Chapter 22 Fire Her
Holland sat in her car longer than she meant to, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel as her mind replayed the night before. The quiet hum of the building’s air vents faint against the silence, sighing, Holland leaned back against the seat, and stared through the windshield without really seeing.
Her phone, tucked inside her bag, had been mercifully quiet all morning. No late-night apologies. No explanation. Just silence from the Lustrelle girl.
She thought back to the call. Camille’s voice had been slurred, and bold, far too bold. The words had landed like sparks against dry kindling, unwelcome and dangerous. Holland’s first instinct had been sharp, the Lustrelle girl was a liability, and liabilities were cut out before they became a problem. She had half a mind to fire her for it. No matter how charming, no matter how apologetic Camille might be come Monday, the boundary had been crossed, and Holland could not allow herself to run an office where lines blurred that easily.
But even as she thought of it, her mind stalled, and with that came the guilt. She had promised Mrs. Lustrelle. Three months, that was what they agreed. Enough time for Camille to find her footing, and grow into the family business.
And if she was being honest, she had been impressed this past few days. Camille wasn’t a polished assistant, not even close, but she was trying. She had been learning quickly, adapting, and showing a drive Holland hadn’t expected. That kind of persistence was rare.
Still, last night should never have happened. The memory of the call lingered like smoke.
Holland shook her head as if she could push the thoughts away. She reached for her coffee cup in the center console and grabbed her structured leather bag with her other hand. Stepping out of the car, the cool Saturday morning air met her face, crisp and refreshing.
The parking lot was quiet, only a few other cars scattered across the spaces. Saturdays weren’t for everyone, but Holland preferred them. Fewer interruptions, fewer eyes. She could dig into the work without constant calls or meetings. She planned to stay until seven, then maybe drive aimlessly for a while before heading home. Better than dealing with Oliver’s complaints about how little time she gave him.
At least he had been asleep when she slipped out this morning.Inside the building, the lobby was quiet, the hum of lights echoing faintly against polished marble. Holland stepped into the elevator, balancing her coffee cup in one hand while she pressed the button for her floor.
She took a sip and immediately grimaced. The coffee had gone flat, the bitterness sitting heavy on her tongue.She hated lukewarm coffee. Even worse, she hated wasting her money. By now, she should have finished the cup and already been working on a second one. Instead, her mind was caught in a loop, those words from last night repeating and mocking her every second.
The elevator carried her upward, humming softly. She pulled her phone free, scrolling through the endless line of emails. Her inbox was already full despite the weekend, but that was nothing new. She skimmed through flagged items, mentally sorting what would need her attention first.
The doors slid open with a soft chime, and Holland stepped onto her floor. A handful of familiar faces looked up as she passed. She nodded in acknowledgment, her expression calm and collected. She liked seeing others working on a weekend. Diligence mattered to her, and she believed in leading by example.
Stalking forward, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, Holland’s gaze drifted instinctively to the desk outside her office. Empty, of course. She had known it would be. There was no way Camille Lustrelle, after the state she had been in last night, could possibly drag herself into work today. Holland slowed for a second, letting the confirmation sink in. A small flicker of pride stirred in her chest at being right. She had judged correctly, as she always did.
Pushing the glass door open, Holland stepped into her office, the familiar scent of paper and faint wood polish greeting her like it always did. She set her bag down carefully on the side table and lowered herself into her chair, the leather cool against her back. Rolling her shoulders once, she tried to ease the stiffness that had built up during her drive and the restless thoughts before it.
The tension she’d been carrying, began to fade with every passing second in the quiet room. She told herself there was no reason for her to feel this way. How could she face her? No, why was she even thinking like that? It wasn’t her fault. It had never been her fault. Camille was the one who had crossed the line, who should be the one unnerved by her presence. Not the other way around. Holland was never the one unsettled.
“Stop!” Holland muttered to herself, sharper this time. She reached forward, pressing the button, and the monitor of her desktop flickered to life, followed a moment later by the softer glow of her laptop beside it. The screen’s light filled the office, pulling her back into routine.
