“Oh my God. That’s amazing. You can’t even tell it’s there. Where did you get that dress? I need one.”
Camile’s shoulders straighten and she beams. “It’s currently one of a kind. It’s one of the designs I’ve drawn up for my fashion line. The seamstress finished with it last week.”
Lena’s jaw drops. “Wow. That’s seriously impressive.” She taps her finger against her chin and a change comes over her. She circles Camile, studying her from different angles. “Have you sold the collection yet?”
“No, but that email is from one of the investors I contacted.”
“Open it,” Lena insists. “What are you waiting for?”
I wrap an arm around Camile and brush my lips against her temple. “Only if you’re comfortable doing that here.”
She seems to stop breathing but then nods and returns her attention to her phone. Seconds pass. I don’t try to read the screen even though I easily could, because it’s up to her to share as much or little as she wants. After a long moment, she squeals and jumps on the spot. Her tits jiggle and I discreetly reach down to adjust myself.
“They want to meet me!”
“Congratulations, baby.” I scoop her up in a hug. “I’m so proud of you. When?”
“On Tuesday.” Her breathing picks up. “I’ve only got a couple of days to prepare. Shit.”
“You’re going to kill it. You’re ready for this.”
She tilts her head back, slowing down enough to get her bearings. “You’re right. I’m completely ready.”
“They’re going to love you,” Lena adds and pulls a business card from her purse. “When they make you an offer, reach out to me at my work number. I have contacts we can use to get you the publicity you deserve.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford that kind of thing,” Camile stammers.
“You will.” Lena is one-hundred-percent confident. “Because any investor worth their salt is going to know you can make them a lot of money with dresses like this.”
“Thank you.” Camile grins, but then seems to remember something. “I should tell Mom and Dad.”
I force myself to keep smiling. I’m glad she’s excited to share her good news, but I hope she isn’t expecting too much. I haven’t met them yet, but from what I can tell, her parents overlook how special she is.
Her mother doesn’t respond to Camile’s message until we’re in the vehicle on the way home, several hours later. Her only comment is “It’s a long shot.” I grit my teeth because a locked jaw is the only thing that can keep me from insulting the parents of the woman I care about. Why can’t they see her for the amazing person she is? But then, I guess they’re responsible for raising Karson as well, and if they’re anything like him, they’re probably blind to accomplishments that aren’t sporting. The possibility Karson may have taken after their parents only makes me admire Camile more. She came from the same family, the same background, and yet she’s completely different, in the best possible way. That’s pretty incredible.
Camile
I think I’m going to be sick. I duck into the ladies’ room attached to the foyer of Barnett Investments, the firm I’m meeting with today, and shut myself in a cubicle. I hover over the toilet bowl until the nausea passes.
My phone rings, and Leo’s name pops up on the screen. I cringe. I left him in the foyer while I made my impromptu dash for somewhere safe to puke. He’s supposed to be training today but said being here with me was more important. Not that he’ll be coming into the meeting. I’ll do that on my own. I ignore the call, leave the cubicle, and check myself in the mirror. Smart powder blue blazer, delicate pink top, black pants. I’m dressed for success, all in items of my own design.
“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. “You. Have. Got. This.” I leave the ladies’ room and give Leo a sheepish smile as I emerge into the foyer. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” I take the manila folder from him and tuck it under my arm.
“I’ll be right here.” He kisses me. “Go kick some ass.”
“I will.”
I stride to the reception desk and tell the receptionist my name. Within minutes, I’m escorted to the elevator and led through an open office to a conference room. Inside, two women and one man are already seated. They look up as I enter.
“Camile.” One of the women stands and extends a hand. She’s elegantly attired, Black, and somewhere in her forties. “I’m Renita Brady. These are my colleagues, Simon Farrell and Dana Stone. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” I lower myself into the only available seat and reach for the glass of water I assume is meant for me. I take a sip because suddenly my throat is parched, then I set the folder down and open it to the first page. I’ve practiced my presentation nearly a dozen times, but being here in front of them is different from saying it in front of Leo and Lena.
“We were impressed by what you sent through,” Dana says. “Feel free to start wherever you like, and if we have questions, we’ll cut in. How’s that sound?”
