Chapter 19 A good Chase
“You daydreaming about the Ice Queen again?” Zain whispered, nudging Camille’s arm lightly with his elbow.
Camille stiffened, her shoulders tightening before she could stop herself. The warmth of his touch made her flinch. She immediately regretted ever mentioning Holland to him on the drive over. Zain had no sense of discretion, and from the way Ava, Belle, and Luca were all glued to their phones, glancing up every so often with faint, mischievous smiles, Camille had a sinking feeling they already knew. He must’ve told them.
“Is she the one stuck in your head?” Zain pressed, eyes gleaming with mischief, leaning slightly closer as if he were reading her mind.
“What? No. Shut up, Zain.” Camille blinked hard, hoping sheer dismissal could erase the flush creeping up her neck. She rolled her eyes, willing the heat to disappear.
“She totally is,” Belle chimed in, finally looking up from her phone with a grin that was all teeth. “You’ve been zoning out since we got here. Even Mandy’s weak flirting can’t snap you out of it.”
Camille groaned, hiding her face behind her drink. She took a long sip, letting the cool liquid wash over her tongue to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks. “She’s just not my type. And will you keep it down? I work with these people.” Her words were firmer than she intended, sharper, but she didn’t retract them.
“Right,” Ava said, finally setting her phone aside, her brows lifting in subtle amusement. “But let’s get this straight. She’s gorgeous, well-dressed, older, and clearly into you. How is that not your type?”
“She’s too polished, guys,” Camille muttered, setting her glass carefully back on the table. Her fingers tapped absently against the rim. “Like she’s always in character. I like people who know how to relax. Who don’t take everything so seriously. I just don’t get that vibe from her.”
“You mean people like us,” Luca cut in, raising his glass with a smug little grin.
“Exactly,” Camille admitted, allowing a half-smile to flicker across her lips.
Her gaze drifted then, unbidden, across the bar. Mandy had moved away from their table, her slim frame angled toward a tall man whose name Camille hadn’t caught earlier. She laughed at something he said, the sound easy, practiced, and polished, perfectly at home in the glossy, crowded setting. Wine glass in hand, she tilted her head slightly, posture poised and precise. Every movement measured, fluid, deliberate.
The distance gave Camille a chance to breathe. She liked Mandy, she was sweet, kind even, but too sweet. Persistent. Calculated. The attention felt neat, predictable and honestly, boring. It didn’t ignite anything inside her beyond mild flattery. Manufactured charm couldn’t hold her interest, not the way something else had been creeping into her thoughts all week. Something entirely different, and far more complicated. She liked a good chase, and she'd been doing so this past week.
Belle leaned across the table, breaking her reverie. “Now that we believe you actually have a job, how’s it going? Surviving the land of adulting?”
Camille smirked, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly as she leaned back. “It’s work. Annoying meetings, long hours, endless reports. Mostly just making sure everything runs smoothly for the Chief. But somehow… I’m good at it. Which is weird.”
Zain grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Do they know they hired someone who once handed in a college essay in haiku form because she forgot the deadline?”
“They’re learning,” Camille shot back, flat but with a corner of her mouth curling despite herself.
Laughter rippled around the table, breaking the lingering tension. Camille found herself laughing too, swept up in the familiar warmth of old stories. They teased her about getting banned from the office coffee machine or accidentally setting off the fire alarm reheating fries in the toaster oven. The banter wrapped around her like a familiar cloak, shielding her from the expectations outside their bubble.
Voices dipped lower, softer, until the small huddle they had created felt like its own world. Even when other colleagues tried to draw them back into the larger conversation, the group stayed tucked into its sphere. It was them against the noise, always had been.
“So, what’s the deal with Mandy?” Luca asked suddenly, circling back as if she hadn’t just dismissed the topic minutes before.
Camille groaned, dragging her eyes down to the nearly melted ice in her glass. The drink had lost its appeal; she barely wanted it anymore. “Not decided yet. I just… feel something’s off.”
“Like what?” Ava asked, though her tone suggested she already suspected the answer.
“Depth,” Camille said finally. “Surprise. Bite. Everything about her feels rehearsed. Like she’s saying exactly what she thinks I want to hear.”
Belle tilted her head, watching her carefully. “Bite? Are we still talking about lovely ol’ Mandy here, or is there someone else creeping into your brain?”
Camille pressed her lips into a thin line. She didn’t need to answer. Belle’s grin had already hit too close to the truth. She swallowed and leaned back, wishing Sienna were here to steal attention away, to lighten the tension she couldn’t quite contain.
“Oh, so it’s someone else,” Ava said, voice soft but knowing.
Camille exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the untouched drink before her. “It’s not Mandy. That’s all I’m saying.”
“So who is it then?” Luca pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Who’s got your attention, Cammy?”
A soft laugh escaped Camille, quieter than before. Her voice fell lower, more deliberate. “Someone who doesn’t know how to have fun. Not even a little. At least… not in public.”
Zain let out a low whistle. “So we’re talking about the big bad Chief now? That woman is getting under your skin, Cammy.”
Camille groaned, brushing a hand over her face, wishing she could make the heat in her cheeks vanish. “Don’t call her that.”
Her interest in Holland was something she hadn’t wanted to scrutinize too closely. The woman was frustrating: precise, controlled, distant. But it was those very walls, that cool detachment, that drew Camille in. Holland pushed when she was used to being welcomed. She held back when Camille expected access. That unfamiliar distance… it gnawed at her, unrelenting.
“But that’s what she is,” Belle said with a teasing lilt. “Your stone-cold boss. The one and only woman who’s ever turned you down and somehow made you feel like you owed her an apology.”
Camille’s pulse jumped. “I don’t owe her anything,” she shot back too quickly. The force behind the words startled even her. Her fingers drummed against the glass in quiet rhythm, masking the warmth spreading across her neck. “She’s just… complicated.”
Belle didn’t look convinced, but her smirk widened. “Here’s to complicated.”
Glasses clinked lightly, laughter still humming beneath the surface.
Camille’s gaze drifted back to Mandy. She remained across the room, laughing lightly, graceful and poised among those who matched her energy. She fit seamlessly into the scene, and Camille knew she didn’t.
The realization struck, clear and undeniable. She wasn’t meant for this scene, this gloss, this ease. Not the way Mandy was.
Luca stood first, stretching until his hoodie rode up slightly. “Alright, this place is dead. Let’s go somewhere that actually plays real music and doesn’t smell like furniture polish.”
“Agreed,” Zain said, already pulling out his phone to reserve their usual table at Club Konnekt. “My ears are begging for volume.”
The others rose, gathering jackets and bags, buzzing with anticipation. Camille slid into her leather jacket, the worn fabric familiar and comforting against her skin. Her eyes flicked one last time to Mandy. She hadn’t looked over. She hadn’t noticed their departure.
Camille didn’t feel a sting of disappointment.
There was no spark, no tension, no pull. Just a surface-level connection that didn’t excite her. Tonight, she didn’t want polite.
“Let’s bounce,” she said simply.
The group spilled out into the night, the city air crisp and charged, laughter mingling with the hum of distant traffic. Freedom, noise, and something entirely theirs waited a few blocks away.
For the first time that evening, the tightness in Camille’s chest eased. Not because of the drinks. Not because of the company.
Because she’d finally admitted the truth, even if hidden in jokes.
She wasn’t thinking about Mandy. Or the easy roll in the hay she could have gotten from the woman.
She was thinking about Holland.
And that thought lingered, quiet but persistent, long after the bar
disappeared behind them, tugging at her mind with an insistence that was impossible to ignore.