“I’m sorry.” James remembered being drawn to the popular model at first, the way she easily dismissed what others thought about her; he’d found it refreshing. But it was events like these that opened his eyes. Adel didn’t care about others. She only cared about boosting her own image and career.
“You called her my girlfriend, and I allowed for that since we’ve let the public believe we’re together, but we’re not. I’ve never been in a committed relationship with Adel. And after this, I’ll make sure the public knows that too.” Boy, did he like saying that aloud. James might not be the softest peach on the tree, but he refused to be associated with someone so vicious. Or to let the public think he was into women like Adel.
He also wanted to help Camila recover from the incident. “I should be able to help you rectify the Shimwah situation soon,” he said, daring himself to share a little something of his own. “I’m trying to go off the grid for while, as much as I can, anyway. Not sure if you heard about my blowup on live TV.”
He watched her face for signs of enlightenment. “Did you hear about it?” he added.
“Yes.” Camila dropped her gaze back to her fruit. Using the prongs of her fork, she pushed past a piece of cantaloupe, pierced a chunk of honeydew, and brought it to her lips. She didn’t have watermelon in hers, he realized. Was that because she was reserving it for him, or that she didn’t prefer it?
He pushed the inquiry aside. “I don’t usually behave that way,” he felt the need to say.
Camila nodded, covering her mouth as she finished chewing. “I could tell.”
He perked up. “Have you watched other episodes?”
“No. And I didn’t technically watchthatone, either. My friend showed me the clip. But if it was normal behavior for you, it wouldn’t have made news, right? Plus, I could tell by the shock on your siblings’ faces. They were worried about you.”
She’d said that his siblings were worried about him, but by the look on her face, he’d say that Camila was too.
James clenched his eyes shut and turned his face toward the ocean breeze. “I don’t want anyone worrying about me.” He felt vulnerable then. Exposed. Less the billionaire with little care and more…more a man who was seeking a mere stranger’s approval. And he was. There was no denying it. James very much wanted Camila to like him. Respect him. To see sides to him other than the ugly one she’d seen when he plowed into her on the stairs. He wondered if he should tell her the truth about that night. He’d been reckless and rude, but it hadn’t been for no reason at all. James had been struggling in those moments.
No. That was none of her business. But the desire was there all the same. A new flash of heat pushed through his insides. What was wrong with him? He had the sudden impulse to shoot to his feet, thunder down the stairs to the beach, and leave the conversation behind.
He glanced back to Camila, figuring she wouldn’t mind if he did. The professional boundary was thinning at best. James paid his service workers well for several good reasons, one of which was to compensate for the impersonal relationship he kept with them. So why had he been so anxious to breech his code of conduct with Camila? Because of Duke and his dumb advice?
Thank her for breakfast and leave, James. Now.
His pulse sped as he entertained doing just that. His lips parted, a breath rushed in, and words tumbled off his tongue on their own accord. “Do you mind if I ask what inspired you to go into this line of work?”
If his question surprised her, she didn’t show it. She did however, tilt slightly toward the breeze, allowing it to toss the strands of her hair off her shoulders. The whooshing tide grew louder, but not loud enough to stop James from berating himself for what he was doing.
Meanwhile, the other side of him was poised at the edge of his seat, curious to know about the personal chef who’d dared confront him so boldly that first day. He couldn’t remember a woman putting him at war with himself in such a way.
“My grandmother was an excellent cook,” Camila said, a soft smile at her full lips. “She taught me to make some of her favorite dishes while I was quite young. Ten, eleven, maybe. And it was a good thing she did, too, since her health started to deteriorate when I was fifteen; she had a severe case of muscular dystrophy.”
“That’s terrible.” And it was, yet something good was happening too. She was opening up to him. Perhaps if he could uncover the mystery behind her, the draw would be gone. Like smoke after a magic trick.Poof.
Camila pulled her gaze off the beach to look at James. “I watched the food network obsessively, but it was more than just entertainment for me. It was an education. I took notes. Colorful ones, thanks to the markers, notepads, and stickers my grandfather bought in support of my addiction.” She let out a short, quiet laugh. “He used to watch them with me.”
James gave into a wistful grin of his own, picturing the scene for himself. The image brought a question to mind: Had Camila been raised by her grandparents?
“Anyway,” she said, “that’s how it all started. Eventually I went to culinary school—one of the top-rated in the country—which only fed my passion. It’s like they say, the more you know, the more you realize how much there is to learn.” She leaned in as her eyes widened. “And don’t you think food is amazing? We eat three times a day—that gives us three different opportunities to put more joy into our lives.”
She was really coming to life now. Flushed cheeks, a lively spark in her pretty eyes. Her energy was contagious, too. He couldn’t ignore the stir it caused low in his gut and high in his chest. He was drawn to Ms. Camila Lopez, there was no denying it. An acknowledgment that caused an equal flash of fear.
“Sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I could talk food all day.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I like it.”
Camila held his gaze, fanning that clash of fear and desire within him. Call him crazy, but he could swear that the guard behind those deep brown eyes was fading fast. At the mere thought, his own guard dropped as well.
A tempting swirl of warmth stirred in his belly once more.
“I can see why you’re so good at what you do,” he said. “It’s your passion that sets you apart.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.” Camila glanced toward the house, indicating she was probably wanting to get back to work. No problem, he’d done enough boundary pushing for one day. If he had half a brain left, James would take his meals in the office from here on out; it would keep him from giving in to whatever pull he felt toward her.
“So what about you?”
