Ronan

“You’re up.” I rise from the dining table by the balcony as Camille exits the bedroom. Her dark hair is wild and disheveled, and smudges of makeup line the corners of her dark eyes. A thick robe covers her body, and I’m positive she’s wearing next to nothing beneath it.

“What’s this?” She glances at the breakfast spread I had delivered by room service this morning.

“I thought we could continue last night’s conversation over breakfast.” I fold my newspaper and place it aside. Call me old-fashioned, but nothing compares to the feel of newsprint between my fingers. “Wasn’t sure what you ate in the morning, so I ordered a little of everything.”

Camille takes a seat, surveying the lavish spread. I wouldn’t have done this for anyone but her.

“What time is it?” She unwraps a sachet of Earl Grey tea and pours hot water from a carafe.

“Almost ten. I thought I’d let you sleep in after the late night we had.”

“Thank you.” Her dark eyes drift across the table to mine, and she wears the controlled expression of a woman trying her hardest not to like what she sees.

“Last night was intense.” I clear my throat.

She takes a sip of her tea. “Mm, hm.”

“Now that we’ve officially met,” I say, “how would you feel about continuing this arrangement? We still have ten weeks.”

Her arched brows lift and she turns to stare out the balcony window. “I can’t, Ronan. I can’t do this anymore.”

The most beautiful girl in the world wears sadness in her deep gaze, her eyes narrowing as she focuses on something in the distance.

“Yeah.” Her mouth pulls into a wistful smile. “I’m done with all of this.”

“You’re just saying that.”

She faces me, shaking her head. “I don’t want to feel this way ever again.”

“Which way?”

“Disposable.” Camille’s full lips smile as tears fill the brims of her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m getting emotional right now. God, this is embarrassing.”

I lift my napkin across the table and place it in her hand.

“I’m a smart woman, Ronan. I’m educated and ambitious and driven,” she says. “All I ever wanted was to be unforgettable, and I realized last night that I’d been going about it all wrong this entire time.”

She laughs, dabbing the corners of her eyes until black streaks mark the crumpled linen in her hand.

“There’s nothing unforgettable about a woman who accepts a fucking payment plan.” Her fingers rake through her hair, combing it into a low ponytail and tugging it over her shoulder. “And I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, but I suppose you have a right to know. Your perfect little bought-and-paid-for fantasy girl is nothing but smoke and mirrors.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is me.” She points toward her teary expression. “The girl with messy hair and a dirty face, the girl crying and losing her shit in front of the firstborn son of the President of the United States . . . this is the real Camille.”

“I think you’re having a moment.” I remain calm. Lydia used to have meltdowns that would make Camille’s little rant pale in comparison. “And I think you’re saying things because it feels good to say them. And you should keep saying them. Get it all out of your system. Because when you’re done, we can continue our discussion on how we’re going to move forward from here.”

I take a sip of coffee with a steady hand.

She laughs. “You still want me, Ronan? This? I’m the antithesis of sexy. No man would ever want this.”

Even with wild eyes and a throaty voice, I still find her completely fascinating and irresistibly fuckable.

“I think you’re afraid I’ll discard you, like the men before me, and I think you’re afraid it’s going to hurt, so you’re pushing me away before I have the chance,” I say.

Her jaw fastens as she sits tall, silently digesting my words.

“But let me assure you that you, Camille Buchanan, could never be unforgettable. Not in my world.” I place my coffee cup on a white saucer and lean into her. “And let’s not forget that this is nothing more than a business arrangement. Separate your ego from this, and I’ll do the same. You’ll walk away from this with heavy pockets, and I’ll walk away from this a very satisfied man.”

“Who do you want, then?” Her meek words trail softly across the table. “Do you still want me to be the woman you saw that night at the ball?”

“You act like there are two of you.” I laugh. “You’re one and the same, and to be honest, I find this wild-eyed version of you to be surprisingly endearing.”

It’s not every day that I get the privilege of seeing someone’s true colors.

“God, I’m so embarrassed.” She buries her face in her hands.

“Don’t be.”

Her hands slide down her face and land in a puddle in her lap. “I can’t believe you still want to continue after all of this.”

“The only thing that’s changed about our little arrangement is that you know who I am now. I don’t want the last two weeks to be for nothing, and if you leave . . . if you walk away now, then what was the point? We can salvage this—maybe even make it into something better than it was ever supposed to be.”

Her shoulders lift and fall, and our stares lock until she stands and cinches the belt around her robe.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to think about this.” Camille holds her head high, pressing her shoulders back. Amazing what a good cry and vent can do for a woman in her darkest hour.

“I’ll be here.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs wide and reaching for my coffee. “Waiting.”