2. Camryn
Two
Camryn
Present day
I’m cold, wet, stressed, and honestly, having a pretty shit day.
A pipe burst in the graduate student apartment building where I live, flooding my apartment with several inches of water.
My furniture is wrecked. My TV is fried.
I had to put on rain boots to wade through so I could grab some essentials and get out.
I’m soaked, and cold, and have no idea how I’m going to deal with this.
Even worse is the text message I just got from the building manager, saying that the building will be uninhabitable for at least six weeks while all of the damage from the burst pipe is repaired.
Which means…I’m homeless. I could try to couch surf, maybe stay with my friend Samantha for a bit, but I don’t see how I can do that for over a month.
I don’t have a car to live in. I definitely don’t have the funds to stay in a hotel for weeks on end.
And I don’t have any family I could crash with.
My mother moved back to France after her divorce from Jacob almost four years ago.
She figured that since I was eighteen and starting university in Toronto, her job as a parent was done.
I don’t have anywhere else to go, which is why I’m in the back of an Uber, watching through the rain-streaked window as we pull up in front of the building where I used to live.
Where I’m hoping Jacob still does. I haven’t seen him since he and my mother split, even though I’ve kept up with him through the news.
I get the Saturday Star just to look at the society pages and get a glimpse of him living his life.
I like seeing where he’s going, what he’s wearing, who he’s pictured with.
I feel a stab of completely irrational jealousy whenever he’s photographed with a woman.
I keep up with him professionally, too. We’ve done case studies on his banking empire in some of my business classes. Honestly, it was partly because of him that I decided to major in business and then pursue an MBA.
Which all sounds maybe a bit creepy when laid out like that. But it’s not like I’m a stalker or anything. If I were a stalker, I’d know for sure where he lives, wouldn’t I? I’m more of a…a fan.
I replay the way he told me I could come to him for anything no matter what happened between him and my mother. In hindsight, they were obviously on the rocks at that point, given that they split only a few months later.
Hopefully he still means it. Hopefully he still lives here.
I grab my bag and step out of the Uber, heading into the lobby.
It’s unchanged—same gleaming marble floor, same sculptural chandelier, same leather sofas grouped together—and it feels like just yesterday but also a hundred years ago that I lived here.
I’m not the same person that I was then.
I’m still bookish, still chubby, but I’ve grown to love my curves.
I’m no longer the shy, uncertain wallflower I was in high school.
Not that I’ve had much experience with men.
I’ve made out a few times, gone on dates, but I’ve never really had a boyfriend or gone farther than first base.
And it’s not because I don’t want to—I am ridiculously horny, honestly—but the guys at school are just…
boys. And boys don’t excite me. They never have.
The sound of a throat clearing pulls me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’m dripping water all over the pristine floor.
“Can I help you, miss?” asks the doorman, standing from behind his desk. I don’t recognize him; he didn’t work here when I was living here. I square my shoulders and walk forward, trying not to cringe at the way my boots are squelching.
“Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Brooks. In the penthouse. Is he in?”
He eyes me warily, and frankly, I can’t blame him. I probably look like I crawled out of a storm drain. I smile a little brighter and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Your name, please?”
“Camryn. Camryn Fontaine.” I have my mother’s last name, as she and my dad were never actually married. They split up when I was a baby, and I’ve only met him a handful of times. I think he lives in Switzerland somewhere.
The doorman stares at me for another long second, as if debating with himself whether he’s going to actually call up to the penthouse. But then he sighs and picks up the sleek black phone. I wait and continue to drip on the floor while he punches in a number.
“Yes, hello Mr. Brooks. It’s Paul from the front desk. I’m sorry to bother you this evening, but there’s a young woman here asking to come up and see you. A Camryn Fontaine.” He says my name as though it tastes bad on his tongue.
I don’t know what Jacob says to him, but it has Paul’s eyebrows inching up his forehead as he nods.
“Yes, of course. Of course, sir. I’ll send her right up.
” He hangs up the phone, and his demeanor is completely different than it was just a few minutes ago.
He smiles at me deferentially now, and gestures me toward the elevator.
“Right this way, Miss. I’ll get the elevator for you.” He’s all courtesy and head bobs now. I bite back a grin. It’s almost like a Pretty Woman moment. See? I do belong here. Jerk.
I mean, I don’t. Not anymore. But still. I will take this little bright spot in a tremendously shitty day.
He uses a key fob to send the elevator up to the penthouse, and my nerves start to fire on all cylinders as the elevator glides upward. What if Jacob tells me he can’t help me? I don’t even know exactly what I’m asking for here. All I know is that he’s the only person I can turn to right now.
The interior of the elevator is mirrored on all sides, and I sigh as I take in my bedraggled reflection. My hair is waving and going frizzy from the flood and the rain, my clothes are wet, and I look exhausted.
Even still, I’m not the same girl I was last time I was in this elevator. I’m older. A tiny bit wiser. More confident and comfortable in my skin. More sure of what I want.
