Chapter 41 Bribe me?
“You did what?” Holland’s voice cut through the air, sharp enough to slice through glass.
Her pen slipped from her hand and clattered onto the desk. She stared at the young woman standing before her, calm, poised, and far too confident for someone who had just committed a mistake. For a second, Holland actually wondered if she’d misheard. But no, the look on Camille Lustrelle’s face told her she hadn’t. The girl stood there like someone waiting for the storm to hit, unflinching. Which could only mean one thing, what Holland had just heard was true.
Camille blinked, caught mid-step near the edge of the desk. In her hands was a small white box, held out carefully—like a peace offering, or worse, evidence of guilt.
If there was one thing she knew about the Chief, it was this: sometimes, mistakes could be softened with something sweet. No matter how stubborn Holland was, Camille had learned how to crack her armor—just a little—with a perfectly timed dessert.
“I... uh...” she started, her voice teetering somewhere between hopeful and nervous. “I said yes? I got us, well, I got you, a meeting with HarperNoir.”
Holland’s jaw dropped. First thing in the morning, and she was met with this, wildfire. For a moment, her face froze, the silence in the room stretching until it almost hummed. Then her brows shot up so fast they nearly vanished into her hairline.
“You said yes?” she repeated, her voice rising, incredulous. “To Sloane Harper? Without informing me first?!”
The air between them shifted, thick, charged, and electric. The hum of the air conditioner filled the gap between their words.
Camille straightened a little, her posture stiffening as she clutched the cake box tighter to her chest. “Well… it was a last-minute opportunity,” she started, the lie slipping from her tongue before she could stop it. Her throat felt dry, but she forced a casual smile. “Chief, I didn’t have time to...”
“That’s not the point!” Holland snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence. Her tone was sharp but measured, the kind that made people sit up straighter. She leaned forward in her chair, elbows resting against the desk, her eyes narrowing on Camille like a hawk zeroing in on prey.
“You went ahead and confirmed a meeting with one of the biggest influencers in the industry,” she continued, each word deliberate, heavy, “without clearance, without strategy, and without my knowledge?”
Camille’s bravado faltered. She swallowed hard, her voice shrinking into something small, almost guilty. “Technically… yes.”
“Technically?” Holland echoed, incredulous. “Camille, this isn’t about technically. This is about protocol. Do you have any idea how bad this could go if it’s mishandled?”
Camille’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but instead, she just nodded once, her gaze dropping briefly to the desk. “I do,” she said softly. “But I also knew it could go right.”
Holland stared at her, torn between disbelief and something dangerously close to admiration. “Camille.” Her voice went flat, the calm-before-the-storm kind of flat. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Camille froze, her throat tightening. “I... I wish I was, chief.”
Holland pushed away from the desk and stood, her chair rolling back with a low creak. The office suddenly felt smaller, too polished, too bright, too full of mistakes she didn’t ask for. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
“I got us a meeting?” Camille offered weakly, her tone almost hopeful.
Holland blinked, staring at her as if the words didn’t compute. “With Sloane Harper. The same Sloane Harper who charges fifty grand just to attend a lunch. And you, what, emailed her?”
Camille’s shoulders tensed. “Yes… technically. I replied to their email, to us.”
Holland let out a slow breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience hanging by a thread. There it was again, the “us” part. As if there was an us anymore. Not when the Lustrelle girl had gone ahead and decided for her and the entire marketing team as well. She had planned to go through the final drafts for the launch gala, maybe even steal a quiet hour for herself—but that plan had just been stolen, shredded, and set on fire.
She wasn’t sure which angered her more, the fact that Camille had gone behind her back, or that her own weekend had been thrown into chaos by someone else’s enthusiasm. Calling off the meeting wasn’t an option, that would make them look unprofessional. And Camille, of course, had already promised to handle the influencer personally.
“God give me strength,” Holland muttered under her breath, rubbing at her temples.
