"Both," Camille admitted, her voice softer than usual. "But mostly because I want us to be friends."
The honesty in her eyes made me relax a little. At least she wasn't completely using me.
"There's something else I wanted to talk to you about," she continued, fidgeting with the clasp of her designer purse. "But maybe not here. Let's wait until we're at the boutique."
My curiosity piqued, but I nodded. The rest of the drive passed with Camille chattering about the gala, her classes, and how annoying it was to have bodyguards everywhere. I tried to ignore the strange sensation of being followed by the security SUV behind us.
When we finally reached the upscale shopping district, James dropped us off at the entrance of an exclusive row of boutiques. The storefronts gleamed with polished marble and glass, mannequins draped in clothing that probably cost more than my tuition.