Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Camille caught the look of concern on Karl’s face as she half-stumbled through the front door of his fabric emporium on Broadway a short time later. He quickly stepped past her and locked the door. As he lowered the security grille into place, the noise of the passing New York City traffic dropped to a dull hum.
“Thank you,” she sighed.
In her rush to get out of the apartment, Karl’s store was the only logical place she’d thought to go. There was comfort to be found in a familiar environment.
“You my girl, look like a friend who is in need,” said Karl.
“You have no idea.”
Karl cleared his throat. “Actually I have a pretty good idea. Ryan called me in a bit of a panic not five minutes ago, said you might be coming here.”
When had Ryan learned to read her mind so well?
About the same time he stole my heart.
“Did he tell you that people have been following us and taking photos for weeks, and we didn’t have a clue? And now it has blown up all over social media. A major NYC daily newspaper ran a spiteful story about us this morning. They said Ryan was my toyboy. And…” Camille put a hand to her mouth.
How could she tell Karl that her greatest fear wasn’t that someone had sold their story to the papers? It was that from the very first day she’d met Ryan, their relationship had been under secret scrutiny. Someone had not only stopped to video that first moment in the street, but had taken the time to load it up to the internet.
My whole life has now become a public spectacle. Open to scrutiny and criticism.
All I want to do is make a Prince Charming jacket.
“I didn’t come here just to lay my worries on you Karl. I wanted to see how the order for the new lining fabric was going. Though hiding in the dark recesses of your warehouse and curling up into a tiny ball for a few hours also sounds very appealing.”
Karl held out his arms; and a tearful Camille let him embrace her. “Let’s hop on a zoom chat with my print designer and see how they are going with your custom order. After that I’ll break open my emergency stash of snickerdoodles; and you can tell me all your toyboy troubles.”
He nodded toward a nearby table where a small laptop sat.
“He’s not my toyboy,” protested Camille.
“I know sweetheart. But you do love him. Which means you’ll have to get past the bit where people are throwing shade about you being his boss.”
Is the way I feel about Ryan so obvious?
She stepped away from Karl and wiped at her tears. “Thanks for your support, Karl—it means the world to me. Good friends support one another. Which means you’ll understand why I’ll will be taking your unopened packet of snickerdoodles with me when I leave.”
“Remind me not to offer you sanctuary again in your time of need,” grumbled Karl, as he opened his laptop.
“She was pretty upset when she left, and I just want to make sure she is ok. Call me if there’s anything I can do,” said Ryan. He hung up the call with Karl, and slumped back into his chair. He wasn’t sure where she had gone, but seeing that Karl had been on Camille’s to do list for today, it had made sense to check with him.
This morning was turning into the mother of all clusterfucks. He’d gotten out of bed to go and make coffee for them both. His plan was for them to sit up in bed, drink their morning brew, while organizing the day ahead.
As he’d waited for the coffee machine to heat up, he’d decided to check his phone. Having it on Do Not Disturb at night meant he’d missed dozens of texts, one hundred and twenty five emails, and countless social media notifications.
Racing upstairs to the studio, Ryan had turned on his laptop. The second he’d logged into Instagram, his world had exploded. He was still doom scrolling through endless comments and posts when Camille appeared a little while later.
And now she was gone. Spooked by the social media storm and that spiteful newspaper article. How could people do such a thing.
He was her lover. Her confidante. Not her fuckboy.
Someone had been following them. All the times they’d thought they were alone, and their lives kept private, there had been people stalking them. As soon as he found Camille, he’d be asking her to have a word with her so-called security team.
None of this made sense. Why the sudden interest in them?
Ryan sat forward, and clicked on the newspaper article again. The posts on the various social media platforms had mostly centered around the video which had been taken when he and Camille had collided in the street. He’d known that the guy in the suit had been filming. But this was New York. Nothing happened without someone taking a picture.
But for the mainstream media to have shown any sort of interest they would have needed more than just a short video and some photos. They would have wanted exclusive content.
Ryan Collins who was the runner up on the reality tv show Bachelors on the Beach has been romancing Camille Royal. Camille, a wannabe fashion designer, is the runaway daughter of one of the billionaire members of the international Royal family.
His gaze skimmed over a couple of lines about Camille’s fashion work. All of that was public knowledge. But his heart skipped a beat as he took in the next paragraph.
Collins, who recently left his long time career as a barista, commenced working for the fashion designer heiress in June. He is rumored to have already moved into her luxury apartment…
This was deeply personal stuff. Details which only someone who actually knew him would have known.
“Who knew I started working for her in June?”
He ticked off the very short list. Bryce. Camille. Liam. He hadn’t even told his parents that he was working for Camille.
The first two people on his list of suspects were the last two people who’d ever talk to the press. The Royal family carefully guarded their privacy.
“Oh Liam, what have you done?”
He didn’t care that it was the middle of the night in Tahiti—Ryan needed answers. A croaky voice crackled down the line as Liam picked up the call. “Hey bro, its three am. Could you call me back a bit later?”
Ryan answered in a voice laced with deadly calm, “Who did you talk to about me going to work for Camille?”
