Page 39 of All the Drama from New York

As he retrieved his jacket from the closet, the sound of someone talking in a foreign language drifted up the stairs. Ryan listened. It was a phone call, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the speaker was talking in German. He did a double take when Camille then answered the caller back in faultless German.

I really should get back onto Duolingo.

He’d just slipped his arm into the sleeve of his jacket when Camille suddenly flipped back into English. “How soon can you have them made and sent to me here in the US?”

Ah, yes, the button call. But that was scheduled for…

Quickly checking his phone, Ryan quietly swore. It was well after eight, almost nine o’clock. He was meant to have been home hours ago. Friday night was his turn to cook. He could only hope Liam had gone ahead and made himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

He fired off a quick text.

Sorry. Day 1 of job. Got busy. C U soon. Takeout?

Liam’s reply pinged back before Ryan had finished putting on his jacket.

At airport. Just got photo gig in Tahiti. C U when I get back.

So his brother wouldn’t be lying on the couch in a state of desperate hunger when Ryan walked through the door. Liam was about to leave the country.

“Yay. Which means I am off the hook for cooking steak and fries for the next while,” muttered Ryan.

Liam wasn’t one for trying new dishes, whereas Ryan loved nothing more than grabbing a cookbook and experimenting. Right now he was imagining a big stir fry. A plate piled high with chicken, carrots, and broccoli smothered in hot pineapple ginger sauce.

Yum.

He licked his lips. If he hurried for the next train, he might make the grocery store before it closed.

Ryan moved toward the door, just as Camille appeared at the top of the stairs. She took one look at him and laughed. “This is beginning to feel a little like déjà vu. Every time I think you’ve gone home, I come up here, and find you still at your desk,” she said.

He nodded toward his laptop. “The emails took longer than I thought to get them sorted. Then I kinda got carried away with adding them to the scheduling app. Figured it would make for a clean start on Monday.”

Her long fair hair was mussed, and since he’d last seen her, Camille had pinned it up in a lazy sexy bun. The cute black loafers with the yellow lightning bolts she’d been rocking all day were gone. Camille’s feet were bare. His gaze lingered on the gold sparkly nail polish which decorated her toes.

Ryan’s mind was suddenly filled with the vision of a bedroom on a warm summer’s afternoon. The white curtains which framed a nearby window billowing in a soft sea breeze. Camille who was dressed in a long floral gown, wore an enticing come hither smile. One meant only for him. Any moment now she would step into his embrace.

He blinked the Ralph Lauren homewares catalog away.

She is my boss.

A gentle smile formed on Camille’s lips, and it took all of Ryan’s self-control not to let the Hamptons lifestyle fantasy slip back into his mind.

“Have you eaten? I’m sorry that your first day went so long. I have food downstairs if you want to grab a bite to eat before you leave. Please. I only reheated the fish and vegetables in the steamer oven twenty minutes ago, so they’re still hot.”

He really should say no. Should go get on a subway train. When it arrived at East Orange station he should head to the grocery store, then go home.

Only then could he take a long cold shower. And do his best to forget that he would like nothing more than to suck the delicately painted toes of his new employer.

He really should go home.

A sensible man would do just that, but when it came to Camille Royal, Ryan was fast discovering that his mind went to mush whenever she was near. The scent of her perfume had his capacity for rational decision making going straight out the window.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was following her downstairs and into her apartment.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“No. No. Noooo!” cried Ryan as he raced across the platform. His fingers brushed the door of the train carriage, but it didn’t open. Instead the train pulled away from the station, leaving him watching helplessly as it departed.

“Fuck,” he muttered. It was 1am and he’d just missed the last train home.

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