Unwrapping His Convenient Fiancée. Melanie Milburne
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‘I’ll see,’ he said. ‘Mum will expect a visit, especially now that her third husband Hugh’s left her.’
Violet frowned. ‘Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. Is she terribly upset?’
Cam gave her a speaking look. ‘Not particularly. He drank. A lot.’
‘Oh...’
Cam’s family history was nothing short of a saga. Not that he’d ever said much about it to her, but Fraser had filled in the gaps. His parents went through a bitter divorce when he was six and promptly remarried and set up new families, collecting other biological children and stepchildren along the way. Cam was jostled between the various households until he was sent to boarding school when he was eight. Violet could picture him as a little boy—studious, quietly observing on the sidelines, not making a fuss and avoiding one where it was made. He was still like that. When he came to visit her family for weddings, christenings or other gatherings he was always on the fringe, standing back with a drink in his hand he rarely touched, quietly measuring the scene with his navy-blue gaze.
The waitress came over to take Cam’s order with a smile that went beyond I’m your server, can I help you? to Do you want my number?
Violet tried to ignore the little dart of jealousy that spiked her in the gut. It was none of her business who he flirted with. Why should she care if he picked up a date from her favourite café? Even if she had been coming here for years and no one had asked for her number.
Cam looked across the table at her. ‘Would you like another coffee?’
Violet put her hand over the top of her latte glass. ‘No, I’m good.’
‘Just a long black, thanks,’ Cam said to the waitress with a brief but polite smile.
Violet waited until the girl had left before she spoke. ‘Cra—ack.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Pardon?’
She gave him a teasing smile. ‘Didn’t you hear that girl’s heart breaking?’
He looked puzzled for a moment, and then faintly annoyed. ‘She’s not my type.’
‘Describe your type.’ Why had she asked that?
The bridge between Cam’s ink-black eyebrows was still pleated in three tight vertical lines. ‘I’ve been too busy for any type just lately.’ His phone, which was sitting on the table, beeped with a message and he glanced at it before turning off the screen, his lips pressing so firmly his mouth turned bone-white.
‘What’s wrong?’
He forcibly relaxed his features. ‘Nothing.’
The phone beeped again and his mouth flattened once more. He clicked the mute button and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket as the waitress set his coffee down on the table between them. ‘So, how’s work?’
Violet glanced at the invitation peeping out of the pages of her book. Was it her imagination or was it flashing like a beacon? She surreptitiously pushed it back out of sight. ‘Fine...’
Cam followed the line of her gaze. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing... Just an invitation.’
‘To?’
Violet was sure her cheeks were as the red as the baubles on the invitation. ‘The office Christmas party.’
‘You going?’
She couldn’t meet his gaze and looked at the sugar bowl instead. Who knew there were so many different artificial sweeteners these days? Amazing. ‘I kind of have to... It’s expected in the interests of office harmony.’
‘You don’t sound too keen.’
Violet lifted one of her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Yeah, well, I’m not really a party girl.’ Not any more. Her first and only attempt at partying had ended in a blurry haze of regret and self-recrimination. An event she was still, all these years on, trying to put behind her with varying degrees of success.
But secret shame cast a long shadow.
‘It’s a pretty big affair, isn’t it?’ Cam said. ‘No expense spared and so on, I take it?’
Violet rolled her eyes. ‘Ironic when you consider it’s a firm of bean counters.’
‘Pretty successful bean counters,’ Cam said. ‘Well done you for nailing a job there.’
Violet didn’t like to admit how far from her dream job it actually was. After quitting her university studies, a clerical job in a large accounting firm had seemed a good place to blend into the background. But what had suited her at nineteen was feeling less satisfying as she approached thirty. She couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling she should be doing more with her life. Extending herself. Reaching her potential instead of placing limitations on herself. But since that party... Well, everything had been put on pause. It was like her life had jammed and she couldn’t move forward.
The vibration of Cam’s phone drew Violet’s gaze to his top pocket. Not just to his top pocket but his chest in general. He was built like an endurance athlete, tall and lean with muscles where a man needed them to be and where a woman most liked to see them. And she was no exception. His skin was tanned and his dark brown hair had some surface highlights where the strong sunlight of Greece had caught and lightened it. He had cleanly shaven skin, but there was enough dark stubble to suggest he hadn’t been holding the door for everyone else when the testosterone was dished out.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Violet asked.
‘It’ll keep.’
‘Work or family?’
‘Neither.’
Violet’s eyebrows lifted along with her intrigue. ‘A woman?’
He took out the phone and held his finger on the off switch with a determined set to his features. ‘Yeah. One that won’t take no for an answer.’
‘How long have you been dating her?’
‘I haven’t been dating her.’ Cam’s expression was grim. ‘She’s a client’s wife. A valuable client.’
‘Oh... Tricky.’
‘Very. To the tune of about forty million pounds tricky.’
Forty million? Violet came from a wealthy background but even she had trouble getting her head around a figure like that. Cam designed yachts for the super-wealthy. He’d won a heap of awards for his designs and become extremely wealthy in the process. Some of the yachts he designed were massive, complete with marble en suite bathrooms with hot tubs, and dining and sitting rooms that were plush and palatial. One yacht even had its own library and lap swimming pool. But, even so, it amazed her how much a rich person would pay for a yacht they only used now and again. ‘Seriously? You’re being paid forty million to design a yacht?’
‘No, that’s the cost of the yacht once it’s complete,’ he said. ‘But I get paid a pretty decent amount to design it.’
How much was pretty decent? Violet longed to ask but decided against it out of politeness. ‘So...what will you do? Keep ignoring this woman’s calls and messages?’
He let out a short, gusty breath. ‘I’ll have to get the message across one way or the other. I’m not the sort of guy who gets mixed up with married women.’ His mouth twisted again. ‘That would be my father.’
‘Maybe if she sees you’ve got someone else it will drive home the message.’ Violet picked up her almost empty latte and looked at him over the rim of the glass. ‘Is there someone else?’ Arrgh! Why did you ask that?
Cam’s gaze met hers and that warm sensation bloomed deep and low in her belly again. His dark blue eyes were fringed with thick ink-black lashes she would have killed for. There was something about his intelligent eyes that always made