“Oh shoot. Yeah. I meant to tell you. You remember Derick Stad from Bachelors on the Beach ? He got in touch. Asked what you were doing these days. I mentioned your new job. I assumed since you’d worked with him on the show, that it would be ok.”
If Ryan could reach down the phone and across the thousands of miles to the tiny island in the South Pacific, he would have grabbed Liam by the throat and throttled his brother.
“You have no idea how far from ok that is, Liam. Once again you haven’t thought about things, and now you’ve thoroughly fucked with my life.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line; and it took all of Ryan’s self-control not to fill that empty space with more wrath.
“I thought you’d be pleased. Derick mentioned something about him now being an executive producer for a special reunion show for Bachelors on the Beach.”
His brother might well have the international globetrotting career, but he was far too na?ve. His lack of understanding of how the people in showbusiness were always looking for an angle was at times breathtaking. If Liam had an ounce of self-preservation, he’d cut up his passport and stay in Tahiti.
“Did it ever occur to you that Derick could have simply called me himself? My number hasn’t changed in four years.”
Derick, along with the original showrunner, would have Ryan’s details. As would his old Hollywood agent, Lee. But no one had bothered to call him.
And now suddenly out of nowhere, he and Camille were all over social media and the press. It was too great a coincidence for it to be a coincidence. Which begged the question—what exactly were Derick Stad and the people from Bachelors on the Beach up to?
“Well?”
“I guess I didn’t think all that hard about why Derick was calling. But hey, no harm, no foul.”
If only it was that easy.
“Liam, social media has completely blown up over my connection with Camille Royal. And there was a really spiteful article in the New York press this morning, saying I’m her toyboy. Camille has worked her ass off for over four years, but all people will now see is a billionaire’s spoilt daughter who is apparently using me as her play thing. Her fuckboy.”
He was certain he could hear the penny finally drop for his brother, as Liam let out a whoosh of air. “Fuuuuckk. I’m so sorry man. I don’t know what else to say.”
Ryan’s gaze settled once more on the awful article which had been in the morning press. He’d read enough of the comments online to know that people were judging them. Him for having become nothing more than a ‘kept man’; and Camille for being— well— her crimes were many and terrible.
She was from a super-rich family. She was supremely talented. She was beautiful. But worst of all, according to a society which was far too quick to judge, she was a woman.
But she’s, my woman.
He didn’t have time to sit here and nurse his brother’s regrets. He had to go and find Camille.
“Look, let’s talk when you get back to the US. In the meantime, if anyone else calls and mentions me, could you kindly not say anything. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry, Ryan.”
“Speaking of coming home, when are you back? You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“I don’t know. Tahiti is cool. Once I’d finished the photo assignment I decided to stick around for a bit. Staying at a low-priced guesthouse and eating at the local restaurants makes my dollar go a really long way.”
Ryan hung up the phone, he wasn’t interested in cheap travel tips. He was angry with Liam, but livid with whomever had decided to tear him and Camille down.
Grabbing his phone, he headed for the elevator. As soon as he pressed the button, the doors opened. A crestfallen Camille stood before him.
She took one look at Ryan before throwing her purse, a bag of fabric samples, and a packet of snickerdoodles at him. She then promptly burst into tears.
His arms were around her in an instant, pulling her into his embrace. “It’s ok, it’s ok. Today has been horrible, but we’ll get through this. I promise,” he reassured her.
“Did you read what they wrote about me in that article? They said I looked old, and pasty faced. My heritage is Norman and Scandinavian—my skin is meant to be pale. And when did thirty one become old?”
He hadn’t caught that last comment, but there’d been plenty of other nasty ones about Camille. All focused on her so called short comings. Her curvy hips and ass. Her long straight hair. Her porcelain complexion.
All the things he loved about her.
They would survive this, there was no other option. But first he owed her the truth. “This is all my fault.”
She stiffened in his embrace, and began to pull away. Ryan didn’t let her go, knowing full well if he did, he might not get a second chance. Instead he led Camille down the stairs and into her apartment. When he’d got her settled beside him on the couch, he took her hands in his, sucked in a deep breath— and began.
“Do you remember the host from Bachelors on the Beach , Derick Stad? Well apparently, he called my brother Liam. Liam told him I was working for you. Don’t ask me why Derick didn’t just ring me in the first place.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why was he calling?”
“I think he must have somehow come across the video of us colliding in the street. The one which has been circulating online over the past month or so. It hadn’t done anything until TikTok picked it up. As soon as Derick realized it was good old Ryan Collins from Bachelors on the Beach , he must have decided a publicity push would help a reunion show get more support from the network.”
“So your brother told him you were working with me. And when Derick did some digging and discovered that I’m part of a family of billionaires, he must have thought he’d struck gold. So Derick took the story to the press,” said Camille.
“I’d say that’s what happened.”
She had every right to be angry. They’d both been blindsided by all of this, but they wouldn’t make that mistake again. Pulling Camille’s cell phone out of his jean’s pocket, Ryan handed it to her.
“I don’t know what Derick or anyone else thinks they are playing at, but from this moment on, you and I will be the ones making and taking the calls. We are the ones who will set the narrative of our lives.”
She leaned into his embrace, and offered Ryan her lips. He didn’t hesitate to make it a long lingering kiss. This was the last time anyone hurt the woman he loved.