Page 7 of The Don's Virgin Obsession
Same calm face.
Same measured way of listening.
Same untouched energy she used to walk around with when she was younger, moving through Los Angeles as if none of it could get on her if she didn’t let it.
Most women changed in the land.
That was the point of the city.
It sold reinvention to people too weak to stay who they were.
Sade had never seemed interested.
Camille was still talking. I caught the end of a sentence about Cabo and some designer I did not care about.
I gave her just enough attention to keep the night moving.
“What do you do again?” I asked out of the blue.
She straightened. “I do luxury brand consulting.”
“For who?”
“A few people.”
“Name one.”
She smiled and looked down at her drink. “You interview everybody this hard?”
“Remember, I’m taking applications.”
She took another sip and bought herself time. “I just mean, you know, I work around a lot of people. Different clients.”
“That ain’t what I asked.”
Her smile stayed in place, but her eyes shifted. “You’re intense.”
“You’re vague.”
“I consult for beauty brands, nightlife brands. Stuff like that.”
“What does consulting mean?”
“It means I help them shape their image.”
“How?”
That was where she started fumbling for real.
“Well, you know, strategy. Marketing. Connections.”
“Whose?”
She sat back. “Why do it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “I was just seeing if you knew what you did, and you don’t.”
That should have offended her. Instead, it made her grin, because some women mistook precision for flirtation.
