Victoria Pade - To Catch a Camden

“Then donate a lot of money. Anonymously, or they won’t take it.”

He inclined his head as if that might be a good solution but he just couldn’t accept it. “We don’t want to just throw some money at the problem. We want to find out what all of the problems are and lend a hand getting them addressed in the best way possible so these people can finish out their lives comfortably, safely and securely.”

“You’re admitting that what your family did way back when caused the problems, and now you have a responsibility to make things right,” Gia surmised.

“We just want to help,” he said, firmly holding that line and acknowledging nothing else.

Gia shook her head. “The Bronsons are in trouble. But they’re proud people. I’ve convinced them to accept help from their friends and neighbors, their church, by assuring them that the help is coming from people they’ve given business to for decades, from the same people they’ve helped in the past or would help if the need arose even now and they could. I’ve promised them that it isn’t charity, it’s people who know and care about them just wanting to do something for them. But they hate you—I’m sorry to be so direct, but that’s just a fact. I know them—they’ll think that anything you do will have an ulterior motive. If they know you’re behind a dime, they won’t take it.”

“Maybe you can persuade them to,” he proposed.

“I don’t know how I’d do that.”

“I’ll bet you can think of a way...” he said pointedly.

“You do owe them,” Gia said matter-of-factly because it was true. And even though she knew how the Bronsons would feel about accepting anything from the Camdens, she also knew that they were in need of more help than what her efforts were producing. The Camdens’ assistance could go much further in solving the elderly couple’s problems.

“Maybe you could introduce me as a friend of yours and leave out the part about me being a Camden.”

“They’d recognize you. They might not know exactly which Camden you are, but they follow your family like fans follow celebrities, begrudging you every step of the way. And they might be old, but mentally, they’re both sharp as tacks. Nothing gets by them, and you wouldn’t, either.” With another glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was looking in this direction, Gia added, “And really, I want you to leave before they spot you.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said then, but he did step one step higher, which made him tower above Gia even more. “So how about I leave it to you to convince them to accept my help?”

He reached into his shirt pocket with his free hand and pulled out a business card. “All my numbers are on that.”

Gia accepted the card.

“If I don’t hear from you, you’ll have me knocking on your door—don’t forget you already told me that you live next to the Bronsons.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Gia said, knowing full well that she had to do what she could to convince Larry and Marion, because the Camdens—no matter how despicable—still had the kind of resources the Bronsons needed.

“I’m relying on you anyway,” he said, investing her with the responsibility despite her hedging.

“I’ll do what I can if you just go!”

He grinned again and took another step up. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said as he did, “you’re the prettiest bouncer I’ve ever been ousted by.”

“As if a Camden has ever been kicked out of anyplace,” Gia countered.

“You might be surprised.”

“Just go!” she said, trying not to think that he was lingering in order to stare at her—which was how it appeared, because his beautiful blue eyes seemed to be taking in every inch of her and his expression said he was enjoying the view.

“Get back to me soon or I’ll come for you...” he threatened in a way that didn’t sound as if they were still talking about helping the Bronsons.

“No promises,” Gia repeated firmly to let him know he wasn’t wearing her down.

But he was. Just a tiny bit.

Enough so that, as she turned from the sight of him backing up the rest of the steps so he could go on studying her, she felt a smile come to the corners of her mouth.

Because although she had no idea why, just the way Derek Camden looked at her made her feel better about herself than the dinner invitation from the minister had.

Chapter Two

“Georgie! You feisty little beanbag, where are you?” Derek called when he went into his grandmother’s house midmorning on Tuesday.

“She’s in the greenhouse.”

“Oh, hey, Jonah. Hey, Louie. I didn’t see you guys up there.”

Jonah Morrison—Derek’s grandmother’s old high school sweetheart and new husband since their wedding in June—seemed to be working on something on the stairs. Louie Haliburton—the male half of the married couple who had worked for the family as live-in staff for decades—was helping him.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked the two older men.

“Fixing the banister,” Louie answered.

“Or trying to,” Jonah added.

“Need help?” Derek offered, even though he was in the midst of his workday and had only stopped by on his way back from a meeting with Camden Incorporated’s bankers in his capacity as chief financial officer.

“Nah, we can handle it,” Louie assured.

“I’ll head for the greenhouse, then. Holler if you change your minds.”

Derek went across the wide entryway, down the hallway that led straight to the kitchen. There he found Louie’s wife, Margaret.

“Hey, Maggie-May,” he greeted the stocky woman, who was old enough for retirement but was still on her hands and knees cleaning one of the ovens.

“Derek! Did we expect you today?”

He leaned over and kissed her rosy cheek. “Nope. Just stopped by to talk to Georgie.”

“She’s in the greenhouse.”

“So I heard. That’s where I’m headed.”

“Staying for lunch?”

“Can’t. Have to get back to the office. I only have a few minutes.” He went through the kitchen to the greenhouse, where his grandmother was watering her prize orchids.

“Georgie...don’t let me scare you...” he said in a mellow tone once he got there, because his grandmother’s back was to him and he didn’t want to startle the seventy-five-year-old.

Georgianna Camden was the matriarch of the Camden family, the woman who had raised all ten of her grandchildren after the plane crash that killed their parents and her husband. The rest of the family called her GiGi. Derek had always affectionately called her Georgie.

“As if I didn’t hear you shouting from the doorway,” his grandmother said, turning off the water.

He crossed the greenhouse to kiss her cheek, too, putting an arm around the shoulders that—like the rest of her—felt as cushy as a beanbag chair.

He gave her a little squeeze before letting her go. “I’m on my way back to the office, but I thought I’d stop for a few minutes to tell you that I went to that church your friend belongs to last night—”

“Jean didn’t see you. I talked to her this morning.”

“Checking up on me?” he asked with a laugh. “I went but I didn’t get in. Some hot little number named Gia Grant caught me at the foot of the steps to the basement and wouldn’t let me go any farther.”

“I know that name—Jean can’t say enough good things about her. She doesn’t belong to their church, she’s the Bronsons’ neighbor and—”

“She’s the one behind this deal to help the Bronsons—I know, the guy who cuts my hair told me. But last night she was also the guardian of the gate. Your friend Jean was right about the meeting to organize the work for the Bronsons, but what she didn’t say was that the Bronsons themselves would be at the church. Gia Grant spotted me coming, recognized me somehow and wouldn’t let me out of the stairwell. She said a Camden would ruin the Bronsons’ night.”