Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Camille
When the Game Shifts
It’s been that kind of week—the kind where Monday feels like it was three years ago, and I’m half-convinced I’ve aged a decade. The door creaks open, and for a moment, I think I’ve hallucinated a supermodel. She’s tall, with dark, sleek hair that looks like it came straight out of a shampoo commercial. Her gray eyes flicker over me like she’s assessing my life choices. Her tailored blazer over a silk blouse, radiate that intimidating mix of elegance and efficiency.
“Camille Ashby?” she asks, her voice smooth, professional, but with just enough warmth to make her seem human.
“That’s me,” I manage to say, confused by who this woman is.
“I’m Ella Crawford, it’s nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand. “Most people know me as Scottie. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
I shake her hand while my brain is trying to figure this out. Scottie? Instead of asking what she’s doing here, I step aside. “Sure, come on in. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her heels click softly on the hardwood as she glides into the living room, the kind of confident walk that makes you stand a little straighter just by proximity. Ben, my perpetually unimpressed cat, barely glances up from his spot on the couch. He flicks his tail once, clearly deciding she’s not worth his energy, and goes back to doing nothing.
“Your cat’s a tough critic,” Scottie observes, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “I like him.”
“He judges everyone equally,” I reply, gesturing to the seating area. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”
“Water’s fine,” she says, setting her sleek leather bag on the armchair like it belongs there before sitting gracefully on the couch.
I disappear into the kitchen and return with a bottle of water, catching a glimpse of her flipping through a pristine leather folder. Papers—probably alphabetized and laminated because of course they are—peek out as she scans them like she already knows how this conversation is going to end.
“Thanks,” she says, taking the bottle with a polite smile. “I appreciate you making time for me. I’ve looked into your company, and I have to say, I’m impressed. The Happy HooHa Coach is growing. You know your demographic, and you know what they need.”
I sit across from her, crossing one leg over the other, trying to appear composed when inside I’m silently cheering. Go me. “Thank you. It started as a way to fill a healthcare gap, but it’s grown into something I’m really proud of.”
Scottie nods, her expression thoughtful. “It’s clear you’re passionate about this, and that’s why I’m here. I think we have a real opportunity to collaborate. Women’s health is underserved, and products created by women, for women? That’s powerful.”
Her words are good—almost too good. I study her, trying to gauge whether she’s for real or just another suit in heels looking to make money. “And what does collaboration look like to you?”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees like we’re co-conspirators. “A partnership. You’ve built a strong foundation, and your brand has a loyal following. Your products are innovative. I’d like to help you expand—distribution, marketing, scaling production. But more than that, I want to ensure women have access to something they can trust. I understand you already have an investor, but I’m here to offer more than money.”
Her words hit me like a lightning bolt. For months, I’ve been stuck in a hamster wheel of pitches, nodding along as investors pretend to care about the importance of vaginal health while visibly squirming in their seats. My current investor only agreed because his wife thought it was a cute idea, but now she wants to play CEO. She wants control. She wants her face on the brand.
But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to grow a vision, not hand it over to someone else’s vanity project. And yet, they’re holding all the cards. No signature, no funding—and maybe no hospital, either, considering the strings they’re threatening to pull to have me pushed out.
If I can get to the director first, I might have a shot at staying. But timing is everything. Go too soon, and I risk overplaying my hand. Wait too long, and I’ll be out of options entirely.
It’s a tightrope walk, and honestly? It fucking sucks.
“I like the idea,” I say carefully. “But I’m not just interested in expanding what we already have. I want to do more—supplements, probiotics, holistic health products. There’s so much untapped potential. If I bring on an investor, I need to know they’re here to build, not take over.”
Scottie leans back, studying me with a confidence I both respect and envy. “You’re the brand. Why would anyone want to change that?” she says, her tone almost incredulous. “And I like what you’re planning. Women’s health isn’t one-size-fits-all. Tailored solutions, prevention, wellness—it’s all overdue.”
The excitement builds in my chest, a feeling I haven’t had in weeks. “It’s not just about products, either. It’s about education. Teaching women about their bodies, giving them the tools to advocate for themselves. It’s bigger than just business.”
