of the couch, eyeing the corridor that leads to the bedrooms. She looks back to see Wade narrowing his eyes at his brother, who continues to glare at him.

“I know her name. Do you not remember the name of the lunatic that wouldn’t stop texting me?”

Easton’s glare softens to a smug grin. “Yeah, how do you think I found Sadie? I looked Victoria up on Instagram and found her smoking-hot sister. I messaged her, and the rest is history.”

“Are you kidding me?” Wade snatches one of the large pillows up from the couch, smacking it against the side of Easton’s head.

“I’ll go get Sadie,” Camille says as Easton glares at the pillow and then at his brother.

Not sure which room is theirs, Camille starts at the first door in the hallway.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the mature one?” Easton grumbles from the living room.

“That was the mature thing to do,” Wade snaps, “I could have given you a bloody nose instead.”

This is what life would have been like if she’d had siblings: making each other mad, fighting it out, resolution, and then doing it all over again. She taps on the first door, pretty sure that when Easton led Sadie inside, they walked further down the hall before disappearing inside one of the rooms. There’s no answer, but she tries the doorknob to be sure. It’s unlocked.

It’s a large bedroom at least twice the size of her bedroom back in Dallas. The white walls and ceiling are offset by the dark, king-sized bed with burgundy sheets and matching pillows. The deep mahogany dresser facing the bed is identical to the nightstands. Sitting on top of the dresser is the baseball bat from the second-floor guesthouse. This must be where Wade is staying temporarily.

Besides the furniture, the room is empty. She eyes the thin, rectangular cutout on the floor at the foot of the bed. Another hidden television no doubt. She wonders how much something like that must cost as she shuts the door.

She could imagine it being thousands for the televisions alone. Add tens of thousands to cut a hole in the floor to insert some overly technical device to raise and lower it from view. That’s when she decides to ask no less than seven million for her Oxygen Recycler. Bloom and Bloom can obviously afford it.

Heading to the next door, she sees movement from the backyard. At first, she thinks it’s Nancy’s tall figure and short hair walking across the lawn from the guesthouse even though she just saw her in Leah’s room. On closer inspection, she sees that the woman’s hair isn’t quite right to be Nancy’s. She isn’t as tall either, with an hourglass frame accentuated by the light brown apron she’s tying at the front of her midsection as she walks toward the back patio. Camille can see that her dark hair is styled in an asymmetrical pixie cut as she gets closer. Even their chef is a sight to behold.

Camille passes the second door, hearing the faint sound of Sadie’s voice coming from further down the hall. At the third door, she stops. She can hear Sadie going on about something, but the room is insulated enough that she can’t make out what she’s saying from the shut door. Camille knocks twice.

“I know. Can you believe the nerve?” Sadie says into her phone as she opens the door.

Sadie is standing in only a lacey, nude-color bra and the shorts she wore outside. Camille immediately diverts her eyes. The lace is see-through, but Camille can’t blame her. If she were as physically flawless, she wouldn’t be so self-conscious about showing off her body either. Not with see-through clothing, but she’d be more open to wearing cut-off shirts and skintight jeans if she didn’t have to worry about her cellulite.

“Let me let you go,” Sadie smirks. “I’ll call you after I’ve met the mother.” She hangs up, stepping back from the door to give Camille a grand wave of her arm, ushering her inside. She tosses her cellphone on the bed, hurrying across the room to the en suite. “I know,” she calls over her shoulder as Camille awkwardly shuts the door behind her, “it’s taking me forever, but,” she disappears around the corner of the bathroom, “I just don’t know what to wear, you know?”

“Yeah.” Camille forces a chuckle, regretting her decision to not let Easton collect her. “I didn’t know what to expect meeting her either.”

“Ah, come on,” Sadie says, rustling around. She reappears at the bathroom doorway, pulling a white t-shirt over her head, wearing a skin-toned thong instead of the shorts. “You don’t have to be modest,” Sadie grins, turning to give Camille a full view of her picturesque derrière. “Techy people like you probably deal with the wealthy all the time. Not to mention,” she reappears a second later, stepping into a pair of leather pants almost identical to the ones Camille tried on at the boutique this morning, “you’re probably just as wealthy yourself.”

“I am modest,” she admits, eyeing Sadie’s pants, “but I’m not wealthy.”

Sadie even makes pulling the leather up her leg look easy.

“But I wouldn’t need to be if I had half your looks.”

“You’re so sweet,” Sadie smiles, jumping the rest of the way into the pants. “Genetics only get you so far. It’s the sunscreen and drinking plenty of water that keeps my skin healthy.”

Camille stares at her, making a conscious effort to not roll her eyes at the girl who’s never felt the inside of her thighs rub together when she walks. Sadie tucks the white shirt into the pants.

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