Chapter 6 Do You Even Have Any Friends
Holland tapped her fingers on the copier, watching as it ejected one copy at a time. The steady rhythmic sound filled the otherwise empty office, a sound she had come to appreciate over the years. It meant peace, quiet, and order, exactly why she always arrived before everyone else.
She let out a slow breath, relishing the calm. The stillness of the early morning helped her get ahead of the day's chaos. No mindless chatter. No distractions. Just efficiency.
The sound of the elavator chiming broke her peace. Holland’s fingers stilled as her jaw tensed. No one ever came this early.
She let out a small curse, turning toward the entrance. The office was still dim, the lights not yet fully brightened by the movement sensors. A soft but hesitant voice broke the silence.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Holland frowned. The voice was unfamiliar. New.
"Why did she make me come this early if there's no one here?"
Holland sighed, running a hand through her hair. So much for a peaceful morning. The voice was closer and sounded a little hesitant.
"Hello? I'm new here. I just got the job."
Holland took a deep breath before stepping into the open. "Here," she said simply.
Camille froze at the sight of the woman standing before her. She hadn’t expected to see again.
The woman was effortlessly stunning, the kind of polished elegance that demanded attention without even trying. The crisp white blouse hugged her frame perfectly that was neatly tucked into her sleek black pencil skirt that accentuated her tall, slender figure. The sharp lines of her outfit screamed precision, every detail meticulously in place.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she shifted her weight, the glossy black leather adding an extra inch to her already commanding presence. Even the way she stood, so poised, composed and completely in control, she radiated confidence.
A slow smile spread across her face. "You!" Camille exclaimed, walking toward her. "You're the woman from the café!"
Holland's lips pressed into a thin line.
"You paid for my coffee, remember?" Camille continued, practically beaming. "I didn’t have any money on me that morning, and I really needed that cup of coffee. You were such a lifesaver! I was in such a rush and..."
She stopped when she noticed the flicker of recognition in the woman’s sharp eyes. Holland’s lips pressed into a thin line as realization dawned on her.
So, this was the same annoying young woman who had held up the line at the café.
Camille, oblivious to Holland’s shifting impression was caught up in her excitement to notice the change, "Seriously, I owe you one. How about I take you out for coffee sometime, my treat! It's the least I can do to say thank you."
Holland’s jaw tightened as her thoughts from that morning resurfaced, especially how striking the young Lustrelle had looked, even when disheveled. But today, in her tailored slacks, she looked even more stunning and put together. Holland quickly pushed the thought aside, mentally chastising herself. She needed to shut this down before the conversation blurred into something too unfamiliar.
Holland lifted a hand, effectively silencing her. "That won’t be necessary." Her tone was cool, almost distant. "I prefer to keep my personal life separate from my professional one. It’s best if you do the same."
Camille blinked.
Then frowned.
Then blinked again as she was completely caught off guard by the abrupt coldness. Camille's enthusiasm drained from her as she contemplated the harsh words.
"Are you always this rude?"
Holland arched a brow as she felt a sharp pang of irritation, "I’m not rude. I’m being objective."
Camille let out a short scoff, the sound light but dripping with disbelief. She crossed her arms. "Sure." Her gaze turned assessing. "Do you even have any friends?"
Holland’s expression didn’t change, but something in her gaze hardened. That question was beyond unprofessional. "That’s none of your concern, Ms. Lustrelle," she replied icily. "And if you’re going to work under me, I suggest you learn when to keep unnecessary thoughts to yourself."
Camille’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? I’m going to be your secretary?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Holland replied dryly, her tone making it clear she wasn’t thrilled about it either.
Camille sighed dramatically, muttering under her breath, "What a bummer."
Camille bit back the retort that sat at the tip of her tongue, as she remembered her parents’ pleas for her to take this opportunity seriously. Instead, Camille forced a tight-lipped smile. "No. What would you like me to do?"
Holland studied her for a moment, then glanced at the copier. "Nothing," she started, but then changed her mind, "Actually, the documents printing there need to be stapled in order and at an angle. When you're done, place them on my desk."
Camille’s brows knitted together. "At an angle?"
Holland didn’t have time to explain. She simply turned and marched away in the direction of her office.
Camille glanced around. "Where will I be seated then?"
Holland barely looked back as she gestured to a desk near her office. Then, without another word, she disappeared inside and shut the door behind her, loudly.
Camille huffed, clutching her handbag tighter. "God, what a bitch," she muttered under her breath.
With her optimism dimming by the second, she moved to the printer. Was that tyrant of a woman really going to be her boss?
Holland sank into her chair, letting out a slow breath as she swiveled to face the window. The city stretched out before her, but she barely saw it. Instead, irritation simmered inside her, clawing at her patience.
This was exactly what she had feared, a clash of personalities. She and Camille Lustrelle were like oil and water, two sides of a coin that would never land on the same face. Why hadn’t she been firmer in her refusal? She should have pushed back harder, made it clear that taking Camille under her wing was a mistake.
Her fingers drummed against the armrest. Did Camille really ask if she had friends? Of course, she had friends. Who didn’t? Definitely not her.
But work, this office, was the only place where she had control, where everything moved at her pace, on her terms. And now, even that felt threatened. The last thing she needed was someone challenging her every word, someone who questioned and talked back at her.
And then there was Oliver.
She clenched her jaw, the thought of her husband’s morning bickering souring her mood even further. He had already ruined her day before it had even begun, his nagging picking at her nerves. And now Camille had made it worse.
A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, turning her chair back toward her desk.
The door opened, and Camille stepped inside, holding out a stack of papers. "Ma’am?"
Holland took the documents without a word, flipping through them. They were arranged neatly, stapled just the way she preferred. At least she could be efficient when needed.
Camille shifted slightly but kept her voice steady. "Are the documents okay?"
Holland gave a curt nod. "They’re fine."
"Anything else I can do?"
Holland looked up then, holding Camille’s gaze for a beat longer than necessary. There was something about the young woman’s posture, straight-backed, respectful, but still brimming with unspoken words.
"Yes," she finally said. "Go through my emails. Respond to the ones you can and flag the urgent ones that require my attention." She glanced toward the outer office. "I’ve set up your desk with everything you’ll..."
Camille’s face lit up. "Wait, you set up my desk for me? Thank you, that’s so..."
Holland’s sharp look stopped her mid-sentence.
Camille cleared her throat, suddenly sheepish. "I’m sorry for interrupting. Please continue."
Holland bit back the urge to snap at her. Instead, she exhaled slowly. "Just get to work, Ms. Lustrelle."
Camille nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line. "Yes, ma’am."
She turned to leave, but as she stepped through the door, she muttered under her breath, "God, talk about a walking storm cloud"
Holland heard it, of course, but she chose to ignore it. Instead, she swiveled back to the window, gripping the armrests a little tighter. This was going to be a long day.