I don't hear the rest. I'm moving as fast as I can without running, one hand pressed against my stomach, the other clamped over my mouth. The door seems impossibly far away.
I'm three steps from the door when my body betrays me completely. There's no stopping it, no holding back. In a desperate move, I lunge for the wastebasket beside the door.
I make it. Barely.
The sound I make as I vomit into the metal bin is horrific—a guttural, animal noise that echoes in the conference room. My body heaves, rejecting everything I've eaten this morning. Tears spring to my eyes, partly from the physical strain, partly from the crushing mortification.
This can't be happening. Not in the middle of a meeting. Not in front of a potential client. Not in front of someone like Julian Fairfax.
But itishappening. My body convulses again, and I grip the trash can tighter. I'm vaguely aware of movement behind me, of Julian saying something, but I can't focus on anything except the nausea and the horrible reality of what's occurring.
When it finally stops, I remain frozen, hunched over the wastebasket, unable to turn around and face the humiliation. My throat burns. My entire body trembles.
"Here."
Julian's voice is gentle, close to my ear. I turn my head slightly to see him kneeling beside me, offering a glass of water and—bless him—a tissue.
I take both with a shaking hand, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry," I whisper, my voice raw. "This is... I've never... "
"No worries. It happens sometimes," he says, and there's no disgust in his voice, no judgment—only concern. "Are you okay?"
I dab at my mouth with the tissue, then take a small sip of water to rinse the bitterness away. "I don't know what happened. I felt a little off all morning, but I thought I could push through it."
Julian reaches out slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, and brushes a strand of hair from my face. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender.
"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable," he says, gently helping me to my feet. His hand is steady on my elbow, supporting without controlling. "My office has a sofa."
I let him guide me through a door at the back of the conference room into a smaller space—his private office. Unlike the sterile feel of the conference room, this space feels lived-in. Framed jerseys on the walls, books stacked haphazardly on shelves, a well-worn leather sofa against one wall.
"Sit," he instructs, his hand still on my elbow. "I'll be right back."
I sink onto the sofa, still clutching the water glass. My professional dignity is in tatters and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Julian returns moments later with a damp cloth and a small trash can, which he places discreetly beside the sofa. "Just in case," he says with a gentle smile.
"I'm so, so sorry," I murmur, pressing the cool cloth to my forehead.
He sits beside me, leaving enough space that I don't feel crowded. "Please don’t apologize. We'll reschedule when you're feeling better."
"I can continue," I protest weakly, even as my stomach gives another threatening lurch. "I have all my materials here. We could?—"
"Camille," he interrupts, his voice firm but kind. "You need to be at home resting.”
The kindness in his voice nearly undoes me. Julian's warmth feels like stepping into sunlight after a long winter.
“I have to say, this is one of the more memorable first meetings I've had." There’s a hint of amusement lightening his tone.
Despite everything, I find myself smiling weakly. "Not the kind of memorable I was going for."
"You made quite an impression before the dramatic finale," Julian assures me. He stands, moving to his desk to retrieve his phone. "I'm calling you a car to make sure you get home safely."
"That's not necessary," I begin, but the look he gives me stops my protest.
"Non-negotiable," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "I'd never forgive myself if you passed out in the back of some taxi."
I should insist on my independence. Should maintain some semblance of professional boundaries. But truthfully, the thought of Julian seeing me home is strangely comforting.
"Thank you," I say simply.
