Chapter 16 You can't talk to me like that
Camille glanced up from the stack of papers spread out on her desk just as a steaming cup of coffee was set beside her. Her brows lifted in surprise until her gaze met a warm smile. A woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and bright hazel eyes stood in front of her, her body tilted just slightly, and her eyes lingering. She’d seen her from a distance before, she was part of Marketing Team 3, but her name still escaped her.
“I’ve been told I make the meanest cup of coffee in the whole building,” the woman said, her voice soft and laced with mischief.
Camille chuckled, sitting back in her chair. “Then I must be lucky today. Thanks.”
The woman leaned a little closer, extending her hand. “Mandy. Mandy Martinez. I’m part of Marketing Team...”
“Team Three,” Camille said, recognition lighting her face. She took the offered hand, masking her surprise as the woman’s fingers lingered, lightly brushing against hers before pulling away.
Mandy grinned. “So you have noticed me.”
Camille caught the playful lilt in her voice and shrugged with a smirk. “Maybe.” Since her boss had her delivering documents to all five teams, she’d mastered the faces, just not the names.
“Well, I’m Mandy,” she said again with a teasing glint in her eye. “I guess it’s easy to forget names this early in the game.”
Camille nodded, choosing not to confess how many times she’d smiled at people she couldn’t name. “It is. There are so many people here. But it’s nice to meet you, Mandy.”
Camille picked up the cup and took a sip. It was good. Really good. “Wow,” she said. “You weren’t exaggerating. That’s some solid coffee.”
Mandy grinned, her gaze dipping slightly before rising again. “I have a few hidden talents.” Her tone was playful, almost flirty.
Mandy grinned, her gaze dipping slightly before rising again. “I have a few hidden talents,” Mandy whispered, her tone as playful as it was flirty.
Camille smiled back, easily catching the meaning in Mandy’s tone. She knew an open invitation when she heard one. Mandy was beautiful, and she knew it. The way she dressed was elegant without trying too hard, her posture confident, like she was used to being watched. And she was. Women like Mandy didn’t chase, they lured.
Camille had played this game long enough to recognize interest when she saw it. It had been over a week since she’d slipped out of a couple’s bed, and as thrilling as threesomes were, she needed a break from that scene. Maybe Mandy could be the distraction she needed as she adjusted to this new phase of her life.
And truthfully, Mandy’s attention wasn’t unwelcome. There was something about older women, the way they handled things, the way they paid attention. They liked making her happy. Camille knew how to let them.
“Hidden talents, huh? You might have to show me more of those sometime,” Camille teased.
Mandy laughed. “Careful, I just might. A few of us are heading out for drinks after work. Want to join? How about we celebrate you surviving your first week under the Chief?”
Camille glanced back over her shoulder toward Holland’s office. Everyone in the building referred to her that way, the Chief, a title that, over the past few days, Camille had come to understand was well-earned. Holland Larson didn’t just run the department, she owned every room she walked into. But boy, was the woman hardheaded.
“So, what do you think? Drinks after work?” Mandy asked again, her tone light but expectant. Camille hadn’t given her an answer the first time, and Mandy clearly wasn’t letting it slide, not with Klaus lurking nearby, waiting for his chance to shoot his shot.
Camille raised an eyebrow. That didn’t sound bad at all.
“That actually sounds fun. Can I bring a few of my friends? I had plans with them already.”
“The more, the merrier,” Mandy said with a wink before turning to leave.
Camille laughed softly as Mandy walked away. Yep, the woman was definitely interested.
Returning to her work, her fingers flipped through the documents. Her pen dancing across the pages as she highlighted key figures and noted minor corrections. The report was shaping up well, and with each page, her confidence grew. She stapled the last section and gave it a once-over before standing and making her way to the printer.
The low hum of the printer filled the quiet room as page after page slid into the tray. Camille stacked them neatly, her lips curling into a proud smile. She’d done a great job.
“Not bad for a spoiled princess,” she murmured to herself.
