Chapter 17
POV: Camille:?
I woke up in my apartment the next morning feeling like I’d been steamrolled by the world’s most inconvenient combination—emotions and cheap wine.
Jenna had called me the night before to check in, but I’d let it go to voicemail. I couldn’t even form coherent sentences, let alone summarize the mess inside of my own head.
The problem wasn’t the sex.
God, no.
The problem was what the sex meant—to me. Or maybe what it didn’t mean.
Michael had this infuriating ability to act like the world didn’t touch him, like he existed in a vacuum where feelings were optional and his careful control was oxygen.
And me?
I was just… flailing.
I knew what the contract meant all along, and maybe I was naive to think it would change because of a few nights of sex and a few heartfelt moments shared.
But I knew it was just that—hope, blind, naive hope.
The reflection in the mirror was a familiar mess: blonde hair that refused to cooperate and looked a bit on the frizzy side, dark circles underneath my eyes and an expression that screamed ’this girl needs caffeine and possibly therapy.’
Pull it together. I muttered to myself. You survived the bar exam. You can survive a billionaire with intimacy issues.
The pep talk didn’t land, but it got me on my way.
By the time my feet landed on the pristine floor of Vanderbilt Technologies, I’d rehearsed a hundred possible scripts inside my head for pep talk sake.
Option A: Pretend nothing happened.
Option B: Confront him and demand clarity.
Option C: Quit, flee, and move somewhere remote, like Nebraska.
And Option C had some appeal, honestly.
But when I caught the sight of Michael standing by the conference room windows, the only option that made it past my lips was silence.
He was speaking to an executive about acquisitions, his gaze serious and his tone calm as always. And the kicker? He didn’t even look at me when I passed.
Which only made me want to strangle him more.
And it was bound to happen because that afternoon, I snapped.
I ended up cornering him after a meeting came to an end. And when I say cornered, I mean I literally cornered him, like some deranged intern about to confess to my boss about stealing 5 sheets of printer paper.
“Michael,” I tried to keep a steady tone, but he was bound to hear it, the unmistakable quiver.
He glanced down at me, “Yes, Ms. Martens?”
The use of my last name sent my pulse on overdrive.
He was putting his defenses back, brick by brick, while I stood there, bearing my heart, wanting connection—anything than this.
“We need to talk,” I said firmly.
His jaw ticked, it was almost unnoticeable. “About?”
I swallowed hard as the words left my mouth. “About…us.”
There.
The word was out. Finally.
For a second, just one single tiny second, I saw something flicker across his face.
But it vanished so quickly I almost wondered if I imagined it.
“There is no ‘us,’ Camille,” he said evenly, his gaze never changing. “There’s the contract and there’s work.”
Like a switch, he flipped it.
“That’s bullshit and you know it, Michael!”
His voice lowered but his eyes stayed the same. “Careful, Camille.”
And damn it, some traitorous part of me thrilled at the warning.
But another part—the rational part, lawyer trained part was screaming internally.
I let out a heavy breath. “I can’t just keep pretending like this doesn’t affect me, Michael. I can’t. The things you’ve said…the things we’ve said..”
He exhaled slowly.“You signed an agreement. You knew the terms and that hasn’t changed. It’s still the same agreement we signed.”
“But it has,” I whispered before I could stop myself from saying the words.
His eyes bored into mine, cracking a part of me.
Then, just when I thought he might finally crack, he turned away from me suddenly. “Get back to work, Camille.”
I think I lost the ability to breathe.
Dismissed, just like I was nothing more than an employee to him.
But who was I kidding? I was.
I was just an employee, with a bit more of a detailed contract than others.
I walked out, humiliated internally and shaking, too.
But here’s the thing about anger….
Anger is dangerous fuel.
Because the more I stewed in it, the more reckless I felt.
And that recklessness came to a head later that night.
The office had mostly cleared out, leaving only the faint hum of printers as I sat at my desk, staring blankly at a deposition transcript, thinking about earlier over and over and over again.
That’s when I realized Michael’s light was still on.
Of course it was.
Against all better judgment, I decided to take another leap, and towards his office. And I walked in.
He didn’t look up. “Camille.”
“Don’t ‘Camille’ me,” I snapped, shutting the door behind me quickly. “You can’t just keep acting like nothing’s happening, as if this is some game and you’re the only one allowed to control it.”
For the first time, in what felt like forever, he looked up and studied me. “You want control?” he asked finally, not moving an inch.
“Yes,” I shot back instantly.
“Then take it.”
The words hung between us, electric.
And my entire body felt like it was on fire.
And suddenly, I crossed the room and planted my hands on his desk.
“Fine,” I said, feeling confident. “Then kiss me, Michael.”
His smirk was slow then he stood and towered over me.
And for a heartbeat I thought he’d refuse and that he’d let me dangle in my own defiance.
But then his hand was on my jaw in a second’s time, and he was tilting my face up, and his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was different this time, like he wanted me too much–like he was afraid of how far he would go this time. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my waist, and anchoring me against the desk.
“Michael,” I stuttered.
“No talking,” he growled, cutting me off with another kiss.
And I didn’t say another word.
And then his hands were on my thighs, lifting me onto the edge of his desk like I weighed nothing, he pushed my skirt up for him.
“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered against my mouth. “So disobedient. So willful. So argumentative.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
He pushed my panties aside with ruthless efficiency, and when his fingers slid inside me, I nearly came undone right there on his desk, gasping.
The office—his office felt like the last place on earth we should be doing this.
But that only made it hotter—the risk—the possibility that someone could walk in, the possibility that I could get caught and my job would be ruined.
But at the moment, I didn’t care.
All I cared about was the way he made me feel.
“Michael…” I moaned, clutching his shoulders as he pushed further inside me with his fingers.
“Say my name again, Camille.”
“Michael.” My voice cracked as I said his name.
He groaned, unzipping his pants and in one swift motion, he was inside me, thrusting deeply, causing me to whimper with each pound.
And yet…there it was again. That edge. That something beneath the intensity—fear.
He kissed me hard, muffling the sound of my moans and thrusting deeper and quicker.
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he murmured as he pumped inside me again.
I let out a whine in between a moan. “I’m…I’m not.”
“But you are,” he thrusted again. “You don’t understand the terms. You argue against them, when you’ve already agreed and you make me so—-” he thrusted again, causing me to gasp.
“So—” he didn’t finish the sentence, instead he just pumped inside me again.
“Camille,” he groaned before he spilled inside me.
We collapsed against each other and for a moment, there was only silence. Only the sound of our ragged breathing.
Then, slowly, he pulled out of me.
To my surprise, he reached for a handkerchief from his desk drawer, because of course Michael Vanderbilt had monogrammed handkerchiefs and helped clean me without speaking.
His touch was gentle, almost tender, and I finally thought I got through him for real this time. But as soon as my hope faded the soon as he turned away from me.
I slid off the desk and adjusted my skirt. “Michael,” I cleared my throat.
He didn’t turn.
The silence stretched between the two of us.
Even though it killed me inside I said it anyway. “Goodnight.”
Still nothing.
The click of the door echoed behind me.
And all I could think was that I was further behind than I was before—in emotions—in the contract—-even at my job.