The billionaire's Accidental Fiancee

Camille Whitfield had made exactly three mistakes in her life. The first was believing Murphy Scott when he said he loved her. The second was spending her entire paycheck on a surprise Valentine's Day trip to see him. The third, and this one was happening right now …. was standing in the middle of the Rosewood Hotel's Valentine's gala watching Murphy feed chocolate-covered strawberries to a woman who was very much not her. 'Well,' Camille thought, standing frozen in her casual jeans and hoodie while everyone around her sparkled in cocktail dresses, 'at least I look appropriately devastated for the occasion.' Murphy hadn't seen her yet. He was too busy laughing at something the woman said, a tall, beautiful brunette in a red dress that probably cost more than Camille's entire wardrobe. They were seated at a table near the dance floor, surrounded by other couples doing that insufferable Valentine's Day thing where they gazed into each other's eyes like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Camille had traveled four hours to surprise him. She'd told herself the whole way that it was romantic. That Murphy would be thrilled. That this was the kind of thing people did when they were in love. The universe, apparently, had a sense of humor. She must have made a sound, or maybe she just stood there long enough to become noticeable because Murphy finally looked up. His face did something complicated. Surprise, then guilt, then something that looked almost like annoyance, as if Camille had interrupted something important by showing up unannounced to the city where he lived. "Camille?" He stood up, nearly knocking over his wine glass. "What are you…" "Surprise," she said flatly. The woman in the red dress looked between them with the dawning comprehension of someone who had just realized she was in a drama she hadn't auditioned for. "Murphy, who is this?" "I'm his girlfriend," Camille said pleasantly. Then she looked at Murphy. "Or I was. I'm honestly not sure what the present tense situation is." Murphy's face flushed. "Camille, this isn't…" "Let me guess. Camille cut in. It's not what it looks like?" "We need to talk. Privately." He reached for her arm. She stepped back. "No, I think we're good here. Publicly is fine." The woman in red stood up. She was taller than Camille by at least four inches, even without the heels, and she had the kind of face that probably looked good even when she woke up. Right now, she looked annoyed. "You're the high school girlfriend," she said, in the tone of someone identifying a mildly interesting historical artifact. "Murphy mentioned you." Camille raised an eyebrow. "Did he mention me while you were planning this romantic Valentine's dinner, or was that a separate conversation?" The woman's expression sharpened. "Look, I don't know what you think is happening here…." "I think," Camille said, "that Murphy has been dating both of us. Which is impressive, honestly, given that he can barely remember to charge his phone." Murphy made a sound that might have been protest. "It's not like that. Amanda and I…" "Amanda," Camille repeated. "Great. Now she has a name. This is going so well." "You're being childish," Amanda said coldly. "I'm twenty-three. I'm allowed to be childish." Camille crossed her arms. "What's your excuse?" Murphy stepped between them, hands raised like he was negotiating a hostage situation. "Okay. Everyone calm down. Camille, you and I haven't been serious for a while…" "We've been together for five years." "Long distance for two of those," he countered. "And you've been so focused on your internship and your gaming thing with that guy…" "Jonas is my friend." "…. that I didn't think you'd even notice if I…" He stopped. Reconsidered. "I mean…." "If you what?" Camille said quietly. "Started dating someone else? Is that the end of that sentence?" The silence that followed was extremely loud. Murphy had the decency to look uncomfortable. Amanda looked like she was reconsidering several life choices. And Camille felt the exact moment her heart finished breaking and decided to just be angry instead. It was actually kind of freeing. "You know what?" she said. "You're right. I've been so busy with my life that I didn't notice you're a cheating asshole. That's on me." She looked at Amanda. "He's all yours. Congratulations." She turned to walk away. "That's it?" Amanda called after her. "You're just going to leave?" Camille stopped. Turned around. "What do you want me to do? Fight you for him?" "I want you to admit that you weren't enough for him." Amanda's voice had gone sharp and mean. "That he needed someone better. Someone who could actually…." "Amanda," Murphy said, looking genuinely alarmed now. "Don't…" But Camille was already smiling. It was not a nice smile. "You know what?" she said. "You're absolutely right. I wasn't enough for him. Which is why…" She looked around the gala. Her eyes landed on a man across the room, standing alone near the bar. Tall, dark suit, the kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover. He looked expensive and bored and exactly like the kind of person who would make Murphy feel extremely inadequate. 'This is a terrible idea,' she thought. She started walking toward him anyway. “Hey there, handsome. Could I borrow you for a sec?” The man frowned. Before he could reply, Camille grabbed the his tie, pulled it downward and tiptoed to kissed him. It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't tentative. It was the kind of kiss designed to be seen from across a room — firm, deliberate, and entirely unexpected. When Camille pulled away, she was smiling, bright and victorious and completely unrepentant. Then she spun to Murphy. “See? I can do better.” Murphy was standing exactly where she'd left him. His face had gone a deep, satisfying red. The woman in red had stopped smiling. "Thanks for your help, mister," she said cheerfully. "You're a lifesaver." With that, she turned around to leave, but the handsome man grabbed her wrist. She turned and looked down at his hand, then up at his face with mild surprise. "Are you serious?" he said, his voice low and sharp. "You just kissed me without my consent and you're just going to walk away?" She blinked at him innocently. "Yes?" "'Yes'?" he repeated. "I mean…" She looked genuinely confused. "What was I supposed to do?" He stared at her. She stared back with those wide, innocent eyes that were absolutely not as innocent as they pretended to be. 'What kind of person just…' he thought, and couldn't even finish the sentence. "You can't just kiss strangers," he said tightly. "I just did though." She glanced at his hand still wrapped around her wrist. "Are you going to let me go, or...?" "Sir." An older man had reappeared at his side, slightly breathless. He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "I just got word from Miss Richwood's assistant. She's canceling. She's not coming." The handsome man, Brent Sterling, went very still. "What?" Brent asked in disbelief. “She said something came up. She apologizes for the inconvenience.” Brent’s jaw tightened. He released the Camille’s wrist and pulled out his phone. Sure enough, there was a text from Lilian. Lilian: So sorry, something urgent came up. Rain check? xx Something urgent. After thirty minutes of "traffic" texts. After insisting he attend this event. His phone rang. His father's name appeared on the screen. 'Perfect,' he thought grimly. 'Absolutely perfect.' He answered. "Father." "Brent. Where are you with this engagement situation? I've scheduled my surgery for next week, but only if…" "I'm working on it." "Working on it isn't married. The deadline is…." "I'm aware of the deadline." He looked up. The mysterious girl had taken his distraction as an opportunity to flee. She was already halfway to the exit, moving quickly through the crowd. He watched her disappear through the doors. His father was still talking in his ear. Something about responsibility and family legacy and grandchildren. Brent ended the call. "Sir?" His personal assistant, Matthew, ventured carefully. "Find out everything you can about that woman," Brent said. Matthew blinked. "The one who just…" "Yes." "May I ask why?" Brent didn't have a good answer for that. He just knew that in the span of five minutes, a complete stranger had kissed him without permission, thanked him cheerfully, and walked away like it was the most normal thing in the world. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a deeply irrational thought was forming.