Chapter 39 Our weekend together
Camille’s fingers flew over the keyboard, typing quickly, almost trembling with anticipation. When she had first seen the email earlier in the afternoon, her brain had refused to believe it. She had blinked, scanned, blinked again, convinced she was seeing double. Sloane Harper, the elusive HarperNoir, the one every influencer and fashion insider whispered about in awe, had finally reached out. Not just to anyone, but directly to the Chief.
At first, she had pinched herself, certain her imagination was playing tricks. It had to be a mistake. But as she reread the email, certainty sank in. This was real. Every word shimmered on the screen, charged with possibility. Excitement surged through her, unstoppable and sharp. Her chest lifted with an involuntary breath, and her heart thudded in a rhythm that felt almost too fast for her own body, pounding in her ears like a drum.
Camille let free a small, incredulous smile. Warmth spread across her cheeks, and her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they hovered over the keys. The hum of the office around her receded into a distant, irrelevant murmur, every other sound fading away. Her thoughts were entirely consumed by a single, dazzling possibility, she would meet Sloane Harper this weekend.
Her friends would never believe it. None of them had ever managed to personally meet or speak with the influencer. They were all accustomed to cocktail parties with celebrities, popping into private dinners and high-profile fashion events like it was nothing. But Sloane had always remained elusive, untouchable, a ghost in the glittering social circles Camille knew all too well. Everyone talked about her, envied her, chased her attention, and now, here she was, within reach.
The reality made Camille’s pulse quicken. She could already picture their faces tonight when she bragged about it, the mixture of disbelief and envy written across them. Her friends were going to be livid, no, she decided with a mischievous flicker of excitement, she would make them downright jealous after that prank they pulled on her. Sitting there in the quiet office, the possibility felt electric and real.
A small laugh escaped her lips, more a breath of disbelief than sound. She leaned forward, her fingers poised, ready to reply to the email. Every second stretched with tension, the thrill coiling in her chest as she considered what she was about to do. This wasn’t just a meeting. It was a chance to prove herself, to secure the perfect partnership for the company, to place the Chief, and herself, at the center of the influencer’s orbit.
Her heartbeat hammered, a rapid rhythm that matched the tapping of her fingertips as they struck the keys. Camille typed with focused urgency, each word deliberate, careful yet excited. She confirmed the date and time for the meetup, ensuring it aligned perfectly with the Chief’s schedule. She knew she should run it past Holland first, but experience had taught her the Chief would likely delegate the task, and the chance could slip away, vanishing like smoke. She had to run this herself. Consequences be damned.
Sloane Harper was a perfect fit for the new Lustrelle line dropping next month, and her audience was massive, the kind that could make the campaign trending even more before the big launch. With the message complete, Camille paused, letting her eyes linger on the screen. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she reread her reply, checking and double-checking for any misstep. Her hand hovered over the mouse, frozen for a heartbeat, indecision crawling in like an unwelcome shadow. Then, with a quiet exhale, she closed her eyes and clicked “Send.” That was it. Done.
Camille leaned back in her chair, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her fingers itch to type more, to keep riding the wave, but she resisted.
Tomorrow, she would have to inform the Chief of their out-of-town travel and surely endure a sharp lecture for acting on her own. But that worry belonged to another day. Today was hers. Today, the thrill of the meeting, the joy of possibility, was enough. And today, she had bigger things to fuss over, her friends, for one. She glanced at the time in the corner of her desktop and let out a long, quiet sigh.
She had maybe an hour or so before she could call it a day, but that didn’t matter. With the office mostly empty, she had her chance. The Chief was still in, and Camille knew from experience that when Holland had even a little time to herself, the sharp, tightly coiled woman became… human. Vulnerable, in a way. And Camille intended to take full advantage of it. She had learned the game well: push and pull, observe and prod, but never overplay.
Her gaze drifted toward the glass wall of Holland’s office, and she froze for a fraction of a second. The chief was there, packing her things. Odd. Camille blinked. The chief had come in late today, something the office whispered about but never openly acknowledged, and Camille had noticed the subtle signs, the pale skin, the slight slump of her shoulders, the faint tension around her eyes. The chief was clearly suffering a hangover. And even a little under the weather, she had valiantly pushed through the day.
