Chapter 16
POV: Camille:?
^..The next day..^
I didn’t remember the cab ride home last night because one second, I was inside his office going over paperwork and the next I was stumbling into my shoebox apartment with my purse dangling in one hand and my heart pounding like it was trying to punch a hole through my ribcage.
All I could think about was a timeline when I woke up.
It had been just about 2 months since we had signed the contract.
And that meant there was 4 months to go.
The thought echoed inside my head.
And my phone buzzing erratically by my bedside table didn’t help either.
I turned over, heaving out a sigh as I looked down at my phone, half hoping it would be Michael, even though I knew it wouldn’t be.
He wouldn’t call twice, let alone four times.
And to my surprise it was Jenna.
I ignored the call at first, pressing my head back into the pillow that had smeared all over my pillowcase. My body ached in ways I didn’t want to analyze. My lips still tingled, and when I closed my eyes, I swore I could still feel his hands on me.
And that was the problem.
Because hesitation was supposed to be my middle name.
That’s what law school taught at least. Caution, skepticism, cynicism, hell, those were my trademarks.
But I knew I was far..far from hesitation now.
Now, I’d thrown every carefully constructed wall I’d built straight out of Michael Vanderbilt’s glass penthouse window.
My phone buzzed again.
So I decided that it was time to finally roll over and grab it.
Jenna: Wine tonight.
I let out a half laugh, half sob.
Jenna had a sixth sense about these things.
Me: Please bring two bottles, and make it an early dinner, 3:00 pm.
Jenna: Say less.
I must’ve laid in bed for another good hour before I decided to get out of my bed and semi start my day, which meant I watered my house plants which were currently in a drought, then I made half burnt scrambled eggs, and watched some trash reality tv.
It was exactly 2:45 pm when Jenna rolled in, like a goddamn hurricane, too. Hair in a messy bun, leggings, oversized hoodie, and two Trader Joe’s bags swinging from her arms like trophies and one clinked. Definitely wine. And the other smelled like dumplings.
“My god,“you look like someone murdered your puppy and then resurrected it just to murder it again!”
“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to wipe my eyes of the permanently smeared mascara that rested underneath them.
She plopped down beside me, shoving a white paper carton of dumplings into my lap. “Eat, then talk. Preferably in that order, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I picked up a pork dumpling, took a bite, and nearly moaned.
God bless Jenna.
She cracked open the first bottle of wine with her teeth—chardonnay, my fav—like some feral goddess and poured 2 generous servings out into them.
“Okay,” she said, handing me a Christmas mug of wine. “Start talking, Cam. You texted me last night that your life was on fire, and you look like you’ve been hit by a freight train and that’s not a good look, girl.”
I opened my mouth before closing it again.
Her brows shot up. “Oh, Camille. Oh my god. You slept with him, didn’t you?”
I stuttered, I couldn’t help it. “I…no…I mean..”
“That’s a yes,” she pointed a chopstick at me. “Camille Martens, you’re an absolute disaster. You slept with your boss, not to mention your billionaire boss.”
“Shhh!!!” I hissed, throwing a pillow at her to quiet her down from screaming it to the entire city. “Do you want my neighbors to hear and post it on TikTok?!”
She dodged the pillow then shrugged. “Spill. Now.”
I buried my face in my hands, hoping that would help.
It didn’t.
“It just… happened.”
Jenna snorted loudly. “No, girl—tripping on the sidewalk happens. Accidentally liking your ex’s Instagram post from 3 years ago even happens. But sleeping with Michael Vanderbilt, your boss does not just happen.”
I didn’t look up, I was too embarrassed.
“Was it at least good?” she asked.
I peeked out through my fingers to catch a glimpse of her. Jenna lived for drama she didn’t have to personally suffer through.
“It was..” I began. “And it is…”
Too much. Too raw. Too good.
Her mouth fell open. “It was that good.”
I nodded miserably.
