Chapter 13: Camille Strikes

Monday came wrapped in whispers.

Not loud ones. Nothing overt.

But the kind that shifted the air — and never settled.

Lexi stepped off the elevator into the sleek, open space of Blackwood Signature Events. A dozen workstations filled the floor—orderly, modern, bright with natural light. The kind of space that encouraged excellence... and quietly punished the unremarkable.

She moved past a cluster of junior planners reviewing color boards. Past the reception pod where someone laughed too sharply at something unfunny. Heads turned a second too late. Conversations dipped, then picked up again with just a bit too much energy.

Lexi didn't falter. Her heels tapped softly against the polished floor as she made her way to her desk — slightly apart from the main cluster. Not far, but enough to notice. Enough to feel the space between.

Behind her, the buzz of the office resumed. But not quite normally.

Maya glanced up as Lexi sat. "You missed the 8:45 Camille fashion walk," she whispered.

Lexi slid her folder onto the desk. "A tragedy."

Maya smirked. "She's been prowling between the printer and Ava's office like she's waiting to be asked who ruined her morning."

A few desks down, two junior assistants murmured behind a glass divider.

"If the floor plan's still wrong, Blackwood's going to lose it."

"Wasn't Lexi on that layout?"

Lexi didn't react. But her pen tapped once. Light. Steady.

Further down the aisle, Camille adjusted a file in her hand and approached — eyes unreadable, smile sharpened like a blade dressed in gloss.

She didn't slow.

"Oh—Lexi," she said in passing, "Didn't know interns got invites to the executive floor. Is that new? Or just... selective?"

Lexi didn't turn. Didn't speak.

But her stylus slipped slightly on the screen.

Camille kept walking. A few heads turned. One too many.

As she passed Ava's office, Lexi caught the flick of a flash drive in Camille's hand. Paused. Logged it. Said nothing.

The day unraveled fast.

By ten, a vendor replied with confusion: "Confirming final lighting specs per Camille's email?"

Lexi froze.

She hadn't sent one.

A quick thread check confirmed it — Camille had forwarded an outdated version of the layout using Lexi's CC field and the wrong draft as attachment. Lexi flagged it. Fixed it. Re-sent.

But damage done.

It wasn't loud sabotage. Just messy enough to make Lexi look sloppy.

And the worst part? Camille would deny it with perfect poise.

---

At 12:40, someone dropped a thick file beside her with a shrug. "Camille said to double-check your specs. She wasn't sure if they were... polished."

Lexi said nothing.

But her pen snapped in her hand.

She didn't move. Just stared at the ink dot spreading like a bruise on the margin.

She left for the restroom.

Needed air. Silence.

As she passed the mirror, her reflection caught her off guard. The light glinting off her blouse. The faint rust stain on her sleeve — from her backup coffee thermos.

Her breath hitched.

Just for a second, she was back in that café.

Spilled coffee. Gold watch. Steel eyes. That awful moment when her life tilted sideways and didn't recover.

And now here she was.

Still tilted.

Back at the coffee machine, whispers returned:

> "She gets meetings no one else does."

"Bet she's his type."

"That's why Camille's spiraling — her seat's threatened."

Lexi kept walking. The heat of the cup steadied her. Steam curled up like smoke from something burning.

4:58 p.m.

Internal Message

From: Ethan Blackwood

Subject: —

Body: My office. 5:15.

No greeting.

No explanation.

Just a command.

Lexi stared at it for one second longer than she should have. Then typed:

Confirmed.

She stood.

Eyes followed her like shadows as she crossed the floor — past Ava's office, past Camille, past junior execs who suddenly remembered they were typing.

Lexi didn't look at any of them.

But she felt every gaze burn.

The executive floor was colder.

Quieter. Sleeker. The lights here didn't buzz. The silence didn't forgive.

Lexi passed two assistant desks, heels echoing softer now, her reflection fractured in the black glass. She stopped outside his door.

Knocked once.

Entered.

Ethan stood by the window, sleeves rolled, hands in his pockets. The late sun cast him in hard lines and gold edges. His watch—black leather, sleek—caught the light.

Different from the one she ruined. No stain. No mark.

Clean. Controlled.

Like him.

He didn't turn.

She waited.

Eventually, he looked over.

"Sit."

She did, silently placing the folder on his desk.

He flipped it open. Pages turned. His gaze flicked across diagrams. He said nothing about the gossip. The whisper trails. The failed sabotage.

He didn't need to.

He didn't care.

"You corrected the vendor trail," he said.

"Yes."

He tapped the margin of the floral draft. "Confirm the palette on-site. I don't trust the photos."

"I already scheduled it."

He nodded once.

She handed him a new sheet. Their fingers brushed.

There. A flicker.

His hand paused for half a second longer than needed.

Then resumed.

"That's all."

Lexi stood.

At the door, he spoke again.

"Ms. Thompson."

She turned.

He hadn't moved. But his eyes—

This time they didn't just hold hers. They scanned. Slowed. Took her in like she was more than a folder full of layouts.

She didn't speak.

Neither did he.

But her breath snagged somewhere beneath her ribs.

Lexi left.

Back on the floor, the buzz was quieter now. Sharper.

Lexi returned to her desk.

Maya leaned in. "Anything... spicy?"

Lexi didn't look up. Just picked up a fresh pen and opened a new project tab.

"Just work," she said.

But her pulse betrayed her.

And the warmth across her throat refused to cool.