Chapter 37 Met your match
“Woah, calm down!” Jackie said, eyes wide as Holland tipped the glass to her lips.
But she didn’t listen. She didn’t want to. Holland pulled her arm free from Jackie’s grip and lifted the glass again, her movements sharper than she meant them to be. The rim brushed her lower lip, cold against the warmth already climbing her throat. Then she tilted her head back and drank.
The liquor hit hard. It slid down in a burning rush that made her eyes sting and her chest tighten. For a second, the noise of the bar dimmed, and it was just her heartbeat and that searing heat spreading through her ribs, the same kind of heat that had been clawing at her for days. Restless nights, unfinished thoughts, the gnawing ache that made her pulse quicken for no good reason.
When the glass came down, she let it drop onto the counter with a soft thud, a hiss slipping past her teeth. “God,” she muttered under her breath, pressing her palm to the polished wood. Her fingers trembled slightly.
What was wrong with her? She never drank like this, not midweek, not ever. She was the one who ordered sparkling water at office parties and left before the second round. She was the one who prided herself on control, on never slipping. But lately, that control felt paper-thin. Every rule she’d built her life on was crumbling, sliding right through her fingers no matter how tight she tried to hold on.
Jackie leaned forward, elbows resting on the bar, studying Holland’s face, “Okay, seriously, Holls, what’s going on with you?” she asked, her voice gentle but edged with worry. “When you texted me to come out tonight, I almost dropped my phone. You? On a weeknight? That’s not your usual M.O.” A crooked smile tugged at her mouth. “Honestly, I thought you’d be dragging me out for once, not the other way around.”
Holland only gave a short huff, a small breath that sounded more like exhaustion than laughter. Her gaze dropped to the half-empty glass in front of her, then drifted toward Jackie’s untouched one. Without asking, she reached for it.
Jackie’s eyes flicked to her hand, but she didn’t stop her. She slid the glass across the counter, her nails clicking softly against the surface. Up close, Holland’s shoulders looked tense, the line of her jaw tight, like she’d been holding something in for too long. Jackie let out a quiet sigh. She must really need this, she thought. Whatever had a grip on her tonight, it was heavier than she was letting on.
Holland tipped the glass back and finished it in one hard pull. The liquor hit faster this time, slicing through her chest with heat that made her throat ache. She set the glass down with a dull clink, staring at it for a beat too long before her gaze slid away.
Jackie watched her quietly, the knot in her stomach tightening. Holland never drank like this unless something, or someone, had pushed her too far. Only one name came to mind.
“What did he do this time?” Jackie asked, her voice calm but heavy with the kind of bitterness that came from years of watching her friend break.
Holland blinked, slow and unfocused. “Who?”
“Oliver, of course,” Jackie said, rolling her eyes as she leaned back on her stool. “Who else could put that look on your face?” Her tone carried more disdain than curiosity. “What did that man do now?”
Her voice sharpened at the edges, the way it always did when she talked about him. Oliver Larson, the polished husband, the smooth talker who could charm anyone until you saw the cracks underneath. Jackie’s lip curled faintly. “I swear, that man could make a saint lose her temper.”
Holland’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been a smile, but her eyes didn’t follow. They stayed distant, fixed somewhere past the rows of bottles. “He didn’t do anything,” she said finally, her voice low, almost tired. “Not this time.”
Jackie frowned, leaning closer. “Then why do you look like someone ran over your soul?”
Holland didn’t rise to the joke. She just exhaled, long and quiet, and raised a finger toward the bartender. “Same again,” she murmured.
The bartender nodded and moved to mix the drinks. The place around them was warm and dim, a small, classy bar tucked on the quieter side of town. Soft jazz drifted from the corner speakers, the saxophone curling through the low hum of conversation. Gold light bounced off the bottles lined behind the counter, catching the slow swirl of smoke and glass.
Jackie rested her chin on her palm, studying her friend’s face. The sharp lines of composure she always carried looked dulled now, softened by exhaustion. She spoke more gently. “If it’s not Oliver, then what is it?”
