Camila sighed as she looked over the limited view from her apartment patio. If she looked beyond the neighboring cafes, bars, and office buildings, she could spot a distant view of the beach. Turquoise water, white, rolling waves, and swaying palms. Her immediate view wasn’t quite so serene. An endless array of vehicles switching lanes, pausing at intersections, and managing to parallel park along Main Street.
A deep sigh escaped her lips. It had been a rough month. Her once-growing list of elites in the fashion industry had dwindled, along with the referrals she might have gained from them. All because of one slip-up at Shimwah’s dinner party.
“She’s got a new one,” Gypsy said as she plopped into Camila’s hammock with the phone in her hand. Sunlight spilled over the porch, causing her to squint as she read. “Wait, let me summon her whiney little voice.” She cleared her throat and scrunched up her nose. “Grossest food ever at Lauren Clide’s last night. Guys, if you want the name of my private chef, just ask. Please. For the love.”
Angry heat flared in Camila’s blood as she considered the damage such posts could do. After Camila’s run-in with the brooding jerk on the stairs, the famous model posted about the “clumsy cook who spilled raw egg” all over her date. She’d mentioned her by name, tagging Camila’s catering page. Adel had even encouraged fans to reenact the mishap while she reposted her favorites.
Humiliation gripped Camila each time she recalled one of the ridiculous skits. Sloppy-looking cooks in chef hats and kitchen whites. Most carried a dozen chicken eggs, not the tiny quail eggs that had been at the scene. Some portrayals featured several dozen eggs crashing over the “victim”.
If it hadn’t been so damaging to both her ego and her career, Camila might have laughed at the video clips. As it was, the entourage had sent her into hiding. One she promised herself would be temporary.
“Why does anyone even listen to that woman where food is concerned? She glares at a lens for a living.”
Gypsy shrugged. “Who knows. I still think you should speak out about it. This is cyber bullying. By some famous chick that people look up to, no less.”
Camila did her best to avoid the scrutinizing look she knew her friend was casting her way.
“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Gypsy persisted. “You’re not the lay-down-and-take-it type.”
A cold chill rumbled beneath her skin. Camila rubbed a hand over her arm, willing the dark incident from her past to stay right where it belonged—the past. The truth was, if Camila made an even bigger spectacle of herself by challenging the woman head-on, Adel might dig deeper. Expose parts of her past that no one had the right to know. A part she hadn’t even told Gypsy about.
“At least she’s not just bashingyou,” Gypsy finally said. “Pretty soon she’ll have her little followers slamming someone else with their lame reenactments.” She sneered at the phone screen. “WhatIwant to know, is why anyone would invite her to their dinner party. All she does is complain about them.”
Camila forced her mind to shift as she eyed the distant palm trees swaying against the sunrise. She’d done her best to live with her face to the sun, to soak up the warmth this life had to offer. But having her name out there summoned that all-too-familiar fear. Had her wanting to hide in the shadows once more.
She glanced over at Gypsy, who was mumbling something under her breath. “Are peoplethatdesperate to have their name attached to her right now? Who cares if she’s bashing the chef or the DJ? Adel Bordeaux actually showed up atmyparty.” She spun a circle in the air with her finger and rolled her eyes.
Camila couldn’t help but smile. Her friend had a way of calming her fears without even being aware of it. She was good for her that way.
“Holy crap!” Gypsy blurted, her finger on the phone as she scrolled. She climbed out of the hammock in a rush, leaving the thing to wobble and sway behind her. “Adel’s boyfriend—the guy you bumped into—islosingit!”
Camila set her mug down in time to steady the phone Gypsy held in front of her. She recognized the man easily enough now that she knew who he was.
Her heart pumped a few hot beats out of rhythm as the camera zoomed into a shot filmed on the Benton’s TV show. James Benton jumped up from his leather chair and snatched some guy—looked like he was a guest—by the front of his shirt. The camera caught shots of Mr. Benton’s clenched jaw, flared nostrils, and angry deep blue eyes.
Camila leaned toward the phone to hear him better, which proved unnecessary since he was yelling.
“…none of us are interested in this corpse of a company. You’re wasting your time and ours. Get him out of here,”he spat.“Now!”
Camila gasped in surprise. Despite the man’s unsavory manner at the dinner party, she hadn’t thought he was as cruel as the company he kept. Perhaps he was. Thank heavens he hadn’t spread his venom her way. Adel had done enough damage on her own.
But then Camila noticed something in the clip: the brief glances exchanged between his siblings after the fact. Filled with shock and concern. And James—he looked…distraught.
A small knot of pain pricked her heart. She’d seen that kind of hurt before. Had experienced it herself, even. Perhaps this was out of character for him.
Gypsy tapped the screen as it came to an end. “Looks like his nasty little girlfriend is rubbing off on him. That couple is pure evil.” She wiggled her fingers while repeating the word in a slow trill. “Eeeevil…”
Camila managed a reluctant nod, trying to dismiss what she’d seen. James Benton was a jerk; it was obvious. After all, he’d stood by, silent, as her career went down the tube after her mishap with him. He could have spoken up and said that it hadn’t been such a big deal after all, but he hadn’t.
So why was she trying to see beyond that? Why was she recalling the hurt look in his eyes when he stumbled into the pantry?
Perhaps she wanted to believe that a man that attractive and successful could just so happen to be a great guy too. What difference did it make? She’d never run into him again.
“It’s a good thing you never got onto the Lion’s Den,” Gypsy said. “He probably would have ripped your head off.”
Camila shot her a look. “What do you mean?I never even tried to go on that show.”
Gypsy dropped her gaze to her mug briefly before glancing back to the horizon. “Right. That’s what I mean.”
