CHAPTER 9
Only when Wyatt joined Camille for dinner that evening, his sense of doom receded. Kylie, Kingston, the press. They all felt like someone else’s life, someone else’s problems. He could almost…relax.
Wyatt studied his untouched scotch. Was it because he’d had a few hours to get over it? Because he’d distracted himself?
Or was it because he was with Camille?
He finally took a sip. The sixty-year old vintage burned straight down his throat, and he still couldn’t take his eyes from her. Tonight, she wore her black hair swept up away from her face, highlighting her big brown eyes and the curve of her cheekbones. She wore another dress—something feminine and flowy she’d bought before starting at Paramount Construction.
At least, I’m pretty sure, he told himself.
You’re definitely
