Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Camille was thrilled with the photos Ryan had taken. He had an eye for light and depth. On their way home they dropped by an office supply store and had the pictures printed out on large glossy paper. Back at the design studio, after a shared lunch of fresh roast chicken and salad, they pinned the images on the wall to the left of the chaise longue.
“Now I can see the runway space,” she said, stepping back from the photos and taking a long look.
She didn’t want to mention that it had been hard for her to think while the program director had been staring at her. Camille could still feel the imaginary daggers in her back.
Growing up in privilege was one thing, but there were some people who seemed to think that the only life she should live was one where she spent her days lying on a sun lounger at an exclusive resort or out shopping, spending her family’s money. Apart from her wastrel of a younger brother, Camille didn’t know anyone else in the Royal family who behaved that way. Everyone else had jobs. Everyone worked.
“Do you get that sort of thing often?” asked Ryan.
Camille shrugged. She didn’t need him to elaborate. They both knew what he was asking. “No, not really. Long before I’d arrived in New York I was sending pictures of my designs to all the buyers for the major department stores. I had intended to wait until I had a contract secured with one, but my father discovered what I was doing and…”
She didn’t want to relive that awful moment with her father, and especially not with Ryan.
“I take it your father didn’t approve. I did do a bit of research on Francois Royal when I was looking at this job. His haute couture work is amazing.”
“Papa struggles with the mere idea of other fashion designers. Anything that is not his, is never good enough. He doesn’t approve of me creating ready to wear garments.”
Her hands clenched into fists. Those first few months in the US had hardened her resolve. “So when I got here, I was determined to pound the pavement. I went to every store, every buyer and kept coming back until they agreed to meet with me. I’ll admit I’ve been lucky with the connections I’ve had in my life, but if my designs were garbage, the buyers wouldn’t want them. And customers wouldn’t part with their money.”
“Yeah well, I wanted to flick the tip of that Julia woman’s stuck up nose,” replied Ryan.
She’d would love to do the same. “As much as I am tempted to choose violence, I’d rather we make our runway show a resounding success, and then grace Ms. Spence with a brilliant smile on the way out.”
Professional jealousy was the least of her problems. Coming up with a concept that would showcase her new fashion pieces was the challenge she still had to overcome.
How do I create an amazing Cinderella in the City theme that works with my collection?
Obvious things such as draped fabric, and a gigantic glass slipper were just that, predictable. She could imagine the write up in the press about how her runway show lacked creative spark. Those same comments would likely go to her clothing line.
The joy she had first felt upon their return to the studio now abandoned her. Camille slumped onto the chaise longue and sat head in hands. She’d been working every day for months. Had rarely left the building. Little wonder she was struggling for inspiration.
But I have a show to put together. I have to make it shine.
The couch shifted as a large male body sat beside her.
“When was the last time you actually got out of the city and did something away from work?” he asked.
“I went to my cousin’s wedding in May. That was at the family island in the Caribbean.”
“Did you take the time to relax and just sit on the beach, or is that something you billionaires don’t do?”
She gave him a dirty side eye. “Billionaires are people too, we just have bigger and shinier toys.”
A chuckling Ryan brushed his hand over the green velvet. “I’ve been meaning to ask you what this thing is called. It’s not a sofa or a couch.”
Camille clicked her teeth with her tongue. “It’s a chaise longue. Which means it’s very French, and the fabric is outrageously expensive.”
“Well then, I must get two for home,” he replied.
She mustered a half grin at his joke, relieved that Ryan had a sense of humor. She’d left hers somewhere in Manhattan earlier this morning.
Ryan’s question, the one about her taking time off demanded an answer. She’d gone to Chloe and Jordan’s wedding but as soon as the celebrations were over, she’d spent the rest of her time on the island working on her upcoming collection.
I’m in danger of burning out.
And in the creative world, burn out meant not being able to craft new designs. And if she couldn’t come up with something new . . . Camille tried to push the thought away, but it lingered. No new designs meant her career was dead.
“I can’t recall the last time I took any real time off. And I certainly don’t have capacity right now for any sort of vacation.” Camille pointed to the photos on the wall next to them. “We have to find a way to fill that space with magic. To make people believe in my creations.”
Ryan moved closer and as his leg brushed against hers, Camille’s hands trembled. Did he have any idea what this did to her? How it further scrambled her already addled brain?
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“Just as long as it doesn’t involve suggesting that I go sip cocktails on a beach somewhere,” she replied, clasping her hands tightly together. In her heart she’d always known she wasn’t that kind of person. Relaxing was a totally foreign concept to her.
“Not quite. Though it might be time to start to consider getting a professional set designer for the show. Someone who can take that piece of work off your hands. But right now, I do think you need to get out of New York City at least for a few days.”
Her gaze flashed to his. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you need to get out of the concrete jungle. Find somewhere you can clear your head and think. Where do you normally like to go outside of NYC? Are you a Hamptons girl, or do you do the whole Miami thing?”
She had no idea what the Miami thing was. Camille stared hard at her fingernails. Apart from the annual family Christmas gatherings which were overseas, and Jordan and Chloe’s recent wedding, she hadn’t really ventured all that much outside of New York. And as for America, she’d been to Las Vegas a few times to work on Chloe’s tour outfits, but that was pretty much it.
A warm hand brushed over her cheek. “Where do you go Camille?”
She really shouldn’t allow his touch, but she craved it. “I don’t go anywhere, Ryan. Since I arrived in America four years ago, all I’ve done is work and sleep.”
And now I am paying the price.
He leaned in close, and as she felt his breath on her skin, a shiver went down her spine. “Well then, I think it’s time we got you out of the city Ms. Royal. I don’t think New York is the sort of place where you can dream up fantasies. Let’s go somewhere and see if you can rediscover your magic.”
Ryan might have been talking about the fashion show, but Camille’s libido was whispering the need for a different kind of magic. One which involved this man and his hands on her naked body. “As long as you come with me,” she whispered.
She slipped her hand into his, and gave it a gentle squee. “Please. You and me. Let’s go somewhere that will help me reclaim my creative energy.”
“All you have to do Camille, is ask. I’ll be with you every single moment.”