Kamille’s POV

It had been more than a week since I arrived in London. I had applied for work at several weather forecasting stations, but most of the lucrative offers demanded more than I could give. I still needed to be around my kids.

I landed a couple of freelance gigs, but I wanted something more worthwhile. Last night, I refreshed my emails, hoping to see something—anything—and to my amazement, I found an invitation to an interview based on a recommendation. The job offer was quite to my liking: remote, great pay, and lots of incentives.

Jackpot!

As I meticulously prepared, my mind wandered. I wondered who my recommender was. The person must have been high-ranking to recommend me to such an outstanding company. The offer was top-notch—almost too good to be true. The prospect of a remote job was particularly appealing, as it would allow the flexibility I needed to be there for my kids while still working on the Manor’s case.

Whew!

I dressed in black pants and a sky-blue chiffon blouse. The humid London weather prompted me to add a black coat. I flagged down a taxi and got in.

As I approached the interview room, my nerves threatened to betray me, but I refused to let them win. I took deep breaths, smiled, and walked in.

“Good morning, sirs. Good morning, ma’am,” I greeted the three-person interview panel confidently. The woman smiled and returned my greeting; the men nodded.

“Have a seat, Miss Kamille,” said the petite blonde woman, Mrs. Cara Woodson.

I sat down. They began the standard question-and-answer session, and I answered eloquently.

“Thank you, Miss Kamille. Can we see more samples of your work?” asked Mr. Phillips (his name tag identified him).

“Definitely, sir,” I replied, proudly presenting my work. The tension seemed to dissipate, replaced by mutual respect and appreciation.

“Now, this is a great job you’ve put together,” exclaimed Mr. Wilson.

“I must add, Miss Kamille,” Mr. Phillips added with a wry smile, “we were hesitant when you were recommended. We checked your resume and saw you were open to a remote job, while we needed someone in the office more often. But we decided to give you a try, on the strength of your recommendation. You aced it.”

“Thank you, sir,” I smiled.

“We’ll send you a contract by the end of the day. Please read, sign, and return it. You can start next week,” said Mrs. Cara.

“And you’ll need to come to the office bi-weekly. Is that acceptable?” Mr. Wilson asked.

“Yes, sir. Definitely,” I replied. I had a nanny now, so bi-weekly office visits wouldn’t be a problem.

As the interview ended, a nagging curiosity remained. Who had recommended me?

“Please excuse me, ma’am,” I said to Mrs. Cara as she was leaving. “I’d very much like to know who recommended me. I’d be most grateful.”

“Oh, Miss Kamille, he chose to remain anonymous. I’m sorry, I can’t give you that information,” she said politely, smiling and leaving.

Who the hell was this person? And why the anonymity? I couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this story.

My mind began piecing things together. The anonymous benefactor who had left a generous sum of money after the devastating accident four years ago had also chosen to remain anonymous. Could it be the same person? Does he know who I am?

It had to be.

I decided to put aside the disturbing thoughts and celebrate getting the job. It was suited for a full-time employee, but the company had made it remote for me.

I texted Amanda and Belle with the good news. They replied with congratulations and suggestions that I treat them. I giggled at their requests. I definitely would.

Lost in thought, I left the interview room and building. I started walking toward the exit, but a presence stopped me.

I looked up and met a familiar gaze. My heart pounded. The person I most wanted to avoid was only a few feet away.

What the fuck was he doing here? Why couldn’t he just stay out of my life?

I averted my gaze and continued toward where I could hail a taxi. I understood this was a big company, but why did I have to meet Zeke here? Why today?

Just as I walked past him, his strong, warm hands gently grasped my arm, sending a jolt of electricity through me as he spun me around. His arms pulled me into an embrace.

He sure had some nerve.

I struggled to find my voice, shocked to see him. “Zeke? What are you doing here? Let me go; we’re in public,” I whined weakly, but he didn’t move.

I couldn’t understand my emotions. We were entangled in a public embrace; he was a public figure; I was supposed to be dead; we could be recognized; and worst of all, we were attracting attention. My ears burned with embarrassment.

“Kamille,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, “we need to talk.”

I stood there, locked in his embrace. My heartbeat doubled, my breathing erratic. He was too close. I hated that he had this effect on me.

But I loved the feeling nonetheless.