Holland’s fingers tapped once against the bar before curling into a loose fist. A shaky breath slipped out of her, barely audible. “She’s…” Her jaw tightened, the next words dragged out as if they cost her. “She’s driving me insane.”
The words slipped out like an accident, barely louder than a breath, but Jackie caught them.
“She?” Jackie echoed, eyebrows lifting as she straightened on her stool. “Who’s she, Holls?”
Holland didn’t look up. The waiter arrived before she could answer, setting two fresh drinks down with a soft clatter. The empties disappeared, and before Jackie could even blink, Holland’s fingers were already curling around the new glass. She tossed the drink back in one smooth motion, throat working, eyes shutting for half a second as if the burn steadied her.
Jackie’s lips pressed together, holding back the dozen questions on her tongue. Someone had to stay in control tonight, and clearly it wouldn’t be Holland. So she stayed quiet, only watching. Her friend’s posture told her everything, from the way her hands fidgeted with the napkin, and the small rub at her temples like she could smooth her thoughts into order.
The alcohol had taken hold. Holland could feel it seeping through her system, a slow crawl of heat under her skin. Her head felt light, her body loose, her thoughts too loud to ignore. She drew in a deep breath that did nothing to steady her, then another. The air tasted thick, the room humming around her like it knew her secrets.
Holland dragged a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the strands before she gave a small, frustrated pull. The motion did nothing to ease the tightness building behind her eyes. What was happening to her? When had she lost her grip?
She used to be the definition of control, the one people counted on to stay calm when everyone else fell apart. Chief Marketing Officer of Lustrelle & Co., the brand people whispered about in luxury circles across the globe. Her signature on a campaign could shift markets. Her name carried weight in every meeting room she walked into. She was supposed to be the steady one. The untouchable one.
But she didn’t feel untouchable now.
All she could see were those eyes, bright, reckless, and that infuriating smile that made her pulse trip every time. The voice that always pushed too far, the presence that filled every inch of space without trying.
Camille Lustrelle.
The name alone sent a spark racing through her chest, hot as the liquor still burning her throat.
What hold does that girl have on me? Holland’s thoughts spun, unsteady. Camille was too young, too bold, too unaware of boundaries. Yet, no matter how hard Holland tried to shut it out, she couldn’t. Camille had carved her way under her skin, and nothing seemed to undo it.
“Holls?”
Jackie’s voice cut through the fog.
Holland blinked, her focus snapping back to the dim light and the faint clink of glasses around them. Jackie’s face came into view worried, patient, and far too knowing.
“You’re scaring me, Holls,” she said quietly.
Holland exhaled, the sound shaky as she tried to find her composure again, though both of them knew it was already slipping.
“I kissed someone.”
The words slipped out before Holland even realized she’d said them. They hung there, low and heavy, cutting through the noise of the bar.
Jackie froze mid-sip, her glass halfway to her lips. “You... you what?” she asked, blinking fast. Then her brow furrowed, suspicion kicking in. “Wait, don’t tell me it’s Oliver. Holls, please don’t tell me you’re giving that man another chance. He doesn’t deserve your love, let alone your time.”
Holland’s mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Finally, she exhaled and said quietly, “It wasn’t Oliver.” A pause. Then, almost under her breath, “It was a woman.”
Jackie froze.
For a second, she looked like she hadn’t heard right. Then she inhaled at the wrong moment and nearly sprayed her drink across the bar. She coughed, choked, and grabbed a napkin, eyes wide as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
“Wait, what?” she rasped once she could breathe.
Heads turned. A few nearby patrons gave them curious glances. Jackie waved them off, dabbing at her chin, her gaze fixed on Holland like she was trying to see through her. “Say that again,” she whispered.
Holland’s jaw tightened. She wiped at the drops that had splattered onto her sleeve, her glare enough to make anyone else drop it. “Jackie, you know I hate repeating myself.”
Jackie ignored the warning. She leaned closer, lowering her voice but not her curiosity. “I think I heard wrong. Repeat it, please.”
