Chapter 44 Came Prepared

Chapter 44 Came Prepared
Holland sat in her car, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, jaw tense enough to ache. She bit her lower lip as she stared through the windshield, watching the empty parking space opposite hers like it had personally offended her. If Camille was a single minute late, she would strangle her. Quietly. Elegantly. With HR-safe emotional violence.

Camille had arranged this meeting. Camille had insisted it would be great for the brand, 'Chief, trust me!' she had said.

Because of that Camille Lustrelle needed to be on time. Prepared. Focused. Serious. All things she sometimes wasn't at times

Holland leaned her head back and let out a slow breath through her nose, irritation warming her chest. This whole trip lived on Camille’s shoulders, and Holland was already bracing for impact.

A small screech and flash of headlights slid into view and rolled into the space across from her. A white Range Rover Evoque. Sleek. Wealth whispered in polished paint and quiet engine. Typical Lustrelle move, making an entrance without even trying.

The door opened, and Camille stepped out. The morning caught her hair immediately, strands lit gold like they had woken up with better plans than Holland. There she was, the problem and the chaos and the temptation walking in one long, annoyingly graceful line of limbs and confidence.

Holland’s breath paused. Oh, come on, she scolded herself silently. Not again.

Camille moved around the car, easy as sunshine, tugging a small bag from the passenger seat and tossing it into the back like it weighed nothing. Brown checked coat, dark skinny jeans, scarf tied just right, white fitted top. Polished without trying. Youthful without effort. Annoying without apology. The kind of woman who could walk into a room and rearrange the temperature.

Holland watched through the glass, her fingers going still on the wheel. Professional, she reminded herself. This is professional. You are her boss. She is your assistant. You are not seventeen. Get it together.

Her pulse didn’t listen.

Brown checked trousers, dark skinny coat, and a silk scarf knotted at her neck. A white fitted top under it all, simple, clean, and annoyingly chic. Like she woke up knowing she would ruin someone’s morning.

Holland blinked once. Twice. She could not afford to be staring already. Not before eight a.m. Not before caffeine. Not before she’d mentally strapped herself into battle mode.

Her phone rang, slicing straight through her thoughts, and she grabbed it too fast, a reflex more than movement, a lifeline she didn’t want to admit she needed. The screen barely lit before she answered.

“What?” Holland snapped, harsher than she meant, or maybe exactly as harsh as she meant, considering her blood pressure situation.

Laughter spilled through the speaker, warm, low, and too delighted. It rolled right into her ear and dragged her irritation with it. Holland’s grip clenched around the phone. Of course it was Camille. And through the windshield she saw her, shoulders bouncing with amusement, head tipped slightly, eyes squeezing as she laughed like the morning belonged to her.

“I’m here, Chief,” Camille chimed, voice light and annoyingly full of sunshine. “Bright and early. Like I promised.” A little laugh followed, easy as breathing. “You didn’t sleep in on me, did you? I can only imagine how you'd look like rushing to me all flustered, cute and late, right?"

Heat crawled up Holland’s neck, traitorous and alive. Why teasing from Camille felt like someone nudging open a door she’d wedged shut years ago, she didn’t want to think about. She refused to think about it.

Holland hung up without replying.

Deep breath. Grab the bag. Exit the vehicle before she talks herself into reversing out of the lot and leaving Camille to… be Camille somewhere else.

Holland opened her door, the cool morning air brushing her coat like a reminder to behave like an adult, not a flustered teenager. Camille turned at the sound, bright as a spark, and waved with both enthusiasm and zero shame. Like they were friends. Like this was fun.

“Hi! Morning, Chief!” Camille called, practically bouncing. “Ready for our road trip?”

A road trip. God give her strength.

Holland bit the inside of her cheek, grounding herself before she spiraled into frustration or, worse, something softer. Was this what she would be dealing with the entire drive? Camille acting like they were in some cozy buddy-movie montage and not heading straight into a meeting that could blow up in their faces?

Absolutely not. Not today.

Not ever, if she had anything to say about it.

If Camille wanted chaos, she could take it somewhere else. Holland Larson ran tight ships, clean schedules, and teams who respected boundaries, not… whatever Camille was, all bright eyes and unfiltered enthusiasm wrapped in expensive wool.

“We’ll use my car,” she said as she reached her, stopping just close enough to make the hierarchy obvious. “We’re on business, not a joyride.”

Camille blinked, head tilting, curls brushing her coat collar. “You didn’t even say good morning to me?”

Of course she made a greeting sound like an accusation and a dare all at once.

“Ms. Lustrelle...”

