Chapter 9 I take Care of Her
Hours on, Holland didn’t even remember when her hand reached for the container Camille had set out earlier. One minute she was glaring at it like it had personally insulted her, the next she was staring down at an empty container with the crumbs mocking her lack of self-control.
She cursed under her breath and leaned back in her chair. “Dammit,” Holland muttered.
But what truly bothered Holland wasn’t that she’d eaten the offering, no, it was the look Camille had worn when she seen it later. That small, knowing smile, one of quiet victory as she dropped the documents she'd requested. It had been brief, but it stuck in Holland’s mind like a stubborn song lyric. Camille Lustrelle. God, why was that girl was getting under her skin?
Sighing deeply, Holland brushed those thoughts aside and dove into her work. There was much to be done before the premiere event.
Her desk was covered in folders, her screen split between spreadsheets and a glowing marketing presentation from the morning meeting. The new campaign for Lustrelle Jewelry was rolling out in a month and a half, and the numbers were looking good. The data showed promise. She scrolled through a report and nodded slowly in approval.
As Chief of Marketing, she had to make sure the premiere event reflected everything Lustrelle Jewelry stood for, elegance, power, and legacy. She was responsible for everything, from the branding, to the guest list, the press invites and the product showcase. The night had to feel unforgettable. And so far, she was on track.
A knock at the door pulled her back to the present. She blinked, expecting maybe Julia from finance or Derek with an update.
“Come in,” Holland called out distracted.
The door swung open and her breath caught from the sight. Camille walked in, her cheeks flushed and eyes tight with irritation. Behind her, a tall, sharply dressed man followed, his smirk confident, almost smug. A face she hadn't intended on laying her eyes on after this morning.
Holland stood up. “Camille?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Larson,” Camille said quickly, shooting Holland a look full of apology. “I tried to stop him. He wouldn’t say who he was. Just barged in.”
“It’s actually Mrs. Larson,” the man corrected, but Camille wasn’t paying him any mind as he strode across her boss's office like he owned the place.
Holland bit back a nasty remark. God, she didn’t need this right now, not with the pile of work waiting on her desk. She looked at Camille and saw the tightness in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched ever so slightly. She was clearly irritated. Holland could tell she’d put up a fight to keep him out.
“It’s fine,” Holland said, waving her hand. “You can go back to work.”
The man stepped forward, stopping Camille mid-exit with a wide smile. “Oliver Larson,” he said, extending his hand. “Holland’s husband. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh," Camille blinked.
She looked between them, stunned. They looked nothing alike, not in mood or in presence. Holland was striking, composed and sharp like a blade. Oliver Larson was just smug. Polished, yes, but not the kind of man she pictured Holland with. They didn’t match. They didn’t even seem to be people who orbited the same world. Let alone married.
At the corner of her eye, Camille caught Holland rolling her eyes in open distaste. See. She was right. The two were nothing alike.
Oliver kept his hand out. Camille hesitated for a second before reaching forward and shaking it firmly, her eyes never leaving his. “Camille Lustrelle. Holland’s executive assistant.”
Oliver chuckled. “Executive assistant, huh? Fancy title.”
Camille didn’t flinch. "It’s not just a title. I handle a lot for Mrs. Larson. I take care of her. She deserves nothing but the best," she replied calmly. Holland couldn’t help the flicker of a smile that tugged at the corner of her lips as she watched the two.
Oliver's eyes narrowed as realization dawned, “Wait? Lustrelle? As in Lustrelle Jewelry?”
Camille didn’t blink. “Yes.”
“And yet you’re working under my wife?”
Camille didn’t respond to his jab. She turned back to Holland instead, her voice calm and composed, “Would you like something to drink, ma’am?”
Holland couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at her lips. She was impressed. Camille’s poise didn’t crack. Not once. And it was clear Oliver had rubbed her the wrong way. The girl didn’t even try to hide it, and Holland liked that.
Camille was nothing like Pauline. Her previous secretary had treated Oliver like royalty every time he showed up unannounced, batting her lashes and laughing at every flat joke he told. With that Oliver would stretch his visits just to bask in the woman’s attention. It used to set her teeth on edge. Pauline had been all too happy to encourage it, always offering him coffee before Holland even got a chance to speak.
But Camille, she hadn’t even bothered with a polite smile. She’d looked at him like he was an interruption, not a guest. It thrilled Holland more than it should have.
“No, Camille. Thank you,” Holland said softly.
Camille gave a small nod and stepped out, closing the door behind her. Holland turned to Oliver, and just like that, the air shifted. The warmth drained from her face as she crossed her arms and stared him down. “What are you doing here?”
Oliver chuckled and moved around her desk like he owned the place. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Holland didn’t lean into it, if anything, Holland pulled back just a touch.
“What kind of question is that?” he said. “I’m here to take my wife out to dinner.”
“I’m busy,” she replied sharply.
She knew exactly what he was playing at, and she had no intention of playing along. He knew where she stood in their marriage. Distant, done, and tired. No dinner, no sudden visit, no charming smile was going to change that.
Oliver pointed behind her. “It’s almost 7:30."
She turned toward the glass wall and blinked. Time really had slipped away. Her eyes flicked out into the office and landed on Camille, still seated at her desk. Why was she still here?
Did she stay all this time?
Holland had figured she’d have left at 5 PM sharp like most others. But there she was, typing something and looking all focused. The youngest of the Lustrelle family was a deck of wild cards and she knew she hadn’t even scratched the surface.
A nudge at her arm snapped her out of it. Oliver’s voice followed. “Come on, let’s go. We've barely shared a meal this week.”
“No,” Holland replied firmly. “You should leave. I’ll see you at home.”
It was a lie. The second she got home, she’d go straight to her room and lock the door, just to avoid him.
Oliver didn’t budge. Instead, he rounded from her desk and flopped down on the office couch like he had every right to be there. “I’ll wait,” he said. “No problem.”
Holland clenched her jaw. Irritation pulsed through her. She turned back to her desk, hands flying over her keyboard as she shut down her computer. Holland's eyes wandered again to her.
Camille’s gaze was already on her, watching her from her desk. Holland hated scenes. And Oliver knew just how to push her buttons. She stacked her documents neatly, stuffed them into her bag, and reached for her purse. The excited clap from Oliver only made her grit her teeth harder.
“Ready?” he asked, standing and taking the bag from her.
Holland didn’t answer. She walked to the door, heels clicking against the floor.
Camille stood as they passed. Her eyes flicked briefly to Oliver, then settled on her boss. There was something behind Holland's look. Disapproval, maybe. Frustration hidden carefully beneath practiced calm.
“You can go home, Camille,” Holland said gently. “It’s late.”
Camille gave a short nod and began gathering her things. “Of course. Have a good night.”
“I'll be taking my wife home now” Oliver added with a smile and a wave, "Goodnight, Miss Lustrelle."
Camille didn’t return it.
Oliver followed Holland out of the office, his hand lightly brushing the small of her back. She didn’t shrug it off, but she didn’t lean into it either.
Camille watched them go, her eyes narrowing slightly. She waited until the elevator doors closed before letting out a slow, tired sigh. Then she sat back down and opened her laptop again.
That man was annoying as hell. She didn't like him. Not one bit.
Just then, her phone chimed. Camille glanced at the screen and smiled.
“Are we still on? I’m picking you up in five. Don’t be late.”
The text lit up her mood and Camilla quickly shut her laptop, gathered her things, and slipped on her coat. Whatever storm had just passed through Holland’s office, it wasn’t hers to carry.