The appetite that had vanished after last night’s TV debacle was coming back now with a vengeance. Which reminded him, he was supposed to send her a meal schedule for tomorrow. Back at home, James had a loose version of a private chef. Mark Tosly cooked for several of the residents in his area, cooking the same meals in bulk and delivering them at set times each day. May as well stick with that one.
James:Breakfast: 7:00 Dinner: 7:00
He hit send, but then hurried and added to it:Thank you, Camila.
Camila. He liked that name. Liked the way it rolled off her tongue with that slight Spanish accent. He stared at the screen as it sent, wondering if he should say something more. He found himself wanting to tell her that he saw a few of the videos. That they were horrible, and he was sorry for being so ignorant to the ordeal.
His phone buzzed, and a spark of anticipation skittered through him.
Camila:No lunch?
Oh. He’d forgotten about that. James and his staff usually just had food delivered to the office, a detail Tina, his secretary, took care of.
He picked a spot in the middle of the day.
James:How’s 1:00?
More screen-staring.
Another buzz.
Camila:Perfect. See you in the morning.
Yes, he would see her in the morning, and he liked that knowledge more than he should.
James sighed and sank back into the office chair. His lovely private chef should probably remain off limits, but he was breaking the rules now—Dr. Duke’s orders. Rules he hadn’t exactly planned to follow…until that moment.
And why not?
Camila’s presence—along with the rude awakening of what had happened to her—had managed to take his mind off a situation that had haunted him since his brother’s death. Already, the prescribed therapy was starting to work.
He wasn’t sure what the rest of his time there would look like, but something told James this would be more than the escape he’d been looking for. Perhaps he’d actually enjoy his time at the Royal Palm.
Chapter 6
Camila might have been sleeping on a high quality mattress with the finest sheets in one of the most gorgeous homes she’d stepped foot in, but that hadn’t equaled a good night’s sleep.
She’d been too disturbed by her shocking run-in with James Benton. She guessed it had gone well enough, considering the circumstances. And sure, she’d trusted what he’d said while he was saying it, but the moment her new billionaire boss stepped out of the room, doubt began worming its way into her thoughts. Why had she believed her instincts were foolproof? She knew nothing about the guy. Except that he was dating the girl who was single-handedly trying to ruin her life.
Camila continued to remind herself of that very thing.
All.
Night.
Long.
She’d never been a paranoid person, but thanks to the situation with Adel, Camila now scrutinized people under a new lens, and James was no exception. In fact, during the wee hours of night, she’d even convinced herself that Adel was probably behind this whole thing, ready to film prime footage, post it on her blog, and have another laugh at Camila’s expense.
The idea was farfetched at best—she realized that much in the light of day—but she couldn’t quite shake the lingering doubts that clung onto her like a subconscious disease. Threatening to contaminate the impression she made on her new boss. Camila knew herself all too well. Sure, Gypsy was wild and free—she said and did things Camila would only dream of. But for all of Camila’s awareness and poise, she possessed a level of passion that loosened her tongue. And unlike Miss Let-it-go-with-the-wind, Camila clung to offenses with both fists.
She sighed at the acknowledgment while reaching to unfasten her apron straps. In one quick swoop, she hung it on the hook behind the pantry door, and glanced over the kitchen once more. It was only six a.m., and already, she’d prepared the beet kraut—three full jars of it— and had it setting in the sunlight along the countertop. The kraut would have to ferment for a few days, but it’d be well worth the wait.
She’d also done the prep work for breakfast—gorgeous, sliver-thin cuts of smoked salmon with fresh dill sprigs, fragrant lemon wedges, and savory capers. She would pile it high on toasted bagels with a smear of herbed cream cheese and serve it up with an array of colorful berries and a tangy yogurt dip. A sigh slipped through her lips; food was her happy place.
If she made it quick, Camila could workout for forty minutes, take the next twenty to get cleaned up, and be back to the kitchen to serve breakfast by seven.
The house map was taped to the back of a nearby utility closet. Camila walked over to it while musing on the way Mr. Benton had requested something she’d served at the party. She’d been flattered, at first. Was glad to know he’d remembered at least something from the menu that night.
