The owner of the finest salon in Paris had been flown in to doll up the wedding party. Jean-Jean was attractive and hip and definitely not gay. He’d flirted relentlessly with Tasha the whole time he worked on her hair. He’d agreed to style Claudette, Lecie, Tasha and Camille’s hair, saving the bride for last. He’d brought along an assistant to tend to everyone else.
Camille wanted to ignore the dark clouds rolling across the sky, but Jean-Jean had turned her toward the window to keep her from watching him in the mirror as he styled her hair.
She was faced with letting that nagging feeling that her wedding—as fake as it was—was going to get rained out consume her.“Are you sure?” she asked Jean-Jean of his suggestion, more like insistence that he style her hair up off her shoulders.“Leave it to me,” he said. “I am the beauty expert.”Yeah, well, that’s debatable. But that was just her own insecurities talking. Actually, Jean-Jean was the epitome of style. His high-end designer jeans and tee-shirt underneath a leather vest, off-set by those snakeskin boots, was the embodiment of cool. But still, a look Camille would never shoot for. She was much too conservative. Or as Tasha would say—drab.Tasha meant well. There was no maliciousness in her at all. Not where Camille was concerned. Tasha had often tried to ‘color’ Camille up, but she just wasn’t interested.“If I don’t like it,” Camille told Jean-Jean of her hair, “I’m going to take it down.”“Oh, no.” He paused, perched a hand on his hip. “You must not deface a creation by Jean-Jean.” He used his comb as a pointer, admonishing Camille.She didn’t take her overbearing hairdresser seriously. He was overshadowed by the clouds outside as they thickened and darkened.The door opened. No knock. No request to enter. From a diffused reflection in the window, Camille saw Tasha stormed in, wearing a mid-thigh length robe.“What is up with that Madeleine chick?” She dropped onto the bed, and eyed the red silk robe Camille was wearing.Jean-Jean snorted, but continued to work on Camille’s hair.Camille groaned, wanting to look at her hair but Jean-Jean refused.“What’s her deal?” Tasha said again. “She’s awfully pissed about something.” She toed out of her slippers and lay down on her side, propping her bare feet on the bed.“She’s not the bride.” A smart-alecky tone escaped Camille.Jean-Jean laughed.“Seriously?” Tasha sat up and dangled her feet off the side of the bed. “She’s Julian’s ex?”“Well, according to her, she’s not an ex.”“In her dreams,” Jean-Jean said. “She’s never been anything more than a booty call.”“According to her and Maurice,” Camille said, “she’s just what Julian needs.”“Yeah, maybe if he’s hard up.” Jean-Jean snickered.All three laughed.“Man, I need to steer clear of her.” Tasha stated.“Well, good luck with that one,” Jean-Jean said. “She’s finagled her way into indefinite guest status here.”“Boy, I tell you...” Tasha shook her head. “I just don’t understand French customs.”“Oh, honey, it’s not a French thing,” he said, waving his comb in the air. “It’s a bitch thing.”“That’s true.” Camille agreed, recalling their lunch date. “She leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to tact.”“So, how many of Julian’s ex-girlfriends are coming to the wedding?” Tasha’s dramatic flair centered in her contemptuous laughter.Only Camille. This could only happen to her. Who else would end up in a beautiful chateau in France, about to marry a billionaire—one that wasn’t too hard on the eyes—but only as a business arrangement, and with his concubine staying in the same house with them. Any minute now, she’d awaken.Jean-Jean giggled. “I like you,” he said to Tasha. “You can stay.”“Cool.” She turned to him. “So where do you hide all the hot French guys?”“Oh, we keep them in during the day.” His friendly bantering came across in a relaxed manner.“Ooh, they come out at night?” Tasha pressed her fingertips to her lips.Whatever. So long as Tasha left Andre alone, that’s all Camille cared about. She didn’t want to spend the next six months listening to Julian bitching about how Tasha broke Andre’s heart.
The Marriage Bargain
Camille Chandler is a tabloid journalist whose career is right on track--until her boss sees a curious ad in the L.A. Trades. Wanted: Single actress for an extended gig abroad. France's mega-rich playboy Julian de Laurent is up to something and Camille's boss expects her to find out what. Who knew the eccentric gazillionaire was looking to hire a temporary wife? When Camille refuses to accept Julian's proposal--and secretly write a juicy tell-all about the de Laurent family--she's fired and left financially destitute, forcing her to entertain Julian's proposal for real. But what'll happen at the end of the contract period, after Camille has spent six months as the wife of a man she learns is capable of stealing her heart?
I write in a variety of genres such as paranormal (mostly time travel and reincarnation), contemporary, and suspense. While all my tales hold an element of romance, my books often push the envelope and step outside the boundaries of conventional romance.
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