Free The Book Waitress Series Volume One by Deena Remiel Page B

given the fact she had the very same Mark of the Damned on her?

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Camille looked forward to the lunch meeting with Victor Langdon. After the past few harrowing days transitioning to a new life that now seemed riddled with evil tidings, this kind gesture on his part gave her hope that all may not be lost here.
    He lived on the other side of the island, a good fifteen minute drive away from the heart of the tiny town. As if the island itself wasn’t isolated enough, there were some people who went to great lengths to secure their privacy. Victor seemed to be one of them. A long, winding unnamed road twisted its way up and away from the main road. Flanked on either side by high cement walls cloaked in pine and oak trees, it said to people in no uncertain terms to stay out if you don’t belong.
    Approaching his home rivaled Cinderella’s arrival at the castle. As the gates swung open, she gawked at the sweeping mansion, with its multitude of chimneys rising in splendor atop a slight hill. Victor Langdon came home from wherever to see this view every day. Utterly astounding. The chauffeur stopped at the front entrance with its marble steps leading up to the intricately designed front doors. He got out and opened her door.
    “Here we are, Ms. Dutton. If you’ll please follow me.”
    “Thank you.” She slid from her seat and grabbed her backpack. It wasn’t a matching purse to her outfit, a flowing floral skirt and coral colored tank sweater, but she didn’t live that way, nor could she imagine living like Victor Langdon. Nice place to visit, wouldn’t want to clean it.
    The chauffeur ushered her into the foyer that reminded her of a rotunda in an art museum, and left her to the care of a woman whose heels click-clacked her arrival a good ten seconds before she ever made her appearance. A cloying perfume preceded her, as well. Not surprising, she dressed in a conservative gray suit and wore a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The stiletto heels added enough height to make Camille feel like the small, insignificant child of her youth.
    “Good afternoon, Ms. Dutton. Mr. Langdon is waiting for you on the terrace. Please follow me, won’t you?” Her soft as cashmere voice belied her severe appearance.
    “Are you sure we don’t need a golf cart to get there?”
    “Suit Lady” plastered a smile on her face but said nothing. Instead, she continued to guide her through a formal living space accented with crystal chandeliers and objects d’art, a monstrous state of the art kitchen, which teased her nose with wonderful Italian aromas, and finally, to the back terrace overlooking the lake.
    “Here we are. Now, I just want to warn you,” she said in a hushed tone. “Mr. Langdon has some appreciable scars on his face from a camping accident recently. Please don’t be alarmed.”
    “Okay, thanks for the heads up.” She didn’t recall seeing photos of him with scars in the Forbes magazine, nor could she picture the page where he might have talked about it. Were they that bad as to have needed a warning? She took a deep breath and sighed. She hadn’t been anxious before, but now? Now her clammy hands testified to her nerves getting the better of her.
    “Mr. Langdon?” The tycoon, impressive in stature, with thick silver hair, turned when beckoned, a question on his disfigured face. “Ms. Dutton is here, sir.”
    “Ah, Ms. Dutton.” When he smiled, it looked more like a grimace. “What a pleasure it is to have you here. Please, please. Come and sit down. Maritha has set us a fabulous array of delights to aid our discussion of library matters.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Langdon. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t need to do an internet search to know who you were. I read an expose on you a ways back in Forbes magazine. I think it’s wonderful that you’re the president of the Library Board here considering you’re multi-billionaire with real estate holdings on