Page 43 of All the Drama from New York

If he had a sister who handed over his new t-shirts to a stranger he’d be seriously pissed. “Are you sure? I mean my clothes are a little crumpled but they’re not dirty.”

Camille waved his concerns away. “Éliott never wears the same shirt twice. He orders his wardrobe in bulk and keeps his attire scattered in various places throughout the world. Believe me when I say you could be dressed from head to toe in his clothes, and standing right in front of him and Éliott wouldn’t notice.”

She went to move away, then stopped. “And no there is nothing wrong with your button down Ryan, it’s just that we are going to pay a visit to the fashion show site today, and I don’t want anyone thinking I hired a guy who I found sleeping rough.”

He caught the implication that the fashionistas of NYC might be tempted to judge a rumpled man, and by default extend that same thought to Camille. They’d only been working together a matter of days, but he’d already got a solid grasp on how much this upcoming fashion show meant to his boss. He would not let Camille down.

When her gaze drifted to his pants, Ryan could have sworn she licked her lips. “My brother is thin, so his pants won’t go anywhere near on you. But if you give me yours, I can run the steamer over them.”

Ryan blinked. Camille let out a giggle. “You’ll have to take them off. But I’m a professional designer, I’ve seen plenty of male models over the years. Just slip out of them, then go change shirts.”

He hesitated for a moment and Camille rolled her eyes. “Mister Prude. I’ll turn around while you remove your pants. How’s that?”

“Give me a minute, I’ll take them off in the bathroom, then hand them to you through the door.”

Mister Prude, not a chance. But she’s not seeing me without pants.

The last thing he needed at this hour of the morning was for Camille to see the semi-erect state of his manhood. He couldblame it on morning wood, but Ryan knew better. Standing this close to Camille did things to him that he didn’t want to have to explain to his boss.

When a fully dressed Ryan finally resurfaced from out of the bathroom a short time later, Camille gave him a nod of approval. “I like the t-shirt on you. Gives you a bit more of an edgy look.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think a guy from East Orange, New Jersey would ever be considered edgy. This is a fab t-shirt. The cotton is so soft against my skin.”

“The brand is Corneliani, and it’s made in Portugal. And no you don’t want to ask how much their plain t-shirts retail for in New York.”

She itched to run her fingers over the fabric, to trace a line that would take in the muscles of his arm. As far as she was concerned Ryan had the perfect physique. He probably didn’t go to the gym, but he was strong and healthy in a natural guy way. He might have missed the train last night, but she was sure he’d been at a full run when he hit the platform.

The intercom buzzed, and she hurried to answer it. One of the regular delivery team from Royal Resorts Manhattan waved at her through the camera, and she announced, “Our breakfast is here.”

She turned toward the door, but Ryan slipped past her. “I’m the assistant here, so I should be going down to pick up the food.”

“Oh alright. While you do that, I’ll set out some plates and cutlery,” she replied.

“Don’t forget the good linen napkins,” called Ryan. Camille caught the cheeky grin on his face.

He was such a breath of fresh air. She’d never quite understood the whole All-American male thing up until now, but the longer she spent with Ryan Collins the more she suspected he might well be what that term actually meant.

There was a certain casual easiness about him that she had always found lacking in French men. She could imagine a guy like Ryan actually laughing at himself as he grew more comfortable and confident in his role with her, something a staid Parisian male would never think to do.

In the kitchen, she set the counter ready for them to eat. Camille smirked as she pulled out the crisp white linen table napkins from the drawer. Ryan might think he was being cheeky reminding her to use them, but they were her special indulgence. She much preferred them to the thin paper ones which often came with food deliveries.

Ryan reappeared a couple of minutes later. “Whatever you ordered for breakfast smells amazing.”

“I got us Okonomiyaki. Japanese pancakes. I hope you like seafood, because the chef always includes it when he makes the mix.”

“I love seafood. Then again, I don’t think there is much I don’t eat.”

She bit back a laugh, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“What?”

Camille shook her head. “Nothing.”

Ryan stalked closer, and her heart began to race as he leaned in and asked, “That laugh was not a nothing laugh. Spill the tea, Ms. Royal.”

“I just remember when you were on the show, and they got all of you guys to eat a mystery dish.”

She could have sworn his face paled. Ryan shuddered. “Oh yuck. They made us eat fermented shark. I swear some nights I wake up thinking I can still smell it.”

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