“Wonderful.” Gerri’s pleased response carried undertones of satisfaction that suggested this outcome had never been in doubt. “You start tomorrow morning at nine sharp. And Camille? Prepare yourself for a story you never saw coming.”
The line went dead, leaving Camille staring at her phone with the unmistakable sense that she’d just stepped into something far more significant than a simple career change. In a life where she’d always known what to expect, the complete uncertainty ahead felt foreign, unnerving, and absolutely exhilarating.
TWO
LEANDER
The forty-second floor of Drake Holdings commanded Manhattan like a steel and glass fortress. Monday morning stretched before Leander with the familiar weight of absolute control—his calendar organized to the minute, emails sorted by priority, and every detail of his empire arranged exactly as it should be. Yet beneath the polished veneer of his CEO composure, tension hummed through his body like a live wire, the constant vigilance that had kept him alive and successful for twelve years refusing to quiet even in his own domain.
His corner office overlooked the city he’d conquered through sheer will and unwavering determination, floor-to-ceiling windows framing a view that most men would kill for. The space itself reflected everything he’d built since his father’s death—sleek black marble, minimalist furniture, and not a single item out of place. Success measured in square footage and steel, yet the silence always felt heavier than triumph should.
Leander scrolled through acquisition reports with mechanical efficiency, his lion stirring restlessly beneath his skin. The beast never fully settled anymore, always alert for thenext threat and the next challenge to his carefully constructed world.
Control was survival. Distance was protection. Emotional investment was?—
“Morning, cousin.” Travis’s voice cut through the pristine quiet as he strolled through the office door without knocking, his steel gray eyes already assessing Leander’s mood with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent decades around him.
“You’re early.” Leander didn’t look up from his screen. “The board meeting isn’t for another hour.”
“I have some urgent news. I just got off the phone with Gerri Wilder.”
Leander’s jaw tightened as he finally raised his gaze to meet Travis’s amused expression. “And?”
“She found your new executive assistant. Claims she’s perfect for the job.” Travis settled into one of the leather chairs across from Leander’s desk.
Irritation flared through Leander’s chest, sharp and immediate. Not because Gerri had done her job, but because she’d made the decision without his input. He’d agreed to Travis’s suggestion of using Gerri’s services only because he couldn’t spare the time for recruitment with the Lexington project demands, but delegation had never sat well with his need for absolute control.
“I specifically said I wanted to interview candidates personally before she made any offers.”
“You also said you needed someone immediately.” Travis’s tone remained infuriatingly reasonable. “And Gerri delivered like I said she would. Her track record speaks for itself.”
It did. Gerri Wilder’s reputation for connecting the right people at precisely the right moment was legendary, her methods swift and her results undeniable. But trusting anyone with decisions that affected his company, his space, his carefullymaintained equilibrium, went against every instinct that had kept him alive.
“Who is she?” Leander’s voice carried the edge of command.
“Camille St. James.”
The name hit him like a physical blow, something deep and primal shifting in him. His lion stirred with sudden eagerness.
Leander kept his expression perfectly neutral even as his pulse quickened. “The socialite?”
“Yes.” Travis studied Leander’s face with the sharp intelligence that made him an excellent CFO and an occasionally irritating moral compass. “Is there a problem?”
“She’s a charity gala princess.” The words came out harder than intended, his skepticism masking something far more complicated. “What could someone who spends her time organizing fundraising dinners possibly know about corporate development?”
But even as he spoke, unwanted memories surfaced—magazine features he’d read despite himself, online articles about her building her mother’s charity foundation with surprising competence and genuine compassion. There had been something in those glimpses of her work that had caught his attention, an efficiency and vision that seemed at odds with her pampered reputation.
“She has an architecture degree from Columbia.” Travis’s casual delivery made the information land with unexpected weight. “Graduated summa cum laude, according to Gerri’s research.”
The revelation unsettled Leander more than it should have. He’d assumed someone with Camille’s background would have pursued something decorative and useless—art history, perhaps, or literature. Architecture meant structure, vision, and the ability to see possibilities where others saw only empty space.It aligned too closely with his own ambitions and created a connection he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
“Fine.” He leaned back in his chair, projecting the kind of deliberate indifference that had closed billion-dollar deals. “But this is temporary. She’ll probably grow bored within a week and run back to her charity lunches.”
Travis’s grin carried entirely too much amusement. “You sound intimidated.”
“I don’t get intimidated.” The response was automatic, alpha authority threading through every syllable. “I get cautious. There’s a difference.”
“Right.” Travis’s tone suggested he wasn’t buying the distinction. “Gerri’s bringing her by at nine. Try not to scare her off before lunch.”