As she walked back to her desk, she couldn't help the feeling overtaking her. She felt light, almost giddy. Maybe this white-collar thing wasn’t so bad after all. Her friends had teased her nonstop, doubting she’d last a week. But here she was, end of the week. Still standing. Still doing the work. And honestly? Doing it well. Maybe it was the look of pride in her father’s eyes that had done it. Something about that moment made her want to hold on, to keep going, to be better. For him.
She knocked gently on Holland’s door, her knuckles tapping just loud enough to be heard over the quiet hum of the office.
“Come in,” came the crisp reply.
Camille entered, holding the neatly bound documents in her hands. “All the documents are ready,” she said, placing them carefully on Holland’s desk.
Holland took them without looking up, flipping through the first few pages with her usual sharp focus. Her expression was unreadable.
Camille lingered. Quietly debating what she was about to do, knowing it could shift something between them.
Holland finally looked up, brows drawing together. “What?” she snapped, her tone a little too sharp.
Camille flinched slightly but held her ground. “Nothing,” she said, then paused, her gaze narrowing. “Actually… you can't talk to me like that. And if something’s wrong, maybe try saying it instead of taking it out on me.”
Holland blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”
Camille crossed her arms, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “You’re always short with me. Cold. Like I’m constantly doing something wrong just by being here.”
Holland set the papers down slowly. “This is a workplace, not a social club. I don’t have time for games.”
Holland’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need you to be decent. I need you to be efficient.”
Camille stepped closer, her voice lowering. “I am. And I still get this wall from you, like no matter what I do, it’s not good enough.”
There was a beat of silence between them, heavy, loaded.
“You think this is about you?” Holland asked, almost a whisper.
Camille blinked. “Isn’t it?”
Holland exhaled slowly, pushing the documents aside. “You walk in here with your bright eyes, your perfect timing, and your clever remarks. Like you know exactly how this place works. Like you know me.”
Camille stared, stunned by the intensity in her voice. “I don’t. Not really. But I try. I try to get through to you.”
Holland rose from her chair, the energy in the room shifting sharply.
“Why?” Holland demanded. “Why do you care so much?”
Camille hesitated. “Because I see someone who never lets herself breathe. Someone who works herself to the bone and still can’t let anyone in. And maybe I just… don’t want to be another person who walks away without trying.”
Holland's expression faltered for a moment. Then she masked it again. “I didn’t ask you to try. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No,” Camille said softly. “But maybe you need it anyway.”
That hit something. Holland’s hands clenched at her sides.
“You don’t know me,” she said, voice low and almost dangerous. “Don’t pretend to.”
Camille tilted her head slightly. “I don’t pretend. I notice.”
They stood there, the air between them sharp as glass. Neither moved.
Camille finally stepped back. “Anyway. Drinks after work. Mandy invited me. A few of us are going. You could come.”
Holland stared at her, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. What was wrong with this girl? No one ever spoke to her like that, no one dared. Yet Camille Lustrelle was, standing firm, unshaken, talking her down.
“No,” she said firmly. “Is that all?”
Camille sighed, something in her sinking. “It’s always work with you. Don’t you get tired of it?”
Holland bristled. “I don’t need advice on how to live my life. Especially not from someone like you.”
Camille’s lips parted, then curved into a scoff. “Someone like me? What does that mean?”
Holland didn’t answer. Her gaze dropped back to the report.
Camille shook her head. “You really don’t let anyone in, do you?”
“I never asked you to try,” Holland repeated coldly.
Camille rolled her eyes, backing toward the door. “Fine. Keep pretending you don’t care. You’re impossible.”
She walked out, the door closing behind her with a soft but definite click.
Back at her desk, Camille muttered under her breath, the coffee now cold and forgotten. She didn’t know why, but Holland Larson got under her skin more than she cared to admit. It wasn’t just the coldness, it was the way the woman looked at her, like she’d already made up her mind about who she was. And it was clear those opinions weren’t exactly flattering.