Page 45 of The VIP Package

“It’s simply a good investment,” I point out. “Crystal Bliss is the most profitable venture in my portfolio.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a business venture. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Understood.”

Does she understand? Does Camille believe the bullshit I’m spouting, or has she put on her therapist hat despite pledging not to?

The thought chills me down to my core.

“I should go.” My voice comes out raspy and low. “I have an early meeting and need to prepare for bed.” It’s not even eight, so that’s a stupid excuse. “I’ll be available via text if you need anything tomorrow and done with my meetings by four. And I’ll be in touch with my contact at the airline and will update you immediately with any news.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done to make me feel welcome, in spite of me showing up without a reservation.”

“It’s been my pleasure.” I don’t even mean it in a sexual way. “Truly.”

There’s a long, drawn out pause that I’m aching to fill. By spilling my secrets. By telling Camille just how badly I want her.

But she speaks first. “Good night, Ash Hole.” She says it so kindly my chest aches. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams,” I repeat, wishing it could be that simple.

That I could be the sort of man who deserves such a thing.

CHAPTER 9

CAMILLE

Iwake to the sound of someone knocking on my door. My bleary-eyed glance at the clock informs me it’s half-past nine, which is way later than I’d normally sleep.

Guess the jetlag’s still lingering. Either that, or the jellyfish sting. Could be the sex bonanza, too.

“Coming,” I shout as I roll out of bed and throw on my complimentary Crystal Bliss robe. It’s unbearably soft, and I hug it around me as I open the door.

“Hey there!” A curly-haired blonde with sparkly silver-gray eyes stands on the threshold. She wears a friendly smile and cutoff jean shorts, her wild mass of corkscrew curls tumbling around her bare shoulders.

“Um, hi.”

“I’m Sybil.” She holds out a basket with a blue linen cloth inside. “I made you my famous morning glory muffins.”

I blink in the bright Caribbean sun. “You’re Sybil?TheSybil?”

Her laugh rings out bright and clear. “I’m not sure what I did to earn the honorific, but I’m intrigued. And I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Camille,” I say, taking the basket of muffins. It’s warm and fragrant and my greedy stomach growls. “Thanks for this. Ashton must have mentioned me?”

“Ashton, huh?” She gives me a look that suggests I’ve revealed more than I meant to. “I forget sometimes the man has a first name.”

“What do people call him?”

“The Fortress, mostly.” Sybil grins. “Never to his face, of course.”

“Of course.” I file that away and don’t bother asking her to explain. Not tough to guess why they’d dub him that.

“He and I don’t cross paths much, but I’ve sometimes called him ‘boss man.’” Sybil shrugs. “He’s my wife’s boss, and she can’t stop calling him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Holyfield,’ which just seems weird. As far as I know, he takes off his pants one leg at a time just like anyone else.”

Her lips quirk as she watches me. It’s like she’s waiting for me to admit I know exactly how Ashton Holyfield takes off his pants.

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