Cajun in the Crossfire

3

Camilla sat in the glass-walled conference room, a notebook open on her lap and a pen poised. Hayes and Liam were already deep in discussion, reviewing contracts, security protocols, and potential business partnerships. The hum of the city outside seemed distant compared to the intensity inside.

“—and if we don’t secure the supply chain by next quarter, we risk losing leverage over the northern operations,” Hayes said, voice steady, eyes scanning the spreadsheet projected on the wall.

Liam leaned back, smirking. “And if we do, we gain full control. Simple.”

Camilla scribbled notes, her handwriting meticulous, mentally summarizing the points for later review. She listened, interjecting only when asked for clarification, careful not to reveal how fatigued she felt.

The first meeting ended, and without pause, they moved to the next. Another round of charts, negotiations, and strategy discussions. Camilla’s stomach gave a quiet growl—she hadn’t had breakfast yet, too focused on absorbing every word. She reached discreetly into her bag for a glucose monitor and tested herself under the table. Perfect. Now for a quick sip of water before the next session.

By the third meeting, fatigue began creeping in. Her fingers felt slightly numb, her focus sharper but her body subtly betraying her. She pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing her posture upright, pretending she wasn’t checking her watch to gauge how long until she could have a snack. Hayes noticed nothing; Liam leaned in once to comment on a chart, his teasing grin still in place, completely unaware of the extra balancing act Camilla was performing.

At one point, Hayes asked, “Camilla, your thoughts on supplier X’s proposal?”

Camilla hesitated just a second, feeling her stomach tighten, then replied with calm precision, “Their offer is solid financially, but the timeline conflicts with our logistics schedule. We’d risk bottlenecks unless we renegotiate the delivery windows.”

Hayes’ eyes flicked to her, a brief spark of approval. “Good catch. I like your thinking.”

Liam gave her a subtle nod, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “See? Already making a mark.”

Camilla smiled faintly, hiding the slight fatigue creeping in. She took a quiet breath, adjusting her posture, and scribbled a note: Snack and insulin after this meeting.

By the end of the day, she had survived five back-to-back meetings, each one a mental marathon. Her body ached slightly from sitting so long, and her stomach reminded her again of the insulin timing she had to maintain. No one in the room suspected the quiet juggling act behind the confident, composed exterior she presented.

When Hayes finally dismissed the group, Camilla gathered her notes, her legs stiff but her mind sharp. Liam leaned against the wall, smirking as he watched her pack.

“You made it through the day without fainting or falling asleep in the meetings,” he said teasingly.

Camilla shot him a look that could have cut steel. “I wouldn’t recommend underestimating me just because I’m not yelling over spreadsheets.”

Hayes nodded at her as he passed by, expression neutral but with a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.

Camilla exhaled quietly once they left the room. The adrenaline and focus had kept her sharp, but the exhaustion of balancing long hours, high-stakes discussions, and the quiet management of her diabetes weighed heavily on her.

She would handle it. She always did.

But as she reached for a quick snack and a sip of water, she silently vowed: tomorrow, she would be even more prepared. The job was demanding—but so was surviving. And Camilla Duval never backed down.