Chapter 8 I Don't Hate You
Holland watched as Theo Lustrelle patted his sister’s hair in that casual, familiar way siblings do when they’ve spent years falling into the same patterns. Camille’s laugh carried lightly down the hallway, warm enough to shift the air around her. Her whole face brightened at whatever Theo had said, and the two of them shared one last exchange before he stepped into the elevator. Camille lingered for only a moment before turning back toward the office, still wearing the leftover traces of whatever amusement her brother had given her.
Holland swiftly looked away, angling her attention toward the opposite wall as if she had always been headed there. She didn’t want to risk being caught watching something that had nothing to do with her. She turned on her heel, walking briskly back toward her own office, tightening her hold on the coffee cup to keep the heat from tipping over the rim.
The instant she stepped inside, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She shut the door behind her with a quiet click and paused for a moment, trying to regain control of the odd tension that had crept into her shoulders.
Why had she even been watching? She didn’t have a reason. It wasn’t as if Camille’s interactions were any of her business. It wasn’t as if she cared.
Holland dropped into her chair, letting her body sink into the cushion as she placed her coffee down. The large windows behind her stretched open to the city, revealing roads twisting between buildings and streams of people moving far below. She barely gave it a second glance. The view had long since lost its charm, serving as nothing more than a background she rarely looked at.
Her stomach grumbled, pulling her attention back to the present. She hadn’t eaten since morning, and the ache in her middle made that clear. With the new line launching soon, her workdays had turned into relentless cycles of meetings, adjustments, approvals, and putting out fires before they could burn through her team. Skipping meals had become a habit she didn’t bother fixing. Soon, the hallways would fill again with footsteps and voices drifting back from lunch, and if she left her office now, she risked appearing unavailable at a time when everyone needed direction.
Holland reached into her desk drawer, retrieving an energy bar. She unwrapped it easily, the motion practiced from doing it too often. It wasn’t satisfying, but it would keep her functioning long enough to get through another task. She lifted it halfway to her mouth and took a bite, chewing as she leaned back in her chair.
A knock at the door interrupted her solitude.
She froze for a moment.
Who now?
“Come in,” she said, expecting one of her employees with a question or a minor issue that required her approval.
But when she turned in her chair, her words stalled.
Camille stood in the doorway.
Camille Lustrelle.
Her new secretary.
Not a report. Not a scheduling conflict. Not one more thing she needed to solve in the next five minutes.
Holland’s gaze flickered to the paper bag in Camille’s hand, then back to Camille’s face. The younger woman had a look that suggested she had prepared for this moment, as if she had walked here with a decision already made. Her posture was set, her chin lifted just enough to show she wasn’t planning on turning back or second-guessing herself.
Holland closed her mouth before anything unfiltered slipped out. She leaned back in her chair, her expression settled into impassive observation as Camille stepped forward without hesitation. She walked right up to Holland’s desk, placed the bag down with careful precision, then straightened and folded her arms.
Holland raised a brow. “And this is…?”
“I brought you lunch,” Camille said.
Holland barely spared the bag another glance. “That wasn’t necessary.”
Camille didn’t move. She only crossed her arms tighter. “I know.”
“Take it back,” Holland said, already turning her attention to the laptop in front of her. She tapped a key as if the conversation was already done.
“No.”
The refusal snapped Holland’s head up. Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“As your secretary, it’s my duty to take care of you,” Camille replied with a tone of simple fact, not argument. She reached into the bag, pulled out the container, and set it directly in front of Holland.
Holland scoffed, leaning back. “Your duty is to do your job, not play caretaker.” She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t need a maid. Or are you hoping to add that to your résumé?”
Camille paused, drawing in a breath through her nose. She didn’t respond immediately. Her jaw tensed, a sign she was restraining whatever retort had formed in her mind. Instead of letting it slip, she opened the container with controlled movements and placed the utensils beside it.
Holland watched her, waiting—almost inviting Camille to snap. She expected it. Wanted it, even, because it would confirm her initial reservations about hiring someone with Camille’s background, Camille’s energy, Camille’s everything.
But Camille didn’t break.
Instead, she let out a slow exhale, placed the napkin neatly beside the meal, and stepped back. Her voice came calm and even. “You should eat.”
She turned toward the door.
Holland opened her mouth to send her away properly, but at that moment, her stomach let out a loud, unmistakable grumble.
Camille paused with her hand on the doorknob.
Holland went still, mortified even if her face didn’t show it.
Camille turned her head just enough to look at her. A small smirk tugged at her mouth. “Quit dragging it out,” she said, pulling the door open. “You’re the one making it more awkward for both of us.”
Holland clenched her jaw, refusing to give Camille the satisfaction of reacting. But before Camille could step out fully, she suddenly rotated back into the office, her expression shifting—no longer smug, but clearly frustrated.
Holland lifted an eyebrow. “What now?”
“Why do you hate me so much?” Camille blurted, the question landing between them like it had been waiting too long to be asked.
Holland’s gaze pulled away from the glowing laptop screen and settled on Camille. Her expression remained unreadable. “I don’t hate you.”
Camille let out a breath that sounded more like disbelief. “Really? Because it sure feels like it.”
Holland’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You’re imagining things, Ms. Lustrelle.”
Camille let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. I’m just imagining that every time I talk, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” She gestured around the office, her movements clipped. “Or that you get along with literally everyone else, but when it comes to me, you act like I’m an inconvenience.”
Holland’s fingers tightened around her mouse, the tension visible even in the small motion.
Camille took a step closer. “So what is it? Do I annoy you? Am I too much? Or do you just not like me?”
Holland didn’t answer.
Her silence settled thickly between them.
Camille nodded once, the gesture clipped. “Got it,” she said, turning away. “Just eat your food.”
She left the office, closing the door behind her with more force than necessary, not a slam, but enough to show she didn’t care about softening her exit.
Holland stayed seated, the room suddenly feeling larger than before. She stared at the closed door, then at the meal sitting in front of her. The scent drifted up, warm and rich, and her stomach reacted before she could stop it.
She pressed her lips together.
Camille Lustrelle was a problem.
And Holland wasn’t entirely sure how to handle her.