Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
“Can you make a sound when you move around?” I snap, my good mood from earlier long gone.
Instead of commenting on what I said, he murmurs, “It would be easier if we kept the curtains drawn whenever you’re home.”
No sunlight.
“I’m not a vampire.” I immediately regret my snappy tone and let out a sigh. “Sorry, this has all been sprung on me. I’m not used to having people in my place.”
Max’s features don’t soften and remain unreadable.
God, is he made of stone?
“Close the curtains if it will make you feel better.” I start to walk toward the stairs, then pause to say, “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen and…” I wave over the apartment. “make yourself at home.”
Needing to be alone, I take the stairs up and walk to the room I’ve converted into a darkroom. I shut the door behind me and flick the light on. My freshly developed photos hang where I’ve left them to dry.
I take a deep breath of the metallic-like odor caused by all the chemicals I use when developing a photograph. Many might find it unappealing, but I love it.
My nerves settle as I inspect the photo I took of an elderly busker playing guitar. The lines on his face are pronounced, while his features are caught in a dream-like state. It’s as if his love for his music transported him to another world.
I move on to the next photo I took near the Eiffel Tower. I captured a little girl sitting on her father’s shoulders. It reminded me of how Papa used to carry me when my legs got tired.
When I inspect the photograph of a man standing on a bridge and looking down at the water below, my eyes widen. I pluck the photo from where it’s pinned up and set it down on my counter. Grabbing my magnifying glass, I take a closer look.
Is that Max standing in the background?
He’s staring in my direction, which means he was watching me last week.
A knock at the door has my head snapping up. “Yes?”
Max opens the door then says, “When you’re not developing photos, leave the door open.”
I gesture to the image I captured of him. “How long have you been watching me?”
A faint frown line appears between his eyes as he walks closer. He looks at the photo then answers, “A week. I needed to see what you were like in public.” His eyes touch on the other photos before settling on mine. “I’m going to fetch my clothes from the SUV. Stay away from the windows along the front of the penthouse.”
My eyes follow him out of the room, and when I hear him leave the penthouse, I step out into the hallway and look down at the living room. I usually curl up on the sofa in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window and read a book until I drift off into a nap.
Frustration bubbles in my chest, and I suddenly feel like crying. Things are changing too fast, and it’s rattling the living hell out of me.
I’m trying to be accommodating, and I understand why I have to have a bodyguard, but I don’t like it one bit.
In a matter of hours, my life has been turned on its head.
I don’t know anything about Max Levin. I know my father wouldn’t employ someone without vetting them first, but having a stranger in my personal space feels uncomfortable.
Walking back into my dark room, I close the door partially and try to ignore that a stranger is moving into my home.
Chapter 4
Max
I’m used to being alone for months at a time. I’m not a people person, so it’s going to be trying to have someone around me twenty-four-seven.
It will be difficult for Camille as well.
While I carry the garment bags containing my suits to the guest room, my thoughts turn to the hurricane that’s Camille’s bedroom. Christ, I’m pretty sure there were more clothes on the floor than in the closet.
And the pink vibrator.
I almost let out a chuckle at the memory of Camille hiding the device beneath her pillow. Her embarrassment hung heavy in the air.
There’s nothing wrong with a woman satisfying herself.
Seeing this side of Camille, the ordinary woman who’s not wearing a mask of sophistication to impress everyone around her, impresses me a hell of a lot more than the socialite act.
The socialite I saw at the event last week fits with the luxurious penthouse with overprized décor.
The girl in the shorts and T-shirt is much more down-to-earth and relatable.
Honestly, her life seemed so superficial. Then I found out she loves to take photos and develops them herself. She loves binge-watching Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother. She doesn’t count the calories she puts in her mouth.
She’s human.
It’s fucking refreshing.
Even though the penthouse is bathed in expensive furniture and tasteful décor, the packets of half-eaten snacks lying all over the place make it feel homey.