Chapter 29 No one should know
“Camille,” Her father’s warm voice cut through the engine’s hum, anchoring her in the moment. She tentatively drew her gaze from the passing scenery, “Whatever is bothering you, just know princess that I’ll always be here for you.”
He reached over and lightly took his daughter's hand, holding it gently between his. His grip was firm yet tender, the kind that spoke of steadfast support without a word of command. Camille let herself lean slightly toward him, the warmth of his touch a comforting anchor against the surge of emotions still simmering in her chest.
Camille leaned toward her father, resting her head on his shoulder, tearful. “Daddy, I just… I want you to be proud of me,” she whispered.
James glanced down at his daughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling with gentle amusement and concern. “Princess,” he said, voice quiet but steady, “no matter what happens, no matter what challenges come your way… I’ll always be proud of you. Always.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, holding back the tremor of emotion that threatened to spill over. Yet the honesty in her father’s tone made her chest ache with warmth and a small, bittersweet release. She leaned slightly closer, resting her shoulder against his arm. “I love you, Daddy,” she murmured, the words light, intimate, and filled with everything she could not otherwise say.
James squeezed her hand once more, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror, steady and unwavering. “You are my world, Camille,” he said simply, letting the words linger in the air between them, weighty and unshakable.
Camille allowed herself a small, trembling smile, her thoughts drifting for a heartbeat from the looming doom. Her father’s words, his presence, anchored her just enough to keep the swirling storm from overwhelming her entirely. She exhaled softly, letting the warmth of him seep into her bones, carrying her forward as the car glided smoothly down the driveway and onto the streets beyond.
Outside, the city began to awaken as the car navigated the streets, but Camille’s mind was elsewhere. Her pulse quickened, her thoughts looping endlessly through the weekend’s memories. The thrill had been reckless, consuming, and completely unexpected.
She had never felt a connection so sharp, so consuming, so demanding of attention. She had tried to hide it, to ignore it, but the memory had refused to let her.
As they approached the office, Camille drew a deep breath, centering herself, willing the electricity to settle just enough to step out of the car with poise. Her father squeezed her hand, a grounding touch, and she exhaled, letting herself focus on the world before her.
She drummed her fingers lightly against the strap of her handbag, a soft, steady rhythm that offered both comfort and distraction. Charles parked smoothly at the entrance of the Lustrelle corporate headquarters, the car doors opening to reveal the familiar hum of early morning activity, staff arriving in crisp suits, elevators cycling up and down, the faint scent of polished marble mingling with freshly brewed coffee drifting from the office café. Camille inhaled softly, drawing in the cool air, steadying herself as her stomach twisted with anticipation.
She stepped out of the car, heels clicking against the marble steps, and turned toward her father. “Goodbye, Daddy,” she said softly. But as soon as she tried to leave, a tremor ran through her, and she crumpled slightly against his broad chest, pushing into the safe, familiar embrace she had longed for. Her father’s arms tightened around her for a brief moment, steady and grounding, and she allowed herself the luxury of a heartbeat. But she pulled back, reminding herself she was grown, a woman. God, how she wished her friends were nearby. They could make this morning less heavy, less anticipatory.
Straightening, Camille waved at her father one last time, and set off toward the elevator. She could do this. Nothing, no one gazed her. Holland Larson didn't faze her. Replying to a few polite greetings from colleagues along the way, Camille was grateful for the bustle, for the full car, for the normalcy of routine. But as the numbers climbed slowly in the elevator display, each floor a countdown, her chest tightened. Her thoughts raced. If there was one thing she knew about Holland Larson, it was that the woman would chew through skin and bone even if she was the daughter of the owner.
The marketing floor came, bright and buzzing with activity. Camille stepped onto the carpet, careful not to stumble, her steps measured. Her gaze drifted to the end of the corridor, toward Holland’s office and she exhaled lightly. Empty. Thank God.
Camille walked to her desk, careful to avoid lingering looks, and settled into her chair. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her notebook as she muttered softly to herself, “Just breathe, Camille… just breathe. You can do this. You can.”
“Ms. Lustrelle.”
Camille jolted, her heart skipping a beat, almost leaping out of her chest. She looked up to find Holland’s gaze locked onto her with surgical precision. How was she here? Camille's breath caught. The chief looked impeccable, a woman on a warpath, tailored blazer accentuating the strength of her shoulders, silk blouse pressed smooth, hair swept back, eyes sharp and unyielding.
Every inch of the woman radiated authority and controlled fire, a storm Camille had already felt with devastating clarity. Her bag hung at one arm, the strap slipping slightly against her fingers as she tried to steady herself.
“My office, now,” Holland commanded, her voice crisp, firm, impossible to ignore. Camille swallowed hard, nodding, ignoring the curious glances of a few nearby colleagues. It felt as if she were being called to the principal’s office, every step toward Holland’s door weighted with an almost unbearable tension.
She hesitated just outside the office, offering a soft, almost desperate attempt at normalcy. “Hope you're having a wonderful start to your day, Chief.”
Holland’s lips curved in the faintest smirk as she set her bag down and shrugged off her coat, the motion deliberate, elegant, in control. “I am, Ms. Lustrelle” she said, voice neutral, almost cold. If she wanted the boundaries she was to set never crossed again, she needed to assert her dominance over Camille Lustrelle now.
Camille opened her mouth to add something, a small attempt at lightening the moment, but Holland’s eyes pinned her instantly, sharp and commanding, and the words died on her tongue.
“What happened,” Holland said, jaw tight, voice even but unyielding, “needs to be addressed. We’ll handle it after work. Until then, I don’t want to hear a word about it. Not a breath, not a hint, not a whisper.” She leaned back slightly, eyes flicking to Camille with measured control. “Understand? No one should know about this!”
Camille’s pulse hammered, but she nodded, her voice caught somewhere between obedience and restraint. She didn't like being told what to do, but it seemed Holland Larson had that power over her. She began to say something, but the chief cut her off with a look so precise it silenced her completely.
“I want to know my schedule for this week,” Holland continued, regaining her composure, leaning against the desk with an authority that filled the room. “And I want my coffee. Now.”
Camille blinked, fumbling slightly, cheeks warming as she nodded. Something about the Chief ordering her around, made her feel hot and bothered. “On it,” she murmured quickly, moving to comply, aware of every heartbeat, every inch of the magnetic pull between them. God what was it about Holland Larson ordering her like some commoner, made her heart spike. Her hands trembled faintly as she gathered the details Holland demanded, each instruction like a tether holding her to the ice queen standing just feet away.
"Would you like the coffee with something else, chief."
"No," Holland uttered not even gazing up at her assistant. "Just coffee for now, Ms. Lustrelle. Thank you."