Page 37 of Bad for Business
She shrugs and hands them over. It turns out that a tipsy Camille is a little more willing to listen than a sober one.
“Fine. But you have to give them back before we go inside to the club.”
I laugh. “We aren’t going inside.”
She frowns, andfuck…I swear it makes my stomach flip.
“We have more work to do,” she begins, her words coming out hurriedly.
I slide my arm through hers and begin to walk, wanting to make sure I help support her as we go to the car. Without the heels, she’s a little more steady on her feet, but I don’t want to risk her falling, so I keep our arms intertwined.
“We did plenty today. You will hate me even more if I let you go into Pembroke and talk to people after you chugged two martinis.”
She lets out a little gasp. “I didn’t chug them.”
I shake my head and laugh. I’ll never forget being mid-conversation with Mitchell Bailey and looking over to Camille tossing back a martini like it was a shot. “Whatever you say,” Itell her, knowing there’s no use in arguing. “Just not trying to get any more on your bad side than I already am.”
“Who said you’re on my bad side?” she asks.
Her question takes me by surprise. I stop, forcing her to stop, too, since our arms are still interlocked. I look over at her, positive she’s got to see the shock written all over my face.
“You’re joking, right?” I ask, my eyes searching hers. “You act like I’m the bane of your existence and that I’m the last person on this Earth you’d want to be spending the summer with.”
Camille smiles. It’s a real smile. And damn…my stomach does that flip again.
“Youact that way,” she points out, avoiding my question completely.
My jaw clenches as I think about how much I want to tell her that I don’t want to act that way. When she walked into her father’s office, I was excited to see her. It was only when she equated the night we shared to meaning nothing and acted like I was the last person she wanted to work with that my walls came up.
It’s at the tip of my tongue to ask how she really feels about me. I want to ask her why she left that morning. I want to know how she can act like the night wasn’t special. She made me feel things I’ve never felt for anyone else before. Being with her just felt right. They felt easy. And it hurt for me to walk into my room and find my bed empty the next morning. What hurt worse was having the bit of hope of seeing her again, thinking that maybe it was a misunderstanding and she’d be excited to see me, be obliterated with one word. She wasn’t excited to see me. She called me a mistake. And here we are.
“What are you thinking about?” Camille asks.
I might be making it up, and it might be all in my head, but I swear her gaze moves to my lips for a fraction of a second.
I can’t help it. An intense urge—no, aneed—to kiss her overtakes me. I fight it with all I have. She’s tipsy, and it’s just the memories of our New Year’s Eve together that are getting to my head.
I can’t kiss her, and I don’t know if I want to know the answers to my questions. It’s obvious that my attempts at getting rid of her won’t work. I have to accept that we’ll be spending the summer together. It’s probably best for me to not know why she left that morning. At least then, maybe we can tolerate each other enough to get the job done this summer.
With a sigh, I pull my gaze from her and lead us to Pembroke’s parking lot. “Don’t worry about it,” I finally answer.
I half expect Camille to push me with more questions, but she doesn’t. She lets me lead her to the parking lot and doesn’t protest once. She doesn’t say a word until I’m trying to help her into the passenger seat of the SUV.
“I’ve got it,” she grumbles, swatting my hand away as I try to help her into the seat.
“You’re just a little unsteady right now,” I point out. We managed to make it to the parking lot with no one spotting us, which is a good thing because I know Camille would be mortified if we ran into anyone she knew after drinking two martinis and spending the afternoon in the sun.
“I’m fine. I don’t even feel like I had a drink.” She leans forward, her face getting all too close to mine. “Maybe it’syouwho’s unsteady.”
I smile at her slightly slurred words. I try not to look at her lips, but it’s incredibly hard not to with her leaning in so close. “I hadonedrink in the very beginning. I’m fine, princess.”
“Why do you keep calling me princess?” she immediately asks.
I know I should close the door and get in the driver’s seat and put space between us, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not right now. Not yet.
“Because you act like one,” I answer.
Her bottom lip juts out. “I don’t think I act like a princess.”