Her lips curve into a smile, genuine and warm. “Exactly. Honest, effective products. No gimmicks, no pandering. Just something real.”
I take a breath, the kind that feels like it’s pulling in fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room for hours. “I’m not going to lie, Scottie. I’ve been drowning in investor meetings lately, and most of them only see dollar signs. They don’t care about the people we’re trying to help. It’s exhausting.”
Her expression softens. “I get it. That’s why I’m here. I believe in what you’ve built. I want to help, not change it.”
Ben, who’s been watching us with his usual air of feline superiority, lets out a small, judgmental meow, as if to say, Well? What’s your decision, human?
I glance at Ben, who’s now licking a paw like he’s preparing a judgmental closing argument, then back at Scottie. Maybe, just maybe, she’s the ally I’ve been waiting for—the unicorn in a sea of suits who actually gets it.
“I want to do it,” I say carefully, meeting her steady gaze. “But I think it’s something we’ll need to discuss with lawyers first. I want to make sure everything’s airtight before we move forward.”
Scottie nods, already reaching into her sleek leather bag. Of course she came prepared. She pulls out a pristine folder.
“This is my proposal,” she says, sliding it toward me with the kind of finesse that makes me wonder if she practiced it in front of a mirror. “Take your time. Go through it, show it to your lawyer, and add anything you think is necessary. Or, if you’d rather, we can set up a meeting next Monday and go through it together. Whatever works best for you.”
I pick up the folder, feeling the slight chill of the leather against my fingers. This feels real.
“That sounds good,” I say, flipping it open to scan the first page. It’s as organized as I expected, down to the bullet points and color-coded highlights. “I’ll go through it and draft some modifications.” I glance up. “Monday’s not great for me, though. I have back-to-back surgeries all day. ”
Scottie raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Surgeries? And here I was thinking you couldn’t get more badass.”
I laugh softly, setting the folder back down. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, believe me. But how about Tuesday? Anytime after one works for me.”
“Tuesday it is,” she says, her lips curving into a confident smile. “You won’t regret this, Camille. I promise.”
As she gathers her things, the tension I didn’t realize I was carrying starts to ebb away. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, it feels like I’m not fighting this battle alone. There’s a glimmer of hope—a partnership that doesn’t come with strings wrapped in red tape or veiled ultimatums.
Scottie pauses by the door, glancing back at me with a knowing look. “And, Camille . . . I hope things between you and my brother work out.”
Her casual delivery is anything but. My head tilts, my eyebrows raising in automatic defense mode. “Scottie, I?—”
She cuts me off with a shrug, her expression softening. “I’m not saying it should be easy for him. He’s an idiot. Make him grovel. Make him really work for it. He deserves that. But he was . . . pretty broken after what happened. It’d be nice to see him happy again.”
My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. “And if things don’t work out?”
Scottie hesitates, her smile turning wistful. “I hope they do. But if they don’t, it won’t interfere with this. I’m a businesswoman, Camille. I know how to separate my personal life from my professional one. Can you?”
Her question hangs in the air like a challenge.
I straighten my shoulders, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I can.”
Scottie studies me for a beat longer, as if testing the truth of my words, then nods. “Good. Then we’re fine.”
She opens the door, letting a soft breeze waft in from the hall. “I’ll see you Tuesday,” she says, her tone lighter now. “And it was nice meeting you, Ben.”
Ben flicks an ear but doesn’t look up.
As the door closes behind her, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The living room feels quieter now, like it’s taking a moment to reset. I glance at the folder on the table, then at Ben, who finally decides to grace me with his attention.
“Well?” I ask him, collapsing onto the couch. “What do you think?”
He stretches luxuriously, his tail flicking as he stares at me with those half-lidded eyes that scream, You’ll figure it out—or you won’t . Either way, feed me.
A small laugh escapes me not sure why. Maybe it’s because Scottie seems genuine. Maybe it’s because she understands the vision I’ve been clinging to for so long. Or maybe it’s because, for once, I don’t feel like I’m standing on this island alone.
Either way, I have a lot to think about. But for tonight? I’ll take the win.