Holland let out a slow breath and turned toward her. She rested one arm on the back of her stool, her posture rigid despite the alcohol. Her eyes met Jackie’s, steady but tired. “I kissed this woman,” she said finally. “Twice. That’s it.”
Jackie blinked, the words sinking in one by one. “Twice?” she repeated, incredulous, her voice somewhere between shock and disbelief.
“Yes.”
The word left Holland’s mouth flat and final.
Jackie stared, trying to fit the pieces together. “So wait,” she said slowly, hands lifting as if the motion might help her make sense of it, “you’re… cheating on Oliver? With a woman?” Then, almost tripping over her own words, she added, “Not that I’m judging! That man deserves it, honestly.”
Holland’s head snapped toward her, her voice sharper than intended. “No, he doesn’t.” The firmness in her tone surprised even her. “What happened with her was a one-off.”
Jackie’s brows arched, a mischievous smile creeping in. “More like a two-off.”
“Jackie.”
“What?” she said with mock innocence, grinning wider. “A little truth doesn’t hurt. So, who is she?” Her tone lifted, teasing but curious. “Is she sexy? Tempting? Like that woman Kyle and I...”
Holland groaned, cutting her off. “Will you stop bringing that up?”
Jackie laughed, a quick burst that made a few people glance their way. “Why? Stop being a prude,” she said, nudging Holland’s arm lightly. “You sure crossed that line, twice, in fact.”
Holland shot her a look. “Jackie.”
“Yes, boss lady?” Jackie’s grin only widened, the teasing glint in her eyes refusing to fade.
“Drop it.”
Jackie only smiled, clearly not planning to. “Come on, Holls,” she coaxed, leaning closer, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Tell me about her.”
Holland sighed, pressing her palms over her face for a moment before dragging them down. She didn’t want to talk about Camille, not tonight, not ever, but she knew better than to think her friend would back off.
“She’s reckless,” Holland muttered, voice low. “Spoiled. Doesn’t know when to stop pushing my buttons. Wild. But… I guess that comes with her age.” She paused, glancing down at her drink before adding, “She’s my assistant. She should know better.”
Jackie’s reaction was instant, a sharp intake of breath that turned into a full-blown gasp. Several heads turned their way. “No way!” she blurted, her eyes going wide. “Your assistant?”
“Yes,” Holland said flatly, too tired to soften it.
Jackie slapped her hand against the bar, grinning like a kid who’d just been handed gossip gold. “Oh, Holls, that’s juicy. You have to let me meet her. I mean it.”
“No,” Holland said, the word crisp and final. “She’s no one. Just someone who needs to learn her place, and she will.”
Jackie leaned in, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “You know how sexy that sounded, right? Putting her in her place? Maybe... maybe you should practice on me. In the bathroom.”
Holland couldn’t help it. A laugh burst out of her, half shock, half disbelief. She shoved Jackie’s shoulder lightly. “Whatever fantasies you’ve got in that head, Jackie, they’re not happening. Not with me. Not with her.”
Jackie laughed so hard she nearly tipped off her stool. “Fine, fine! I’m kidding,” she said between giggles, waving her hand. “But still, I definitely think you’ve finally met your match, Holls. Just wait and see.”
Their laughter lingered for a moment, then faded, leaving behind the low hum of the bar, the murmur of voices, the clink of glass, the soft ache of a saxophone somewhere in the corner. Holland lifted her glass again. The burn felt duller now, but Jackie’s words didn’t fade as easily.
Her match.
She swallowed, the taste of liquor mixed with something heavier, guilt, maybe. Or longing.
Had she really met her match in Camille Lustrelle?
No. She refused to believe that.
She was Holland Larson, composed, disciplined, untouchable. The kind of woman who didn’t bend, didn’t falter, didn’t feel like this.
Camille would learn that soon enough. If she wanted a game, Holland would teach her the rules, and she’d make sure the younger woman remembered who set them.
And yet, as the night stretched on and the music drifted around her, a quiet pulse of something dangerous stirred beneath the surface, something that felt like surrender wearing the disguise of control.