Chapter 23 What had she done?
Camille slid into her chair and let out a long breath. Her hands pressed flat against the desk, steadying herself as though the wood could ground her. She didn’t know how she had managed to walk into the office at all, let alone greet her boss and set coffee on her desk without giving herself away. The truth was, she hadn’t greeted the chief at her desk as usual, she hadn’t dared. She had stalled in the kitchen, pretending to fuss with sugar packets just to buy time until the Chief walked past. Only then had she gathered enough nerve to follow, carrying the coffee and donuts like a shield.
Still, the moment she had stepped into Holland’s office, those piercing eyes had found her. They lingered on her longer than they should have, sharp and searching, unreadable. Camille had felt the weight of it deep in her stomach. There had been something in that look, expectation, maybe. Of what, she had no idea.
She scooted closer to her desk, the chair wheels rolling softly across the floor. Her elbows landed on the surface, and she leaned forward, pressing a hand lightly against the side of her head.
“What is it?” she whispered, her voice low, meant only for herself.
The words repeated in her mind like a broken record. What was it? What had she done? What had she said? The question circled without an answer, no matter how many times she asked it.
Her head still throbbed, a dull ache that refused to fade even after the painkiller she had swallowed an hour earlier. The hangover sat stubbornly behind her eyes, pressing at her temples, heavy and uncomfortable. But the headache wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was last night.
Her stomach tightened as the memory flickered back in pieces. There had been drinks, too many. Her friends laughing, teasing, egging her on until her pride couldn’t resist the dare. She remembered fumbling for her phone, her fingers slippery with alcohol. And then… the call.
Her pulse picked up just thinking about it. She had called her boss. In the middle of the night.
What had she said?
She was too tired to think straight. Exhaustion pulled at her, fraying the edges of her memory. She had barely slept. By the time she stumbled into her room, the sky was already pale. Her friends had grumbled as she pushed past them, too drained to answer. It still felt like she had only just dropped her head onto the pillow when her alarm went off at seven.
On a Saturday.
She hated mornings like that. Saturdays were supposed to be slow, sleeping until noon, dragging herself out of bed only when the sunlight was already fading, then planning where the night would lead. That had always been her way, her comfort, and her escape.
But that was the old life.
Things were different now.
“Are you alright?”
The voice pulled her from her thoughts.
Camille blinked and lifted her head. Mandy was standing beside her desk, a soft smile on her face, watching her closely.
Guilt pricked at Camille. She hadn’t said goodbye to Mandy last night. She had slipped away with her friends instead, caught up in their chanting, their noise, their energy. She hadn’t thought about Mandy once after leaving. The place Mandy had chosen had felt too dull for her, too polished, and too quiet. It wasn’t where she or her friends belonged, not really. Mandy had seemed comfortable there, but Camille, she had been itching to go.
“Sorry,” Camille said quickly, her voice low but clear enough to be heard. “About last night. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Something came up.”
Mandy’s laugh was light, easy, like it cost her nothing. She waved a hand as if brushing the moment away. “Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me later, if you like.”
Camille let out a small chuckle, but it didn’t sound right to her own ears. It felt thin, almost hollow, as if her mouth had moved without her heart in it. She could hear the strain in the sound, but Mandy either didn’t notice or chose not to. She kept smiling, her expression open, expectant.
After last night, things felt different. She liked Mandy, yes, and she couldn’t deny the woman’s sex appeal. It was impossible not to notice from the way she dressed, the confidence in her walk, and the easy smile that always seemed timed just right. The allure was there, practically dripping off her. The idea of sleeping with her wasn’t completely off the table, Camille wasn’t blind to Mandy’s charm or the way she carried herself, but it didn’t go beyond that.
She just hoped Mandy wasn’t expecting something deeper, something that hinted at more than a passing thrill. Camille wasn’t in that place, not with her, not with anyone who didn’t make her pulse trip over itself without even trying.
"See you later."
“Sure,” Camille said lightly, brushing it off as she reached for the stack of files on her desk. She let the weight of the papers settle in her hands, grateful for the excuse. “But right now, I need to go through this for the Chief.”