“And no,” Camille cut in, hands sliding to her hips like she was posing for a magazine instead of answering a directive. The overhead lights caught against the glossy finish of her nails as she tilted her head, completely at ease. “We’re taking my car. I set everything up. Snacks, itinerary, playlists, charger cables, don't worry.” She flashed a playful grin, already reaching for her bag like the conversation had been settled before it even started. “You just relax and enjoy our trip together.”

Trip? Camille said it like they were about to take a scenic drive through the countryside holding iced coffees, windows down while music filled the air, not walk into a meeting that could publicly embarrass the company if mishandled. The word hung there, light and careless, scraping against Holland’s patience. Around them, the atmosphere in the room tightened beneath the weight of looming deadlines, the tension pressing against Holland’s skin while Camille stood untouched by any of it.

“It’s not a trip,” Holland bit out. Her voice landed hard between them, cutting through the space without hesitation. “It’s work. Give me the keys. I’m driving.”
For one beat, Camille’s lips twitched, the corner of her mouth pulling as though she was deciding which version of herself to throw at Holland this time. Push harder. Tease her. Flirt. Obey. The silence stretched just long enough to feel deliberate. Then she grinned, bright and effortless, completely untouched by the tension building between them, and dug into her coat pocket.

“Here you go, Chief.” She dropped the keys into Holland’s palm lightly, the metal tapping against her skin before settling there. Casual. Playful. Like she was handing over confetti instead of control. “I can’t wait.”

Too cheerful. Too confident. Too… Camille.

The parking garage lights reflected off the polished black hood of Camille’s car behind her while distant footsteps echoed somewhere near the elevators. She curled her fingers around the key fob, feeling the cool edges press into her palm as Camille watched her with that same maddening expression, all amusement and easy confidence, like she already knew exactly how this was going to go.

Holland swallowed the response rising in her throat, the one balanced somewhere between don’t call me that like it’s cute and stop smiling at me like I don’t terrify a boardroom. The words pressed against the back of her teeth anyway, hot and immediate, while Camille stood there looking entirely too pleased with herself.

She turned away before her face betrayed her. Her heels clicked against the concrete as she headed toward the driver’s side, grip tightening around the keys. If she stayed there another second, she might say something unprofessional. Or worse, something honest.

She could do this. All she had to do was get through the day. Get through the drive. Get through the meeting. Show Camille where the line was drawn and keep it there. One clean boundary. One professional distance neither of them crossed again.

The thought settled heavily in her chest as she reached for the car door. Behind her, Camille moved around the front of the vehicle, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor of the parking garage, entirely too relaxed for the kind of day waiting ahead of them. Holland curled her fingers around the handle and pulled the driver door open.
The interior hit her immediately.

Spotless black leather stretched across the seats without a crease in sight. A neat folder rested on the passenger seat beside a tablet and printed documents organized with color-coded tabs. Water bottles sat untouched in the cup holders. Tissues. Mints. Charger cables carefully coiled near the console. Even the temperature inside the cabin felt deliberate, cool enough to keep them alert without being uncomfortable.

Camille hadn’t just prepared.

She’d anticipated.

Every detail carried the kind of attention that couldn’t be rushed together last minute. Comfort balanced neatly beside professionalism, thoughtful without looking excessive. The car didn’t feel thrown together for convenience. It felt arranged for her.
Of course she did.

Holland rested her fingertips briefly against the edge of the seat before sliding inside. The leather still held warmth beneath her hand, the lingering heat from the morning sun trapped inside the cabin. The door shut with a muted thud behind her, sealing her into the enclosed space far too quickly.
Then the scent reached her.

Citrus. Camille’s perfume. Something sweet underneath it, soft and fresh enough to settle into the air instead of overpowering it. It clung to the leather seats and the fabric lining the doors, surrounding her before Camille had even climbed into the passenger side. Holland adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, jaw tightening as she stared through the windshield toward the dim garage exit ahead.

Too distracting.

The sooner they got moving, the sooner she could get control back. Control of the schedule. Control of the meeting. Control of herself.

Because this... this nervousness, wasn’t her.

Holland didn’t get rattled. She knew how to manage pressure, conflict, personalities. None of that had ever been the problem.

But Camille Lustrelle smiled at her for five seconds and suddenly Holland was gripping a steering wheel like it might anchor her.

The passenger door opened beside her, followed by the rustle of Camille settling into her seat. Calm. Comfortable. Completely unaware of the effect she was having. Or maybe not unaware at all.

Because if Camille Lustrelle ever figured out how easily she could rattle her?

Holland wouldn’t just be irritated.

She’d be undone.