Chapter 28
POV: Camille?
A week can feel like a lifetime when you’re trying not to think about someone.
And this week? It stretched like eternity.
The first morning after walking out on Michael…I woke with a jolt, as though my body had been bracing all night for the weight of the decision. I half expected a message waiting on my phone.
There was one, of course and a few others.
“Can we talk?”
“Dinner tonight, just us.”
“I know you don’t want to hear from me but I can’t let it end like that. Please meet me for just one hour.”
I read them all, then tucked my phone face down.
When silence stretched a few days, relief flickered but it was short lived, of course.
Then the flower delivery came next. Roses, lilies, orchids, which all looked carefully selected and elegantly arranged. The flowers were delivered in a crystal vase I’d have to pawn if I didn’t want to feel guilty for throwing it out.
Marsha stopped at my desk and looked over the flowers. “Well, well, looks like someone’s trying to apologize.”
“Someone’s wasting money,” I muttered, hauling the vase to the break room.
That should have been the end of it.
A man sends flowers, a woman ignores them, then life goes on. But this was Michael Vanderbilt and he didn’t know how to stop.
So, 2 days later, a velvet box appeared on my desk. I expected jewelry but when I opened it, it was a contract. A contract with no clauses about intimacy, no exclusivity, just vague words about “companionship.”
I sat there staring at it, shocked.
He thought this was what would win me back—a piece of paper?
But it only made me more angry.
I shoved it into the bottom drawer without signing.
And still, the messages dinged.
“I miss you.”
“You deserved more than I gave.”
They hurt in a way I hated.
Because for all my resolve, part of me wanted to believe every word he sent.
By the time Friday arrived, it couldn’t stop raining. It was a downporn.
I stomped into the Vanderbilt Technologies tower, dripping and grumpy, convinced that if the universe had a sense of humor, it was cruel.
I was halfway to the elevators when Donna from human resources department intercepted me. “Camille, main conference room now.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Crisis meeting.”
She was gone before I could ask another question, leaving me staring at the elevator doors with dread building in my stomach.
The conference room was full of tension.
Board members, senior partners, executives, everyone was all crammed around the glass table and at the head of it all was Michael.
And he looked… different. Still immaculate, still powerful, but there was something different about him. His gaze met mine instantly.
I slid into a chair near the middle of the room.
A man from the finance division was already mid-rant. “If this leaks, we’re finished. The SEC will bury us in investigations and shareholders will bolt before the day ends.”
“What leaked?” someone else said.
Michael said, “a whistleblower claims that we suppressed internal reports on data privacy. They’ve already spoken to the press and by tonight, it’ll be everywhere.”
Suppressing reports wasn’t just a PR nightmare, it was legal suicide.
I remembered those reports.
“Are the reports real?” a board member asked.
Michael’s jaw clenched. “They exist but they are incomplete.”
“Incompleteness doesn’t matter. Only optics matter and right now, optics make us look guilty.”
The room erupted into chaos.
Then Michael’s voice rang out throughout it all, making me freeze in place.“Ms. Martens.”
And every head turned towards me.
And my stomach dropped.
“Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt?”
“You’ve reviewed these reports. What is your assessment?”
I straightened my shoulders, willing confidence in my tone. “They’re flawed. The methodology is weak and the conclusions aren’t binding but if spun, they could imply negligence.”
“Possible solutions?” Michael pressed.
“Release the reports ourselves. Make it clear we have nothing to hide. If we’re proactive, we control the narrative. If we don’t, the media will.”
Aboard member nodded. “She’s right.”
Murmurs of approval sounded throughout the room in response.
Michael’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “Draft the release then today and work with me directly.”
Of course.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Though, I wanted nothing but.
***
Hours later, the rain both poured inside and outside.
I sat across from Michael with papers across our communal working space. And every so often, I felt his gaze upon me.
Finally, after hours of silence, I replied, “Well it’s airtight, legally and optically now.”
Michael scanned the paper then set it down. “Good work.”
Two words. Simple.
But from him, they meant everything.
When they shouldn’t.
“Thank you.”
Silence stretched.
Then he said, “Camille.”
“Keep it professional,” I reminded him.
“I’ve been trying to. Flowers, contracts, messages. I thought if I found the right gesture, you’d come back but I was wrong.”
And I froze.
“You were right,” he continued without looking up at me.
“About the chains, about me hiding behind contracts, about how I don’t know how to separate business from—from you.”
A long pause sounded. “I don’t know how to love without control but I want to learn. Because if I don’t I know I will lose you completely and I already feel like I have.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. At all.
“Michael,” I whispered. “It might be too late.”
His eyes closed briefly, as if the words gutted him and when he opened them, I felt the weight of all of our emotions. “Then I’ll spend whatever time I have left proving it isn’t.”
And something cracked inside me.
Eventually, the crisis had stabilized. PR had their statements, legal had their defenses, investors had their lifeline and it looked like the company might actually survive.
I packed up, ready and needing to leave.
He didn’t turn as he spoke. “Thank you, Camille…for today and for staying when you didn’t have to.”
I hesitated before turning on my heels. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job.”
“No,” he said, finally turning to meet my gaze. “It was more than that. It always was.”
And damn him, part of me wanted to believe it.
As I walked out into the rain, I felt the weight of it all upon me.
This wasn’t just about a contract anymore. It wasn’t even about my career or his empire. This was about what came next.
A new chapter.
And I didn’t know if it would be written with him or without him.