Page 86 of All the Drama from New York

Derick Stad rose from his chair in the corner, and stormed across the room. He got right in Ryan’s face, and ground out an all too familiar threat. “Walk out that door and you’ll be paying lawyer fees until the day you die.”

Ryan unbuttoned the food delivery company shirt, and tossed it on the floor. “Do your worst, Derick. I have more important things to worry about. I won’t be coming back.”

And with that, he snatched up his backpack, and headed to the elevator. The second he stepped inside, Ryan hit the button for the lobby. He rummaged in his bag and grabbed a t-shirt.

Four years ago he’d been a naïve idiot who’d sold his soul all in the name of prime time television. And he’d gotten badly burned.

This chance with Camille meant more to him than any financial threat. Derick Stad could go to hell. Kaylee would soonfind some other guy to help her on her way to fame and fortune. That guy just wouldn’t be Ryan Collins.

I belong to one woman, and she needs me.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

It took Ryan over an hour to walk all the way back to West 28thStreet. He could have easily taken the subway, but he needed the time to clear his head.

Arriving back at the apartment he found Camille in the living room. She was lying on the couch, a damp towel draped over her face. On the floor next to her lay a pair of tailors shears along with some of the special cloth she’d ordered for the lining of the new Prince Charming jacket.

Ryan bent and picked up the scissors and fabric, setting them down on a nearby coffee table.

Camille stirred. “Don’t move them. I was cutting out a piece for the pocket.”

She lowered the towel, and stared up at him through barely open eyelids. “You’re home. What time is it? I had to get that work finished today.” Her attempts to sit ended as soon as they began, and Camille slumped back on the couch.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

“I had a piece of dry toast, but then I threw it up. I can’t keep anything down.”

Ryan touched a hand to Camille’s forehead. It was cool, but her skin was clammy. Whatever illness she was suffering from, she wasn’t getting any better.

If there was one thing, he did know about his boss come girlfriend, she was stubborn. If he went ahead and called for medical assistance, the moment she was well enough, Camille would skin him alive.

“We really should get you to a hospital.”

She waved a hand in the air. “No. No hospitals. The press will find out and then everything will be worse. Just let me die here in peace.”

Ryan pulled out his cell. Enough was enough. Today was a day where he wasn’t taking crap from anyone, and that included the woman he’d fallen in love with—not that he’d actually gotten around to telling her as much.

“You can rip into me later, Camille. I’m getting you medical help.”

He dialed Bryce’s number.

The IV drip was performing its magic. She was still exhausted, but at least she’d stopped throwing up. But just in case a bucket sat on the floor next to her bed.

Lying on her back, eyes closed, Camille answered the doctor’s long list of questions.

No, she hadn’t eaten any new or exotic foods. Ryan had cooked and eaten the same meals as her most days, and he was still fighting fit.

She hadn’t been coughing or feeling feverish. And yes, all her shots and vaccinations were up to date.

Ryan had still wanted to take her to the hospital, but Bryce had stepped in and explained how medical emergencies were handled by the Royals. Unless a family member was in danger of imminent death, they would never consider going to a hospital.

The very best of hospitals couldn’t stop information being leaked to the public. Managing publicity was something the international Royal family took very seriously.

A stray comment here or there about a family member’s health could have a detrimental impact on world financial markets. Even lesser known members of the family like Camille were held to those same strict rules.

Doctor Porter was the private physician kept on call for the US based members of the Royal family. She made house calls. Private jet calls. She’d even been lowered from a helicopter off the coast of Nova Scotia, Canada, and onto the deck of an ocean going yacht. She was paid handsomely to go where ever a sick member of the Royal family needed her to go.

Treating Camille at her home in the middle of Manhattan was a piece of cake.

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