Silence followed, thick, and humming with disbelief. Camille stood frozen, her hands gripping the box like it was her last shield. What was even in the box? Holland almost asked but stopped herself. Instead, she forced her gaze elsewhere, letting it drift to the skyline beyond the glass. The city carried on, steady and unbothered, while her office felt like it was spinning into quiet madness.
Camille shifted her weight, the sound of the box brushing against her sleeve the only noise in the room. Then, tentatively, she spoke. “But… she said yes?”
Holland’s eyes snapped open, sharp and tired all at once. “Camille,” she said, her tone flat with disbelief. “This isn’t a school club meet-up! You don’t just say yes to an international influencer without protocol. There’s process, there’s timing..."
“I brought you cake today?” Camille interrupted, far too cheerful for someone standing in the middle of a disaster. She carefully set the white box on Holland’s desk, her tone hopeful—almost proud.
Holland blinked. Of all the things she expected, that wasn’t one of them. Cake? Her brain stalled for a second. She stared at the box like it might explain itself.
A small, traitorous spark of curiosity tugged at her. Cake. She hadn’t had breakfast yet. And sweet treats was her weakness, if Camille had knew that, she was either very clever or very dangerous. Holland quickly buried the flicker of interest, pressing it down before it showed on her face. She straightened, drawing that cold, polished calm back into place.
“What?” Her tone came out flat.
“Tiramisu,” Camille said brightly, as if announcing a miracle. “It’s from that Italian place my friends and I like. You’ll love it, Chief. I swear.”
Holland’s eyes flicked to the box, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she said nothing, only folded her arms slowly, the movement calm, deliberate, but heavy with warning. Every inch of her posture said no. Boundaries. Camille was clearly hopping through them like they didn’t exist.
“Was this supposed to bribe me?” Holland asked finally, her tone flat as glass.
Camille’s eyes widened, her grip tightening around her tablet. “Of course not!” she blurted out, too fast, too defensive. Her brows shot up, a nervous laugh slipping out before she caught it. “I just thought, I mean its... it’s Thursday, and you looked tired yesterday, so...”
Her voice trailed off. The box shifted slightly in her hands, the edge of the ribbon fraying where her thumb worried at it.
“So you thought caffeine and sugar would soften me up after you went behind my back?” Holland cut in sharply, her voice rising just enough to sting.
Camille winced, shoulders drawing tight. “That was my plan…” she murmured, biting her lip before adding with a small, hesitant grin, “so yes?”
Holland blinked at her, stunned for a beat. The words hung in the air like a slap. Then, flatly, she said, “Unbelievable.”
Camille shifted, inching closer to the desk, her voice dropping into something small but determined. “Chief, listen. I know it looks bad, but this could actually be good.” She set the cake box down carefully, like a peace flag. “Sloane’s available for seventy-two hours only. She posted about wanting to connect with brands that ‘value creative freedom.’ That’s us! It was the perfect chance.”
Holland turned her chair slowly, her gaze steady, unreadable. The faint hum of the city outside filled the gap between them. “So you took it upon yourself to make that decision,” she said at last. “Without approval. Without a strategy meeting.”
Camille lifted her chin, meeting the chief’s eyes despite the heat creeping up her neck. “Sometimes opportunity doesn’t wait for a meeting, Chief.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, heavy enough to press against the glass walls. Holland’s pen lay forgotten on the desk. Her jaw worked once before she found her voice again, measured, low, cutting through the stillness like ice. “Still, Ms. Lustrelle, you are dangerously close to overstepping.”
Camille’s chin lifted defiantly. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me?” Holland’s voice softened, not with warmth, but with that terrifying calm that came before a storm. Her tone alone could’ve frozen glass. “By rearranging my day, throwing my schedule into chaos, and dragging in an unpredictable influencer?”
Camille hesitated, the fight in her shoulders dimming beneath Holland’s gaze. “When you put it that way, it sounds worse,” she admitted, voice small but steady. “But since I already know how good you are, you’ll definitely handle her well. Just like you do me.”
The air stilled.
The words dropped between them like a live wire, crackling, heavy with implications she hadn’t meant to make. Camille realized it too late. Her mouth parted, but no words came. Her heart lurched. God, no.
Not like that.