Camila’s question caught him off guard; he was certain she was looking for a way out of their conversation.
“What was that?”
“What about your occupation?” she said. “Did you wake up one day and decide you were going to become a billionaire or what?”
For the second time during their conversation, James mused Camila was warming up to him. Her posture had definitely relaxed. And when she reached for her glass, she leaned over the table once more, closer to him.
“My story’s a little different, I guess. We understood from a young age that we’d inherit our first million when we turned eighteen years old.”
Camila blew out a whistle. “Happy Birthday.”
He gave into a grin. “Indeed. But there was a second offer where that gift was concerned. If we agreed not to spend it for the first year, and to invest it as my father stipulated, we’d get anextramillion as well as the gain made from the investments. We just had to wait until we were nineteen.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. That’s…so did anyone do it? Take the one million at eighteen instead?
A vision of the black leather case weaseled into his mind at her question. “Yes.” It came out in a whisper, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “My late brother, Winston, took the one mill. From the time he hit puberty, Winston had this need to show everyone that he was something special. He was out to prove, mainly to my dad, I think, that he could be successful while doing the exact opposite of whathewould do or suggest.”
James slid a thumb down the side of his glass while he spoke, sending the condensation to the base. “I never understood that about him. If you want to achieve success in a certain field, you find people who’ve achieved it and do what they did. But Winston…”
“You said he was yourlatebrother,” Camila said softly. “I’m sorry.”
This—the two seconds following those words—was when the next question would come.How did he die?Sure, most prefaced it with a do-you-mind-if-I-ask or something like it, but the question always came.
“I’ve lost people close to me too,” she said in a whisper. “It’s brutal.”
James pulled his gaze off the glass, caught off guard by the flame that flared low in his belly. Here she was, surprising him again. It seemed that for each admirable trait he found in her, his insides sparked up some sort of response. And this—the tenderness he heard in Camila’s voice, saw on her face—he admired it very much. Craved it, even.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It sure is.”
They sat in silence for a moment more. He wondered then just who she’d lost in her life. Was it possible she’d lost a parent? The story about her grandparents said that could be the case.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
“Almost a year.” He ran a thumb over the tabletop, back and forth, his eyes set on the motion. “I’m supposed to host some life celebration thing on his death date, but…”
At once Camila moved to a closer chair. Gently, she rested her hands over his, her touch soft as silk, and leveled a look at him.
That heat flared up once more as he met her gaze.
“It gets easier. Trust me, it does. And if you don’t feel like hosting the celebration, don’t. Tell your family you’re not up to it. Let someone else do it.”
“The thing is,” he said, “even if someone elsedidhost it, I don’t think I’d show up for it.”
“That’s okay too.” She’d said it as if it were some absolute statement. Like the grass is green or the sky is blue: it’s okay if you don’t go. But was it? And just how could she be so sure?Okaywasn’t exactly a measurable thing.
A surprised chuckle sounded at his throat. “I’m sorry, I just…have never had anyone say something like that to me.” An odd dose of relief washed over him, causing another small laugh to escape his lips.
Camila pulled her hands off of his and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Like what?”
He shrugged. “Like…I don’t know. I’m just used to people telling me to suck it up. Do what makes everyone comfortable.” People like his mom and Zander. Adel in particular had told James to man up, throw the party, and rock out like Winston would have. The suggestion was insensitive at best, considering the lifestyle that eventually led to Winston’s death, but James had let it slip.
Why couldn’t he find a woman more like this? Sensitive, beautiful, passionate, and kind. That hot sting of fear sparked up once more. Exactly what was he doing? Looking for love from his personal chef?
It was one thing to force himself to do things he wouldn’t naturally do. It was another thing to have it happen without his will or consent. James would lose control altogether if he didn’t watch out. And that was one thing he couldnotlet happen.
“Well,” he said with a nod. “I’ve taken up enough of your time this morning.” His chair scraped against the deck as he shot to a stand. His heart spiked out of rhythm in protest, an odd part of him yearning to stay by her side. It scared him even more.
He only hoped his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. “Please, enjoy the pool, the beach, whatever you’d like.” He stepped around the table before adding to it. “I’ll, um…take my lunch in my office again this afternoon.”