“Wow. Okay, Cam. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is Jen..” I huffed out, throwing my head into my damned hands.
“The problem is that everything’s different now.
I don’t care what the contract says any longer.
I feel different…it feels different. And Michael—he was just…
calm like. I can’t read him. He’s hot and cold, up and down, in and out.
He tells me in his gruff voice that I’m his and that this is real, but I don’t know if it’s a game or not.
He’s confusing. And a part of me is scared that this doesn’t change anything for him and that this is just a contract and that maybe he gets off saying things like, “You’re mine, Camille,” or things like, “say it!”
I was intimidated by his annoyingly hot voice, shaking my head to myself.
Jenna tilted her head and she thought for a moment before she inevitably said, “maybe for him, it didn’t. Maybe this is just what he does. Like a power trip type of thing.”
The words stabbed me in my gut. Hard. Like piercing, bleeding hard.
“Exactly and that’s what scares me, Jen. For me, it was like…like I jumped out of a plane without a parachute. For him, it was a Tuesday.”
Jenna’s expression shifted. “Cam, listen, you knew what this was when you signed that contract. You knew what it meant. You know what type of men have women sign contracts.”
“But you didn’t see him and you didn’t hear hima nd you didn’t feel it, the way he kissed me—like it wasn’t just part of the contract. You didn’t hear him claim me as his or tell me that this was real. I think he meant it.”
Jenna sighed. “Maybe it was real at that moment and maybe he even felt something too. But guys like him? They’re experts at compartmentalizing.”
The sting of her honesty made me want to bawl.
“I hate that you’re probably right.”
“Always am, but hey, Cam, maybe this should teach you something and open your eyes before it’s too late.”
I didn’t answer, because I knew she was right.
And that hurt the most.
***
The next morning hit like a freight train. Again. All. Over. Fucking. Again.
My alarm blared at 6:30 am sharp, and I groaned into my pillow from my wine headache.
I stood in front of the mirror, smearing concealer under my eyes and muttering to myself…”You are a professional, Camille. You will not spontaneously combust at the sight of Michael Vanderbilt.”
But my reflection didn’t look convincing.
By the time I arrived at the office, the legal department was already buzzing with energy.
Perfect. A distraction.
Except not really.
Because the second I saw him, all thoughts of distractions died.
Michael walked in and I think I almost forgot how to properly breathe.
And when his eyes landed on me? Nothing.
No hesitation. No awkwardness. No smirk acknowledging our unspoken intimacy. Just a nod.
Like nothing had happened. Like he was pushing everything into a hole and burying it.
My stomach dropped.
How can he be so calm?
I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t.
Because 5 minutes later, he was in a meeting about mergers and regulatory filings, while I sat just a mere 2 seats down, remembering…everything.
The meeting ended and people filtered out but I stayed frozen in my chair, staring at my notes like they were practically foreign.
And then his voice sounded, “Camille. Can we have a word?”
My head snapped up and I gathered my things and followed him down the hall to his office.
The door shut behind us and I felt everything come rushing back.
I stood there, waiting for him to say something…anything. But he didn’t.
Instead, he walked around his desk and opened a file. “Your brief on the TechCore precedent was solid. Please use the same structure for the Artman acquisition review.”
I blinked. “That’s…it?”
He asked simply, “Should there be more?”
The knife in my gut twisted. “After the other night…?”
“This is work, Camille.”
I stared at him, disbelief burning through me. “That’s it? Just compartmentalize it?”
“That’s what professionals do, Camille.” His jaw tightened.
“Right,” I laughed but there was no humor to it. “Professional.”
I stormed out of his office before I could say something I couldn’t take back.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. My brain was a storm—half exhilarated from what we’d shared and half devastated that he could treat it like nothing.
I tried to focus on work.
But every time I closed my eyes…I saw him…I felt him and worse…I wanted him.
Maybe Jenna was right, maybe I wasn’t built for this.
But do you want to know the terrifying truth?
I didn’t know how to stop.