BLACK CRIMSON (Fairy Tale Quartet #4)

8. Camille-2

Ready to begin my big quest, I called in late to work the next morning.

My boss grumbled about it, but she really couldn’t get too pissy since I’d come in on weekends for her and stayed late more times than I could count. She could give me one freaking morning.

And so, after stuffing the file folder I’d put together and organized at about midnight the night before into my wicker purse, I slung the strap over my shoulder and left my apartment just as the sun had risen over the skyline.

It was a chilly morning, which gave me time to look up some information on my phone while my car needed a few extra minutes to warm up. Poor baby never drove right on cold days unless you gave her an extra five to get into the spirit of things. Didn’t take me long to find the street number for Judge Fashions Industry, since I knew that was where Kaitlynn worked and thus where Broderick Carmichael worked, as well. So I plugged the coordinates into my phone’s map and spent another minute flipping through stations on the radio until I found a song to fit my mood.

Singing along to will.i.am as he helped The Script killin’ it with “Hall of Fame,” I bobbed my head to the tune, energized to get started. I was going to be a champion, a lead reporter, a freaking truth-seeker. And the world was going to know my name.

Thoroughly motivated by the time I pulled into the parking lot of JFI, I turned down the radio and shut off the engine with a refreshed sigh.

“Let’s do this,” I announced, grabbing my purse and opening the door.

I kept my head high and shoulders squared as I followed the sidewalk around to the front of the building.

It was a three-story structure made with a lot of glass and some kind of cream-colored concrete. The architecture was modern, and yet from the greenery and trees growing up around it, you could tell it’d been here for a good twenty years, if not more.

When I turned onto the straightaway that led to the front double doors, I heaved in a breath and thought, here we go, only to stop short when I noticed the man wearing a business suit in front of me pausing to take a credit-card-looking thing from his front jacket pocket before he swiped it over a scanner box next to the entrance. Then he reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

Dammit. Why had I not taken into consideration that I’d need a keycard to get into the building?

Feeling like a fool, I stalled on the sidewalk, not sure what to do next, until a woman in a pantsuit and heels passed by me, giving me an odd look for loitering there like an i***t. I sent her a bright smile and fell into step behind her, prepared to slip inside when she used her golden ticket.

But she paused before pressing her card to the reader and glanced back at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” she asked, using one of those superior, haughty voices.

With bleached-blond hair and pink tips, a long, lean body, and slim everything, she looked like one of those people who led fitness workout videos, telling short curvy things like me to give her just eight more booty lifts. So, yeah, she also seemed well suited for the fashion design life.

“Oh, sorry.” A nervous laugh fluttered from me as I waved a hand. “I forgot my keycard on the counter when I left home this morning.”

She slid a degrading glance over me before sniffing. “I doubt it. You look like one of those intrusive reporters trying to get the inside scoop on Lana Judge. Well, sorry, honey. But that’s old news. Try again never.”

“But I’m not—” I started, lifting a hand and hurrying forward when she rushed to unlock the door and darted inside, yanking it shut behind her so she could smirk at me through the glass.

I made a face. “I wasn’t trying to get the scoop on Lana Judge,” I muttered. As if. Everything about her had already been reported.

Mumbling, “I just want to get the scoop on her son,” as I watched the unhelpful witch turn away and stroll off, I sniffed. “But thanks so much for your help with that.” Shoulders slumping with a depressed sigh, I let my head thump against the door. “Great.”

Now, what the heck was I supposed to do?

“Camille?”

Yelping in surprise, I whirled around, clutching my heart as someone came up behind me on the sidewalk.

“Ezra!” Still breathing hard, I offered Kaitlynn’s boyfriend and Isobel’s brother a weak smile. “What’re you doing here?”

And wow, he still looked good in a three-piece suit. I suddenly remembered the first time I’d seen him in Isobel’s flower shop, where he’d been pursuing Kaitlynn. He’d been in a suit that day too.

He should always wear a suit.

His return expression was amused and a little confused as he pointed toward the sign on the building. “I, uh, I work here,” he answered slowly.

I blinked, not comprehending at first before glancing at the JFI logo and then smacking my palm against my forehead.

“Right,” I said. “That’s right.” He owned the half of Judge Fashions Industry that Kaitlynn didn’t own. They ran the place together. I knew that. “This is your company too.”

Chuckling, he gave me a brief nod. “It is,” he told me before lifting his eyebrows expectantly. “I take it, you’re here to see Kaitlynn?”

“Kaitlynn?” I murmured cluelessly before it struck me. “Kaitlynn! Yes!” I pointed at him in thanks for his inspiration as an idea struck me. “I’m totally here to see Kaitlynn.”

Squinting with distrust, he murmured, “You sure about that?”

I smiled brightly and gave a decisive nod. “I am, yes.”

I was now, anyway.

Shaking his head, he let out a little chuckle as if he wasn’t quite sure how to take his girlfriend’s crazy, redheaded friend. “Okay,” he drew out slowly, sounding the very opposite of okay. “I can take you to her if you’d like.”

“Really?” It took a lot of self-restraint not to throw myself at him and hug him hard. “That would be so awesome. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”