Chapter 146

The call ended abruptly. Camille returned to her work with renewed focus.

Her mind felt clearer after the intense mental exercise. The tension had eased considerably.

Gabriel's text lit up her phone screen. Drinks tonight?

Thirty minutes later, she walked into The Velvet Lounge.

Gabriel greeted her at the entrance. "Whiskey sour or something lighter?"

She bit her lip. "Maybe just one cocktail."

His sharp eyes studied her face. "Rough day?"

"Better now," she deflected.

Gabriel didn't push. He signaled the bartender for a peach bellini.

Camille cradled the chilled glass, taking measured sips while Gabriel bantered with his colleagues. Neither noticed the pair observing them from the VIP balcony.

Elliot Mercer smirked. "So that's Gabriel's new pet project."

His companion followed his gaze. Recognition flickered across his face.

Elliot nudged him. "Your type?"

The man ignored the question. "You know her?"

"Everett's almost-conquest," Elliot drawled. "The one who slipped through his fingers."

His friend's gaze lingered on Camille. Amidst the pulsing neon and bass-heavy music, she stood out like a snowflake in hell - untouched, untouchable.

She didn't belong here. Yet her very incongruence made her magnetic.

Gabriel turned to her. "Feel like dancing?"

"I don't know how," she admitted.

"Neither do I." He grinned. "Let's embarrass ourselves together."

On the dance floor, she mirrored his awkward movements. Gradually, the rhythm found her. Her shoulders loosened. A faint smile touched her lips.

The alcohol warmed her veins. A delicate flush bloomed across her cheekbones, making her eyes spark like cut glass. With each sway, an unconscious sensuality emerged - more potent for its innocence.

Elliot whistled low. "Damn. Ms. Lancaster's got that ice queen act, but this one... she's fire wrapped in silk."

His companion remained silent.

Camille's phone buzzed against her thigh. She checked the screen mid-step. Every muscle locked.

Gabriel followed her gaze and nearly choked. "Is that Graham Bellamy?"

They scrambled off the dance floor.

As they exited, Camille glanced up. Elliot and his mysterious friend watched them with undisguised interest. She averted her eyes quickly.

Outside, she answered with trembling fingers. "Mr. Bellamy."

"Pick me up tomorrow. Noon sharp." The line went dead.

She stared at her phone. "What just happened?"

Gabriel grabbed her shoulders. "Well?"

"He wants me to drive him somewhere tomorrow."

"No explanation? No 'bring Gabriel too'?" He checked his own phone. "Nothing. The betrayal."

The night air carried the bar's pulsating energy. Despite everything, Camille felt lighter.

She playfully punched Gabriel's arm. "Feeling better?"

"Not until you pay my therapy bills," he grumbled.

"Put it on my tab."