Once again, his words from four years ago play through my mind, but I’m not thinking about his promise to always be there for me.
You’re extraordinary.
I have to admit, I’m curious to see if he still means that, as well.
The elevator doors slide open soundlessly and all the breath whooshes out of my lungs. Jacob’s standing there, wearing a dress shirt open at the collar, a pair of beautifully tailored pants, and bare feet.
It reminds me of my disastrous prom night. It reminds me of the crush I…I lick my lips, every single thing I thought of saying drying up in my throat as I stare at him.
He’s even more beautiful than I remembered.
Sure, I’ve seen pictures of him over the years, but in person he’s…
he’s magnetic. It’s more than just the way his hair falls so perfectly, a single lock hanging artfully over his forehead.
There’s more gray at his temples than the last time I saw him, but other than that, little else has changed.
His gray eyes are still steely, intense.
His shoulders are still impossibly broad, his stomach completely flat.
Same square jaw, dimpled chin, sharp cheekbones.
And beyond the physical, there’s something in the way he carries himself. He exudes quiet masculine confidence out of every pore. Like he could take on the world singlehandedly and still have time to make you a nice breakfast.
He’s perfect.
Okay, so. Raging crush still firmly in place. Noted.
“Cam,” he says in that deep voice. I shiver. I don’t mean to, but I do. “What’s going on? Why are you…” His gaze trails down my body. “What happened?”
I heave a sigh and take a step closer. “There was a flood at my apartment. I…I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And you’d said…” I twist my fingers together, uncertainty crashing through me. Oh god, what am I doing here? We haven’t spoken in years.
Without a word, he takes my bag from me and sets it down, then starts helping me out of my wet coat.
His hands are warm and firm as we work together to slide the damp fabric down my arms. His fingers graze my skin, making goosebumps erupt in their wake.
He drops the sodden coat to the ground, then reaches out and tucks a strand of frizzing hair behind my ear, his eyes searching my face.
The touch sends little electrical sparks dancing across my skin, and I work to keep my expression neutral.
I need a place to stay, and if I act like a creep, I won’t have one.
“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.
“I’m wet,” I say, then close my eyes as flames lick their way up my neck.
“I mean, I’m cold. And water from the flood, and it’s raining and…
” I blow out a breath. I’m not usually this tongue tied around other people, but seeing Jacob again has me unnerved.
I shake my head and pull my shoulders back.
“Let me start again. Hi, Jacob. It’s nice to see you.
It’s been a few years, I know. I was wondering if I could ask you a favour.
My apartment flooded, and I don’t have anywhere else to go, and you said I could always turn to you for help, so… help?”
The words tumble out of me fast and breathless, and Jacob rubs a hand over his mouth. I think he’s trying not to laugh at me. Great.
But then he drops his hand and nods. “Of course. You can always come to me, for anything.” Our eyes meet and hold, and my skin starts to tingle.
Really? Anything? Like if I need a gorgeous face to sit on?
God, I’m such a perv.
But we continue to stare at each other, and he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’ve really grown up, Cam.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. “It’s been four years. I’m twenty-two now.”
He nods slowly. “Come in.” He picks up my bag and turns, and I kick off my wet boots and follow him into the penthouse where I used to live.
I feel a pang of nostalgia as I take it all in.
A few things are different—art on the walls, a different area rug under the coffee table—but most of it is the same.
Life was simpler when I lived here, in some ways.
Harder, too, though. And even though it’s only been four years, I’ve changed. Thanks, in part, to Jacob. He probably has no idea the gift he gave me that night.
And so, while the penthouse is largely the same, it also feels different. Because I’m different.
The elevator doors slide closed, sealing us away together.
“So,” he says, walking slowly into the living room. “How can I help?” He sets my bag down by the sofa.
I suck in a breath and turn to face him. My heart stutters in my chest at the way the dim light highlights the planes of his face. The way his shirt stretches over his chest when he moves.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need a place to stay.” I bite my lip, blinking up at him. “For…probably at least a few weeks.” Probably longer than that, but I don’t think the specifics will help me here.
“You can have your old room for as long as you need.” He says it as though it’s the simplest thing in the world, and yet again, Jacob Brooks is saving me in ways he doesn’t understand.
He steps closer, his eyes talking a slow walk down my body. I don’t look away. I don’t fidget or shift on my feet. I let him look.
I want him to look, if I’m honest. Not that I think…well. Anything, really, beyond the fact that he’s gorgeous and obviously nothing will ever happen between us for many, many reasons.
“You’ll need new clothes,” he says. “Toiletries, shoes.”
“Oh, well, I did bring a few things,” I say, gesturing a bit pathetically to my sodden bag.
He steps closer, an unreadable expression on his face. “You showed up on my doorstep asking for help. So let me help.” He swallows, his gaze trailing down my throat. “Let me take care of you.”
I need a t-shirt that says “Don’t pamper me, I might come.” Honestly. I have to bite back a little moan at his words.
I am so getting kicked out before my apartment’s fixed.