“You should,” Mandy said, nodding as though confirming it for herself. “She seems like she needs them now. She’s been shooting hard stares our way.”
Camille’s head turned, her eyes drifting toward the glass wall of Holland’s office. Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t find piercing eyes locked on her like she feared, just her boss, bent over her work, the lines of her posture fixed and focused.
Her gaze dropped lower, toward the desk inside the office. The container she had carried in earlier sat open. The sight made something flicker through her chest. That was a good sign.
It was always the same with Holland. Even when she insisted she didn’t want what she brought her, even when she dismissed it with that clipped voice, she ended up eating every last bite. Every sip gone. Always stubborn, and always pretending she hadn’t wanted it in the first place.
A smile tugged at Camille’s lips before she could stop it. She leaned back slightly, letting her eyes linger on the woman, watching the way her boss moved, head bent, papers spread in front of her. For a brief moment, it felt safe to look, to take in the shape of her, the keen lines, the quiet control.
She may have looked too long, because the next moment, Holland’s gaze had lifted, snapping up from her work with precision. Sharp. Direct. Piercing. Landing on Camille like a strike, and pinning her right where she sat.
Camille swallowed hard, her throat tight. A sudden hiccup slipped out before she could stop it, small and embarrassing in the quiet. She dropped her eyes quickly, heat rushing up her neck like a warning flare. When she dared a glance to her side again, Mandy was gone. Relief washed through her, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. She hadn't wanted anyone to witness that.
Reaching for her bottle of water on her desk, Camille twisted the cap with shaky fingers. Tilting it back, she took a long swallow, hoping the cool rush would drown the hiccup, and the panic still clawing at her chest.
God, this was going to be hard. How was she supposed to face the woman and explain herself later.
Her thoughts had circled all morning, refusing to settle. Earlier, while speaking with her brother on the phone, her eyes had drifted to her recent call log. One number stood out, glaring back at her, insistent and cruel in it's shock. Three minutes. Three full minutes of her voice tangled with Holland Larson’s at one in the morning.
What had had she done?
Worse, what... what had she said to the woman?
Camille’s stomach twisted as she picked the phone up again, her thumb hovering uncertainly over the screen. The Chief’s number stared back at her in the call log, bright and undeniable, carrying its own weight.
Her fingers pushed through her hair, tugging lightly at the strands as if the small sting would force her memory to return. But nothing came. Only scattered fragments from the club, her friends chanting in the background, and Holland’s steady, clipped voice. Beyond that, everything was a blank wall.
She set the phone flat against the desk and leaned forward until her forehead pressed against her arm. Her chest lifted and fell in uneven rhythm, each breath too shallow. She had said something. She knew she had. Three minutes wasn’t nothing.
And the chief had answered.
That fact alone made Camille's pulse skip. Why had the woman answered? Holland wasn’t the type to pick up a midnight call unless there was urgency. Had she cared enough about her to think of it as an emergency.
Camille sat up, an idea popping in her mind but immediately dimming. Calling Ava or Belle, but it would be pointless. They’d still be passed out, tangled in her bed, their own hangovers pounding away. Even if they remembered, they wouldn’t be able to tell her anything useful.
With a long, tired sigh, Camille let the phone fall from her fingers. She had already made one attempt to patch things up, coffee and donuts, her small peace offering. At first, she had thought about buying something bigger, something that screamed apology without her having to say it out loud. A designer bag, maybe. Or one of the rare imported wines from her parents’ home that matched Holland’s polished style.
But the thought had stopped her almost as soon as it came. Holland Larson wasn’t the kind of woman who would take kindly to lavish gifts. She was lavishness itself. It would look like bribery, like Camille was trying to use her money to buy forgiveness instead of earning it. And the chief, strict, and frustratingly proper would see right through that.
Her money wouldn’t smooth things over.
Maybe the chief would take the coffee and her favorite glazed donuts as a quieter gesture, a sign that she was at least trying, even if she couldn’t remember what exactly she’d done wrong. Maybe it would count for something.