Page 32 of All the Drama from New York

Camille was wrong. Kaylee wasn’t stupid, far from it. She had cleverly decided on the winner, the man to whom she would pin her hopes for fame and fortune, right from the very beginning.

But like the rest of the world, I was too blind to see it. Until it was too late.

He would never admit that, never let anyone know how much he’d been hurt and shamed by it all.

“So you knew she wasn’t going to choose you?”

“Of course. We knew before the end of the show that I wasn’t going to be the guy she picked. I had to use my best acting skills to force that pained look on my face as I stood on the beach.”

“But what about the tears? You were crying,” she asked.

He sensed Camille wasn’t quite buying the story. “They used a special menthol stick to bring them on. The camera loves a close up of a crushed hero,” replied Ryan, not missing a beat.

He let his left arm hang by his side all the while praying that Camille couldn’t see how tightly he’d clenched his hand.

This was one conversation he had to shut down and quick smart. It had taken him long enough, to gather up what little remained of his broken heart, and then slowly rebuild his self-esteem. Even now, some four years later, his pride was little more than a rough framework with a bit of weather cladding glued to it.

I have to protect what’s left of me.

If Camille intended to use him as some sort of object of interest, he may as well hand her back the plastic security card right this minute and take his leave. Ryan was done with being used and then discarded.

Like my dreams don’t mean anything.

He wanted nothing more than to leaveBachelors on the Beachin the sands of the past.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Camille didn’t know where to look. Didn’t know what to say. She’d thought she was clearing the air, but all she had succeeded in doing was to make this poor guy feel two feet tall. His first day in her employ, and she had embarrassed him.

He’d said that the show was scripted, and he’d been acting, but she wasn’t a fool. The look of despair and utter heartbreak on Ryan’s face as he searched the horizon looking for the yacht with Kaylee on board, had kept her awake at night for days following the end of the show. If he had been acting it was a performance worthy of an Oscar.

It was time to let it go. He clearly didn’t want to talk about his time onBachelors on Beach, and she had no right to press him further. She’d faced enough of her own humiliation at the hands of her father, and it had made her run all the way across the North Atlantic. If Ryan chose to leave her employ right now, she wouldn’t blame him.

“I promise that is the first and last time I will ever mention the show,” she offered, giving him a hopeful smile.

“Thank you. I would appreciate it.”

She stepped past him and headed back into the main design studio. Camille took in a deep lungful of air. The mood in the kitchen had been thick with tension.

And something else, she was doing her best to ignore. An unmistakable attraction.

“What do you know of the New York fashion industry?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

He followed her out of the kitchen and came to stand in front of one of the partly dressed mannequins. The makings of a dark green knee length skirt was pinned to the model. “I did some research. Looked up your website and also a ton of media stuff from the past couple of years. You’ve had a steady and strong climb up from being a relative nobody.” Ryan’s brows furrowed. “I mean a designer who was unknown in New York City. No offence intended.”

“None taken. Before I arrived here, I was just another person working for my father in his atelier in Paris. I’d never produced anything with my name on it.”

“And now you can go and buy women’s dresses and suits in Saks Fifth Avenue designed by Camille Royal. It must be amazing to be able to walk into a major department store and see something you created hanging on the rack.”

She caught the hint of envy in his voice. He had said he’d left his last job because he wanted more, and if anyone could understand that particular feeling it was her.

“It’s odd, but yes it does feel good, a vindication of all my hard work” she replied.

“And talent,” Ryan added.

Camille pointed to the laptop and large computer monitor sitting on the spare desk. She had cleared Hope’s personal things off the top, and couriered them to her former PA’s home address. Hidden in amongst the pile, Camille had left a card in an envelope. The card simply read.

I am here for you. C

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