The woman stood next to a green VW bug, clenching her fists and standing on her toes. “I have something to tell you. Camila asked menotto, but I feel like I owe you the truth, so…”
James gulped past the hard knot rising in his throat. “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.” Only he wasn’t sure he could take it. He couldn’t fathom hearing something that might damage his memories with her. Whatever it was, he hoped that they would survive.
“She’s not the one who sent in that application to the Lion’s Den. I am.” She raised her hand in the air briefly before lowering it back by her side. “I was at a yoga retreat, so Camila wasn’t able to piece it all together until I got back, but even still she refused to call and tell you.”
James mind was swimming in the pool of new information. Gypsy had been the one to send it in?
“I didn’t say anything to Camila because I knew she’d be mad about it, but I figured that if she made it onto the show and ended up getting her loans paid off and the money for her charity…” She shrugged and tipped her head to one side. “How could she be mad about that, right? But they never called so I figured it was just a thing of the past.”
He nodded as it sunk further in. “That’s good to know,” he said, testing out the words for himself. It was, wasn’t it? So why did he feel so…hopeless suddenly? The answer came in the form of another question. “Why didn’t she want to tell me this herself? I wish she would’ve just called me and told me the second she found out.”
Gypsy blinked, nodded, and looked down at the combat boots on her feet. The lace from her skirt grazed the tops as a breeze blew. “The worst thing anyone could ever think about Camila, from her point of view, is that she’s using them. It’s just not who she is. I think she assumes that…” She looked up at him through her lashes. “That if you felt like she was capable of that, you probably weren’t the right person for her.”
A miserable pain stabbed into his chest at the words.
“Which I don’t even think is fair,” Gypsy blurted. “What else could you assume but that she was lying to you? IfIwere you, I wouldn’t have been able to talk my way around that kind of proof. You had her signature there and everything.”
His brow furrowed. “Yes.”
The corner of her lip curved down. “I traced it.”
He knew it was time to get prepped for the show, that there was a makeup artist waiting and a stage manager pacing, but James couldn’t get himself to walk away from this person who was, essentially, the closest thing to family Camila had. “How is she doing?”
Gypsy shook her head. “Ever seen the Living Dead?”
James cringed.
“It’s like, she’s doing life every day. And she’s glad to have clients again and everything, but that passionate spark in her—well, it’s actually more like a flame—that’s sort of…gone.”
It was hard to think beyond that statement. Hard to think about things like Winston and the live interview he was about to give. “Where is she right now?” he asked. His temple was pounding to the point it hurt. It was a mere echo of the crashing reaction in his chest.
“She’s on her way to Shane Faretti’s. It’s prep work for now; the party doesn’t start until later.”
He nodded as an idea bounced in his brain. He and Shane had been friends for years. In fact, James was the one who’d given Shane the referral just last week. “Thank you.” He reached out to shake Gypsy’s hand. “I better get inside now.”
“Are you going to tell her that I told you?”
James held her gaze for a blink. “Yes. Is that okay?”
Gypsy bit her lip. “I guess it’s the same thing as her getting on the show. If it helps her get you back, how can she be mad at me?”
He chuckled. “Good thinking.” He hurried back toward the entrance and, as the door drew closed behind him, James heard one last inquiry slip through the door.
“Will it? Help her get you back?”
He wasn’t able to turn back and give Gypsy the answer, but if all went well, Camila’s friend would discover the answer to that very soon.
Chapter 25
Camila stared at the massive melon before her, scolding herself for the new obsession she’d found. It seemed that if she couldn’t have James, she’d find ways to infuse him into her life just the same. Like with today’s dish. A chilled slice of watermelon with crumbled goat cheese, spicy walnuts, fresh mint, and a squeeze of lemon.
Camila wished she’d have come up with the dish before leaving the villa; James would have loved it. Loved it so much he wouldn’t have let her go. Boy, was she earning a whole lot of eye rolls lately. At times, Camila’s thoughts were downright pathetic. Thank heavens nobody else could hear them but her. Even at that, Camila recognized the ones that had no place in her, and she kicked them right out of her head. Successfully so, most of the time.
But the truth was, she had arightto feel sorry for herself, didn’t she? Sure, Camila was rebuilding her clientele, and sure, she had more money in her bank account than she’d had in ages, but those weren’t the things that mattered to her most. And the worst part was, James didn’t know her well enough to see that.
It was hard enough to handle the fact that so many people had the wrong idea about her. The general LA public thinking, for a while anyway, that she was nothing more than a clumsy amateur. But this—knowing that James was viewing her in such a false light—hurt much worse. Even still, it would be worse to discover that he’d simply fallen out of love with her.
Camila lowered the watermelon into the deep sink in Shane Faretti’s kitchen. She sprayed it with a fruit rinse and rubbed her hands over the smooth surface to clean up the rind. She was just about to rinse off the spray when a large TV, suspended on the other side of the counter, glowed to life.
