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around in front of her desk. She leaned against it and folded her arms and crossed her legs, staring down at Camille from behind a mask of artificial sympathy. “In case you’ve convinced yourself that I’m nicer than people have tried to warn you in the past year, by the time I’m done, you’ll be lucky if you can get a job at a fast food restaurant.”

CHAPTER TWO
    BANG. BANG. BANG .
    Camille Chandler rapped on the hotel room door so hard her knuckles hurt. But damn it, Julian de Laurent owed her. Big time. He’d gotten her fired. Well, sort of. He was definitely the reason she wasn’t going from an internship to a permanent position with Disclosure Magazine.
    Granted, that wasn’t his intent when he placed his ad in the L.A. Trades. She was just supposed to find out what the mega-wealthy Frenchman was up to, and boy, did she ever. Not in Camille’s wildest dreams would she have ever imagined her hard-nosed boss would make such demands. Who knew rejecting a proposal for an arranged marriage was shunning her job duties. She’d missed that memo.
    A little piece of Camille—the part that found Julian de Laurent as fascinating as he was handsome—had pushed her to his doorstep. But mostly, her fear of being homeless, not to mention broke and in debt, was her main motivation for relenting and giving in to his business proposal.
    She glanced down at the red fitted skirt and tailored jacket she’d snagged off the clearance rack at JC Penney, the best an intern at Disclosure Magazine could afford. Should she have worn something sexier?
    Sexier? Who was she kidding? Sex appeal didn’t come easy to Camille, not like her friend Tasha. The most flattering comment Camille had ever received was that she had nice eyes. Not very gratifying when the same guy told Tasha, “ God, you’re gorgeous .”
    Julian de Laurent must have liked something about her because he’d said she was perfect for the part. If he’d changed his mind, she was screwed.
    Just breathe . Her stomach churned with the misgivings of her well-intended but ill-conceived scheme. Maybe this was a mistake. She considered a turn-and-run tactic before someone answered the door.
    Too late.
    Soren, de Laurent’s shadow, appeared from behind the door. The two times she’d met with Julian, this guy was with him. It made her wonder.
    “Ms. Chandler, what a pleasant surprise.” Soren’s stoic expression showered Camille with intimidation.
    “I’d like to speak with Mr. de Laurent.” The words trembled up her throat, right along with the desperation.
    “Please come in.” Soren stepped back, moving aside. “I’ll let Mr. de Laurent know you’re here. Please make yourself comfortable.” Heading toward a closed door on the other side of the room, he gestured about the suite’s living area decorated with plush couches and chairs and other opulent furnishings that probably cost more than her car.
    I was comfortable until he waltzed into my life . She stormed to the nearest couch and plopped down. The sofa melded around her like a cloud. Damn. Of course he lived in luxury. God takes care of children and fools. Anybody who’d place an ad in the L.A. Trades looking for an actress to pretend to be his wife for six months had to be crazy.
    Mr. Crazy—AKA, the extremely hot Julian de Laurent, as Tasha would call him—entered from an interior room. The suit he wore, custom-tailored and no doubt silk, clung to him and maneuveredwith his athletic frame as he moved toward her with laid-back grace.
    Although a bit on the arrogant side, he was all about making those around him as comfortable as possible. Julian’s attentiveness was sexy as hell. His assumption that he knew what was best for everyone was just as exasperating.
    Camille shot up from the couch, tried to feign indifference and waited for his lead.
    “Ms. Chandler. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked in a low voice that sounded a lot like how chocolate tasted. Divine. “Have you changed your