Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 9 - Paparazzi

My Camille? Sorry? Sorry for what? The questions are ringing in my mine, even when I wake up the next morning. For once in my life, I've slept late. I find Oren and Alisa in our suite's kitchen talking softly.
Too softly for me to hear.

"Camille." Oren notices me first. I wonder if he's told Alisa about Grayson. "There are some security protocols I'd like to go over with you."

Like not opening doors to Grayson Hawthorne?

"You're a target now," Alisa tells me crisply.

Given that she's been so insistent that the Hawthornes aren't a threat, I have to ask: "A target for what?"

"Paparazzi, of course. The firm is keeping a lid on the story for the time being, but that won't last, and there are other concerns."

"Kidnapping." Oren doesn't put any particular emphasis on that word. "Stalking. People will make threats— they always do. You're young, and you're female, and that will make it worse. With your sisters permissions, I'll arrange a detail for them as well, as soon as they get here."

Kidnapping. Stalking. Threats. "This is just going to be great, isn't it," I mutter and scoff.

"We sent Libby to retrieve your and Avery's things, as well as her own."

My blood freezes. "Wait, what? No. I don't want that."

Alisa looks at me like I'm crazy. "And why is that?"

I can't tell her. I can't tell anyone. "Let her get Avery's things, but no one gets to touch mine except for me or Aisha. Is that clear?"

She exchanges a glance with Oren. "Who's Aisha?"

"My friend."

"Well," she says. "Given the deadline for your move into Hawthorne House— and the stakes— we thought it best that you two remain here. Ideally, we'll have you moved in no later than tonight. Can your friend get your stuff to you somehow?"

That is actually not a bad idea. And I'd get to see her again. "She might."

"The second this news gets out," Oren says seriously, "you will be on the cover of every newspaper. You'll be the leading story on every newscast, the number one trending topic on all social media. To some people, you'll be Cinderella. To others, Marie Antoinette."

For the first time, I notice the gun holstered to Oren's side.

"It's best you sit tight," Oren says evenly. "Your sister should be back tonight— I'll have her notified about the change of plans."

"Thank you," I murmur, but my head is already somewhere else.

"Camille? I was looking for you everywhere!" Avery stands in my doorframe, arms crossed with an accusatory look.

"I'm sorry, lovely. I had to talk to Oren about some things. Where were you?"

Her eyes light up and she sits down at the desk next to me. "I went swimming in the indoor pool."

"There's an indoor pool?"

"Mhm. You'd love it," she says and nudges me. "What are you even doing?"

"Nothing you should worry about," I say and look at the pile of papers Alisa has me going through. "Are you gonna be okay while I finish this paperwork?"

"Yeah, sure." She throws one last glance at me. "We're gonna have to talk about this much more, don't we?"

I sigh. "Yeah. This is unreal. I can't process everything right now."

"Me too. Goodluck, Camille. I love you."

"I love you, Ave."

C. R. D. - M. L. T.

I quit my job. I quit Avery's job. Alisa takes care of withdrawing me and Avery from school.

"What about my car?" I ask.

"Oren will be driving you for the foreseeable future, but we can have your vehicle shipped, if you would like," Alisa offers. "Or you can pick out a new car for personal use."

For all the emphasis she puts on that, you would think she's talking about buying gum at the supermarket.

"Do you prefer sedans or SUVs?" she queries, holding her phone in a way that suggests she is fully capable of ordering a car with a mere click of a button. "Any color preference?"

I blink. "SUVs. I...an SQ7? Black? Is that possible?"

She looks up. "Good taste." And that was it.

Wait. "Alisa," I say. "I can spend money on anything?"

"Technically, yes."

Harry. Bankrolling a place for Harry to stay— and getting him to accept it— won't be easy, but Alisa tells me to consider it handled. That's the world I live in now. All I have to do was speak, and it's handled.

This won't last. It can't. Sooner or later, someone will figure out that this is some kind of screwup. So I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

That is the number one thought on my mind when we go to pick up Libby. As sher stepped out of my private jet, Avery hastes towards her and hugs her. I wonder if I can make Libby's life any easier. Maybe buy her a—

"Libby." Every thought in my head comes screeching to a halt the moment I see her face. Her right eye is bruised and swollen nearly shut. "Oh, my God."

Libby swallows but doesn't avert her eyes. "If you say 'I told you so', I will make butterscotch cupcakes and guilt you into eating them every day."

"Is there a problem I should know about?" Alisa asks Libby, her voice deceptively calm as she eyes the bruise.

"Camille and Avery hate butterscotch," Libby says, like that is the problem.

"Alisa, I grit out, "does your law firm have a hit man on retainer?"

"No." Alisa keeps her tone strictly professional. "But I'm very resourceful. I could make some inquiries."

"I legitimately cannot tell if you are joking," Libby says, and then she turns to me. "I don't want to talk about it. And I'm fine."

"But-" Avery insists.

"T'm fine."

I manage to keep my mouth shut, and all of us manage to make it back to the hotel. The plan is to finish up a few final arrangements and leave immediately for Hawthorne House.

Things do not go exactly according to plan.

"We have a problem." Oren doesn't sound overly bothered, but Alisa immediately puts down her phone. Oren nods to our suite's balcony. Alisa steps outside, looks down, and swears. I push past Oren and go out on the balcony to see what's going on. Down below, outside the hotel's entrance, hotel security guards are struggling with what appears to be a mob. It's not until a flash goes off that I realise what that mob is.

Paparazzi.

And just like that, every camera is pointed up at the balcony.

At me.

"I thought you said your firm had this locked down." Oren gives Alisa a look. She scowls back at him, makes three phone calls in quick succession— two of them in Spanish, which I thankfully am able to understand at least partially, and then turns back to our head of security.

"The leak didn't come from us." Her eyes dart toward Libby. "It came from your boyfriend."

Libby's answer is barely more than a whisper. "My ex."