Page 60 of The VIP Package

“I see.” She stabs another bite of fish. “Sorry to be nosy.”

“It’s fine.” Funny how it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been a private man for as long as I can recall. It’s the reason you won’t find one word of my marriage or fatherhood online. Power and money buy silence. That part of my life is something I’d rather keep all to myself.

For the past twenty years, I’ve lived for control.

Control of my public profile.

Control of the world around me.

Control of my own urges.

I’m not saying I’ve lived as a monk for two decades, but the death of my young child and wife substantially diminished my desire.

But something shifted the day Camille showed up.

Something bigger shifted between us in her room yesterday morning.

It’s been twenty-nine hours since I flew back from Negril, and we’ve had more than our share of toe-curling sex.

But we’ve talked a lot, too; about goals and mistakes and wrong turns. Both of us bared our feelings. I’m honestly hard pressed to say which I’ve loved more.

Feelings aren’t part of the equation.

It’s getting harder and harder to live by that rule.

“Ash?” Camille touches my hand. “I really am sorry about listening in on your chat with the lawyer.”

“I’m not brooding about that.” To be honest, I’d already forgotten. “I accepted a phone call sitting two feet from you. I hardly had an expectation of privacy.”

But now that she mentioned the lawyers again, I do have a question.

“I wanted to ask you about something.” I pick up my phone and scroll to the email the law firm just sent. “Holyfield Properties is represented by Olaf McMahon in all legal matters. One of the top five law firms in the world.”

Camille wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Are you suing me for trespassing?”

“Indecent exposure,” I deadpan, just as I locate the email I’m seeking. “They’re in the process of merging with a law firm from the Pacific Northwest. I wondered if you’d heard of them.”

“Do you know the name?”

I squint at the email. “Steele Marx?”

Camille drops her fork. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I can tell by her face something’s wrong. “I presume your impression isn’t favorable?”

“Of the firm? It’s fine. Of one attorney in particular?—”

“Your former fiancé?” Now I recall she told me the man is a lawyer.

“Yep.” Camille shakes her head. “For the record, Hayden’s a fine attorney. Anexcellentattorney.”

“So excellent he prioritizes work over his own wedding?”

“Bingo.” She nibbles her lip. “You’re not working directly with him, are you?”

“Is that a problem?” I’ve got a call scheduled later this week with key members of the legal team. Perhaps I could ask that her ex not be present.

“It’s fine,” Camille says, looking out at the sea. “Just—maybe don’t mention we’re sleeping together.”

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