Leaning back, she stretched her arm toward the stack of papers she had left neatly arranged on top of the cabinet. She had planned to finish this yesterday, but instead, she had chosen to leave early. The reason why lingered too close in her thoughts. No, she couldn’t let herself go there. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t keep letting Camille Lustrelle creep into her mind, affecting her focus, her judgment, her ability to make sound decisions.
“Stop,” she said again, quieter, forcing the word past her lips as though it would root her in control.
She bent forward, pencil in hand, and began working with quick, precise strokes, cross-checking notes, comparing spreadsheets, lining up numbers that had to be exact. The rhythm steadied her, the simple order of the task settling something restless inside her chest. But her eyes strayed, again and again, toward the desk outside. Empty. Silent.
Her pencil tapped against the paper, a steady click that betrayed the thoughts she was still trying to push away. Was Camille even awake? Had she made it home without stumbling into trouble? The questions slipped in before Holland could stop them. She pressed them back down, jaw tightening. They were not her concern. Boundaries mattered. The call last night had crossed one, and she would address it on Monday. Firmly. Directly.
A knock, light but clear, broke the quiet. Holland’s head snapped up, and the pencil slipped from her fingers, rolling toward the edge of the desk before dropping soundlessly to the carpet. Her chest tightened. For a beat, she wondered if she had summoned Camille Lustrelle with thought alone. No. Impossible.
The door eased open, slow and quiet. And there she was. Camille. Standing by her doorway, framed by the soft spill of morning light. How was she even here? She was balancing a tray in her hands, her usual coffee mug resting beside a small container. The light caught her dark hair, turning it glossy, and her eyes shone, alert, and far brighter than Holland expected after last night.
Her assistant's outfit was casual, but put together. Dark fitted pants that lengthened her frame, heeled boots clicking softly as she crossed the floor, and a loose caramel-toned sweater that hung just right. It was effortless. Chic without trying.
Holland’s breath caught before she could stop it.
“Morning, Chief,” Camille said cheerfully, her tone warm and unbothered. She moved around the desk with easy confidence, as if she’d done it a hundred times, and set the mug and container neatly in front of Holland. “I hope you haven’t already had a big breakfast. I picked these just for you.”
Her grin was playful, her words light.
Holland’s gaze flicked to the coffee, then to the container, then back to Camille. Why was she acting like this? How could she be so calm after what she’d said last night? The sweet scent of sugar reached her, the glaze catching the light in a faint shine. Her stomach growled, low and insistent, giving her away.
She hadn’t eaten before leaving home, slipping out before Oliver could wake and sour her morning with demands. The only thing she’d managed was the bitter coffee now sitting uselessly on her desk, lukewarm and unappealing.
The aroma from the fresh mug Camille brought curled into the air, richer, warmer, sharper than the lukewarm mess Holland had abandoned earlier. It wrapped around her senses, pulling at her attention in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. Her throat tightened.
She lifted her gaze again. Camille stood there, silent and bright, her dark eyes glistening, her expression open and unbothered. How was she here? How was she not curled up in bed, nursing a headache the size of last night’s drunken call?
The silence stretched, heavy.
Camille broke it easily, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a casual flick of her fingers. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me, Chief.”
Her voice was smooth, her grin playful, as if nothing had happened at all. She turned without waiting for a response, her heeled boots clicking softly against the polished floor as she crossed the office. The door closing behind Camille with a muted click.
Holland stared at the mug and the container in front of her, her hand hovering halfway before retreating back into her lap. The rich aroma taunted her, sharper now that the room was quiet again. Her stomach twisted, hunger clawing at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for it.
Her pulse hadn’t slowed.
Not after seeing her like that. Not after last night.
She leaned back in her chair, forcing her eyes toward the stack of papers waiting for her attention. Work was safe. Work made sense. But the steady thrum under her skin told her the truth she didn’t want to face, Camille Lustrelle was slipping past her defenses, and Holland wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend otherwise.