Holland Larson’s dedication was relentless, and it made Camille respect the older woman even more, and at the same time ache to see her well again. No wonder her parents and brothers held the woman in such high regard. Painkillers, Camille thought quickly. She needed to always have painkillers ready for her. A mental note formed. The Chief deserved it, deserved even a small relief from the relentless work and the impossible standards she set for herself.
Camille stood, smoothing the creases in her dress. Holland was stepping out of the office, rubbing her temple lightly, a faint exhale escaping her lips. A small, tired smile met Camille’s gaze, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of warmth for the Chief, seeing her like this, exhausted yet still composed, human yet unbroken.
“You can head home, Ms. Lustrelle,” Holland said, voice measured, eyes sharp despite the fatigue that lingered in her posture.
Camille nodded, opening her mouth to deliver a teasing remark, something sharp, something to push at the edges, like she always did. But seeing Holland this drained made her hesitate. Instead, she spoke softly, almost gently, letting a small thread of mischief slip through her concern. “Sure thing, Chief.” Her eyes lingered on Holland a moment longer than necessary, then she added, voice carrying a playful lift, “Get well rested, Chief. Our weekend together is going to be packed.”
Holland froze, eyebrow arching. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver, but there was a flicker, a subtle, odd tension in her expression. “What?” she asked, tone clipped but laced with something unreadable.
Camille’s lips curved into a secretive smile, her heart thudding with excitement. That little hint, just enough to taunt without revealing everything, felt delicious. She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she allowed the words to hang in the air, a soft promise that sent a ripple through the quiet office.
“Nothing,” Camille said quickly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She leaned back slightly, voice dropping lower. “That’s for tomorrow, Chief.”
Holland’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and searching. The pause stretched, long enough for Camille to feel the weight of it, before Holland finally turned away. No, she couldn't do this right now, she was too tired. Her strides toward the elevator were brisk, deliberate, but her shoulders carried a quiet fatigue that even her posture couldn’t mask. Something about her assistant’s tone gnawed at her. Why did it feel like Camille was hiding something? Their usual pattern, the teasing, the little back-and-forths that always ended with one of them smirking, had been missing today. Except, of course, for that ridiculous moment earlier when Camille had accused her of being jealous. The audacity of the woman.
Holland exhaled, the sound slipping past her lips before she could stop it. All she wanted now was a hot bath, a dim room, and silence. Yesterday’s rendezvous had left her more unsettled than she cared to admit.
Camille watched her go, amusement and satisfaction curling quietly in her chest. There it was, the faint crack in the Chief’s armor. When Holland was sharp and commanding, she was nearly untouchable, but Camille had learned where the edges softened. With patience, a well-placed word, and just enough charm, she could coax those small, human moments out of her. And tonight, she’d done exactly that.
Turning back to her desk, Camille checked the clock again. Good, she still had time to stop by her apartment, change, and meet her friends. But sitting still was impossible. Her body buzzed, too charged to stay quiet. She replayed the moment over and over, Holland rubbing her temple, that faint flicker of a smile, the words Camille had left hanging between them. Every second of it felt like a small victory, an invisible game of chess where every move mattered. Her mind was already leaping ahead, the weekend, Sloane Harper’s meeting, the strategies she’d need to pull it off to leave a lasting impression on the influencer. And somewhere between the excitement and anticipation, another thought sparked: how to keep Holland guessing. Just enough.
The email pinged again, a new notification. Camille’s eyes widened as she saw the subject line: a confirmation from Sloane Harper’s team. She almost laughed aloud in excitement, this was really happening. Her heart thudded hard again, the same rapid pulse she had felt earlier. She reread the confirmation, imagining the weekend, imagining the meeting, imagining Holland’s reaction when she told her. She’s going to chew me out tomorrow, Camille thought with a sly grin, but today, today is mine.
She relaxed back in her chair, hands clasped behind her head, letting a small, victorious smile spread across her face. The office was quiet now, the hum of computers and distant traffic filling the space, but she didn’t mind. She had plotted her little moves, her secret victories, and she had a full plan in place for the weekend. She felt wild, alive, and impossibly energized, the kind of energy that only came from orchestrating something big and watching it unfold perfectly.
The last rays of sunlight filtered through the office windows, painting the floor in gold, and Camille felt it, the thrill of possibility, the pulse of power, the anticipation of what was to come. Sloane Harper, the chief, and her carefully crafted strategies, they all hung in the air around her like a living thing. And Camille was ready.
Tomorrow, she would face the consequences. But today, she had won.