She forced out the only word that leapt to her tongue as she remembered what lay in a heap on the ground between them.
“Eggs. The eggs. Ireallyneed them.” She hunched down to retrieve the goods, groaning when she realized the bag had tipped upside down during the fall. Was it possible at least one egg survived?
“Isthatwhat’s on my sleeve?”
Camila had heard what he’d said, but she was too busy prying open the crumpled carton to reply. Raw egg dripped from each tiny shell, answering her question with gruesome finality.
“I knew I shouldn’t have removed my suit coat,” he grumbled.
Camila forced her gaze off the sad remains in time to see a slimy looking yolk, bright yellow against the white, dripping over a silver cufflink where tiny diamonds spelled out the initials JB.
“You should really try and watch where you’re going. I’ll be stuck wearing that stuffy suit coat to cover this up for the remainder of the night.”
Anger flared in her chest. “AndI’llbe stuck serving one of tonight’s meals without a quail egg,” she snapped back.
The man’s face scrunched up. “Quail?”He looked like a finicky kid who’d been served a plate of broccoli minus the cheese. “Hold the disgusting quail egg on my dish, and everyone will be happy. Okay?”
A part of Camila was relieved, there was no doubt about it. But another part of her was stuck on his bossy tone. “Oh, so I’m taking orders from you now? I don’t think Mr. Shimwah would appreciate that. Unlessyou’rethe guy he’s dating…”
The man offered his hand to her, chuckling under his breath in what sounded like genuine amusement.
After a blink of hesitation she took hold of his solid wrist.
He hoisted her back to her feet with one effortless tug, but the momentum forced her to bump right into his chest.
“Nice try,” he said as she took a step back. “I’m sure you know exactly who I am, which means you also know that I’mnotdatingMr. Shimwah.” He lifted those broad shoulders back into place. “I am, however, here with his top model, Adel Bordeaux.”
Washethe second extra guest?
He gave her a curt nod. “Good luck with your meal. I look forward to it, now that it won’t have a quail’s egg on it.” With that, he proceeded down the winding staircase, hints of his spicy aftershave lingering in the breeze.
Camila stared down at the mess in his wake. She’d assumed, after their run-in at the pantry, that he was a decent guy. Wrong. He was pompous. And rude. And most of all,wrongabout her knowing who he was.
“For your information,” she hollered over her shoulder. “I have no idea who you are.”
He was out of sight now, but a low chuckled bounced off the glazed staircase. “Mmm, hmm.”
Camila rolled her eyes, mumbling something she knew he wouldn’t hear. “Sorry, buddy. You’re not asfamousas you’d like to think.”
