Chapter 15 Damn that girl
Holland glanced up from her screen, eyebrows raised slightly when she noticed Camille still standing by her desk.
“Anything else?” she asked, her voice calm but firm, the kind of tone that kept her authority intact even at the end of a long day.
“Yes, ma’am,” Camille replied. “Mr. Larson called earlier. He asked about your evening schedule. Wanted to know if he could reserve you for dinner.”
Holland’s face hardened. “Tell him I’m busy.”
“Already did,” Camille said, flashing a sly smile. “He didn’t sound too happy.”
With that, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she moved down the hallway. The quiet rhythm of her steps faded gradually, leaving behind a calm that settled over the office like a thin blanket.
Holland leaned back in her chair, and despite herself, a small grin tugged at the corner of her lips. She didn’t let it grow, at least not fully, but it was there—warm, controlled, almost reluctant. The idea of Oliver fuming on the other end of that call brought her an odd sense of satisfaction, one she didn’t often allow herself to enjoy.
She raised a hand to her mouth, covering the growing smile. The glass walls around her office left no room for privacy, and the last thing she needed was for someone to catch her smiling to herself. People in this company talked. They noticed everything. And she wasn’t about to add fuel to a fire she never wanted lit.
Still… Camille Lustrelle.
The girl was something else.
She was nothing like Holland had expected. Loud, careless, entitled, that’s what she’d braced herself for—someone who’d drift through the office without purpose, causing disruptions with every step. But Camille Lustrelle was proving her wrong, every single day. Perhaps she’d judged that book harshly by its cover, letting rumors and headlines form opinions before she’d even heard Camille speak.
Camille was thoughtful. Present. Funny in that annoyingly charming way that slid into moments without warning. Over the last few days, Holland had noticed things she hadn’t expected to. Camille stayed late. She never rushed to leave, even when the others gathered their things with the usual early-evening relief. If anything, Holland had started leaving earlier so Camille wouldn’t feel obligated to wait around for her. The irony wasn’t lost on her, and it unsettled something in her chest she couldn’t quite put words to.
Most surprising of all was how everyone in the office gravitated toward her. At first, Holland assumed it was because Camille was a Lustrelle, that kind of name had gravity whether people admitted it or not. But as she watched the small interactions throughout the day, she realized it wasn’t the name drawing people in. It was the way Camille listened. The way she offered help even when she didn’t fully know what she was doing. The way she laughed at jokes that weren’t exactly funny but still made people feel heard. A few days in and the coworkers were starting to linger at Camille’s desk, pretending they needed clarification but really just enjoying her presence. They shared snacks with her, asked for her thoughts on projects, even invited her to join office outings without hesitation.
It was… unexpected. And oddly sweet. Camille didn’t seem to notice the effect she had. Or maybe she noticed and simply didn’t take advantage of it. Either way, Holland kept finding her eyes drifting in her direction more often than she liked.
And today, lunch had been delectable.
Her gaze shifted toward the desk, landing on the nearly empty lunch container. The scent still lingered faintly, grilled salmon, wild rice, roasted vegetables, and a tangy lemon dressing that had left a bright taste on her tongue long after she’d finished. Everything had been neatly packed, the portions just right, the flavors balanced without being overwhelming. It was the kind of meal someone would bring if they cared enough to put thought into it, someone who paid attention to the small details most people overlooked. Her snack bar, the one she usually depended on, remained untouched in her drawer, forgotten the moment she opened the warm container.
She had never asked Camille to bring her lunch. Not once. But ever since her first day working under her, Camille had started making it a habit to leave warm meals on her desk, arriving early just to set them down before Holland returned from her morning rounds. At first, she’d found it intrusive. Now, she found herself wondering what meal would show up next.
Today, Camille had left for lunch with her father, and she hadn’t missed the stir that swept the office when Mr. Lustrelle arrived. The president of the company rarely came down to this floor, and yet he’d shown up personally to pick up his only daughter. It caused murmurs across the room, the kind that rippled from desk to desk.
Gone was the stoic businessman she’d always encountered in boardrooms—rigid posture, clipped tone, unmoving expression. In his place stood a warm, doting father. Mr. Lustrelle had walked around the floor, greeting staff with ease, shaking hands, offering smiles and brief conversations. He charmed the room in a way she hadn’t thought him capable of, as if he took pride in showing the side of himself he saved only for his daughter.
But the moment he saw her, something in him softened even more. He laughed with her, pulled her into a hug that held genuine affection, and kissed her cheek without hesitation. His expression brightened in a way Holland had never seen. It was intimate in a familial sense, natural and unforced.
The sight had done something strange to Holland. It made her stomach twist, not with jealousy, but with longing—a longing tucked so deep inside her that she usually forgot it existed.
She had always wanted that. A close-knit family. A daughter or even a son who’d adore her the way Camille adored her father. And a partner who stood beside her instead of pushing her into corners. All she’d dreamed of was a home filled with warmth, not silence. A place where someone would wait for her to return at the end of the day, someone who valued her presence rather than her usefulness.
Instead, she got Oliver. And over time, he’d crushed those dreams, step by step. Like leaves under his shoes. Leaving behind nothing but dust and silence.
She didn’t realize her eyes had drifted back to Camille until their gazes met across the room. Camille blinked, then offered a small questioning smile, gentle and curious, as if she genuinely wondered whether Holland needed something.
Holland’s eyes snapped away, her breath hitching slightly. Why was she staring again?
Her fingers drummed on the edge of the desk as she tried to gather herself. She had no business watching Camille like that, no matter how intriguing the girl had become. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t logical. And it was definitely not something she wanted anyone in the office to notice.
But there was something about the girl that made her feel noticed in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Something warm. Something unfamiliar. Something that made her chest tighten and loosen all at once.
That was dangerous. Really dangerous.
A soft knock at the door broke her thoughts.
Camille stepped inside, holding a small bottle of water. Her expression was mild, but there was a gentle understanding in her demeanor, as if she’d taken note of the untouched space on Holland’s desk and decided to fill it.
“You didn’t drink anything with lunch,” she said simply, placing the bottle on Holland’s desk. “Sorry I forgot about your water, Ma’am.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Holland said, though her voice had lost its usual edge. It came out softer, almost resigned.
Camille just smiled again—soft but certain. “I know.”
And then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a quiet click. Holland stared at the bottle, her throat suddenly dry.
Giving in, she took it and unscrewed the cap before taking a sip. It was cold, refreshing, and exactly what she needed. How did Camille know that? How did she notice so much?
Damn that girl. She was getting under her skin.
And Holland, she didn’t know how to stop it.