“John”

“I thought you were done with me.” Camille’s words snap like a broken elastic. She’s angry with me but I know better. The root of all anger is hurt. “You disappeared without any kind of explanation. I had no way of contacting you. What was I supposed to think?”

Her voice quavers until it fades away. The sound of a traffic symphony plays in the distance.

“Where are you?” I ask, kicking off my shoes as I crawl into my bed. Although I have no intention of making Keir’s lifestyle a habit anytime soon, it did feel good to have a couple of drinks. I haven’t felt this relaxed in ages, and perhaps it’s the reason I was able to break down and call her tonight. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” She exhales into the receiver. “I’m thinking it’s best we go our separate ways from here.”

I huff. “Is this because you hadn’t heard from me in a few days? Or because you’re fucking Bancroft again?”

“Excuse me?” Her words are slow, drawn out. “I would never sleep with him again, and I resent your accusation.”

“Then why did you meet with him last week?”

“You’re having me followed now?” Her incredulous laugh fills my ear. “Nice, John. Nice.”

“So you admit you’re still involved with him.”

“Not. At. All.” A horn honks in the background. “I met with him to ask him to leave me alone, to stop following me.”

“And what did he say?”

“It’s none of your business, John. Bancroft is my business, and I handled it. And I do not appreciate being tailed. I’m one of the most private and trustworthy people this city will ever know, and if you’re too paranoid to believe that, then we have no business associating.”

“My apologies.”

I’m met with silence, deservedly so.

“Let me make it up to you,” I say. “I’m not ready for this to be over yet. Are you?”

“John . . .”

“Camille.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I refuse to give her words any merit. She’s upset with me and her emotions are running high. She doesn’t mean any of this.

“Let’s meet at the apartment. We can talk there,” I say. “I’d like to offer my apology in person so you know it’s sincere. I shouldn’t have doubted you. We need to get back on track.”

“Fine,” she says after a lengthy pause. “You get me for one hour, and I’m not going to the Hightower.”

I laugh as if her statement is a joke because it makes no sense. “What do you mean?”

“Pick a hotel,” she says. “Not the Melrose. Some place public. Text me the room number, and I’ll get there when I get there.”

“You don’t sound like yourself tonight.”

“Interesting observation from a man who knows very little about me.”

“I know plenty.”

“And still, you’ve barely scratched the surface.”

I know.

I listen to the steady drag of a long breath on her end.

“I’ll see you soon, Camille.”

* * *

I wait on the end of a tufted sofa in the presidential suite of the Hotel Mirabelle in Georgetown, checking the time far too often.

The click of the lock is followed by the sweeping gush the door makes as it swings open. In my haste to get here, I neglected to bring a blindfold, but the room is still plenty dark.

Camille struts toward me with intrepid strides, her hands fixed on her hips and a clutch under her arm. From what I can tell, she’s dressed for a night on the town, which would explain the traffic noise an hour earlier.

For a moment, I wonder if she went out because of me in an attempt to forget the sting of rejection she probably felt. Women do that, I’ve noticed. They fish for attention when they’re feeling low. Just the thought of another man hitting on Camille tonight brings a strain to my neck that travels to my jaw.

I rise, taking her hands in mine. The urge to crush her sweet lips with a punishing kiss overcomes me, but something prevents me from following through. Cradling her cheek, I lift her face and inhale what I fully anticipate to be the intoxicating gardenia scent of her perfume.

But instead she smells like a man.

I release her and step away, leaning down to swipe what’s left of my bourbon from a nearby end table.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she says.

“Don’t let the door hit you.” I take a swig, letting the liquor burn on my tongue before I swallow. I’m sure if this goddamned hotel room wasn’t so dark, I’d be seeing scarlet.

I listen for the shuffling sound of her heels against the carpet, but it never comes.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” I spit my bourbon-flavored words in her general direction.

“You brought me here to talk,” she says. “I’m just surprised you’re letting me walk away so easily.”

“I generally find conversations with frauds to be an enormous waste of my time.”

“Frauds?” She sniffs. “I didn’t come all the way here for you to insult me.”

“And I didn’t bring you all the way here for you to insult my intelligence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You smell like another man.” I turn to face her, my eyes following the black outline of her body as she steps toward me. The second I open my mouth to elaborate, the quick sting of her palm floods my left cheek.

No one has ever slapped me before.

“Lucky strike,” I say, placing my hand across the pulsing warmth. It’s a miracle her hand found my face in the dark.

“You don’t get to label me a fraud.” Her words ring clear. “Everything about you is deceptive, John. I’m the genuine one. You know my name. You’ve seen my face. I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not. And yes, I kissed another man tonight. I let him touch me. I closed my eyes and convinced myself that he was you, and then I let him tell me everything I wanted to hear because I was feeling lower than I’ve ever felt before. But I’m not going to sit here blaming you. I’ll take full responsibility for my idiotic lapse in judgment. And I’ll own up to the fact that for one pathetic night I gave two shits about whether or not I’m good enough to be with a man who won’t even show me his face.”

I pull in a ragged breath.

“You are good enough for me, Camille.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, her footsteps shuffling away. “I’m done with whatever the hell this is anyway. I never should’ve agreed to it in the first place. I’m not sure what made me think I could trust a man who only fucks me in the dark.” She laughs. “God, I’m the biggest fucking moron. That’s what I get for only seeing zeroes.”

My offer of one million dollars had nothing to do with the blindfold or the darkness. It was to ensure she couldn’t say no, and that any other man’s offer would pale in comparison to mine.

“But before I go,” she says, “I need you to answer one question.”

“You can ask, but I can’t promise I’ll answer.” I bring my bourbon to my lips and take another swig.

“What’s your relation to Keir Montgomery?”

Her question slams into me, and I almost choke on my drink.

“I know you’re connected to him,” she says.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I met him tonight,” she says. “And he took me to the Hightower.”

Cherry heat blankets my ears as my jaw locks at its hinges.

That goddamn son of a bitch.

“Did you fuck him?” I ask a question I never dreamed I’d have to ask her.

“God, no. Absolutely not.”

Relief comes when I hear the disgust in her voice.

“You’re Ronan, aren’t you?” she asks. “You’re his brother.”