“I knew you would realize I’m right as usual,” Travis replied with a low chuckle.
After Leander ended the call, his mind reeled. The looming dinner represented more than a work obligation—it was the first unavoidable step toward confronting the mate bond he desperately wished didn’t exist.
THREE
CAMILLE
The amber lighting of Aurelio cast everything in warm gold, from the exposed brick walls to the hand-blown glass fixtures that caught and scattered light like captured stars. Camille had discovered this tucked-away Manhattan restaurant two years ago during one of her rebellious solo adventures, drawn by its architectural fusion of industrial heritage and modern elegance. The restaurant occupied a converted warehouse space where soaring ceilings met intimate alcoves, creating the perfect balance between grandeur and intimacy that most designers never achieved.
She’d arrived fifteen minutes early—a habit ingrained by years of St. James punctuality expectations—and now sat at the corner table she’d specifically requested, her fingers tracing the restored brick wall beside her. The texture grounded her, a tactile reminder that some things could be stripped down to their authentic core and still be beautiful.
Her navy silk dress felt like armor disguised as elegance, the kind of carefully chosen piece that walked the razor’s edge between professional and alluring. The deep V-neck was just suggestive enough to remind any observer that she was a woman, while the tailored cut maintained the crisp authority hernew role demanded. But now, under the restaurant’s flattering glow, she worried it sent the wrong message entirely.
Too much. Definitely too much.
She’d changed three times before settling on this outfit, discarding a conservative blazer as too severe and a flowing wrap dress as too casual. The navy silk had seemed like the perfect compromise—sophisticated without being stuffy, feminine without being frivolous. But sitting here, waiting for her enigmatic boss, she felt like she was trying too hard to prove something she couldn’t quite articulate.
Not romance,she reminded herself firmly.Respect. Competence. Worth.
The morning’s interaction replayed in her mind for the hundredth time, each detail examined and re-examined like evidence in a case she couldn’t solve. Their handshake had lasted perhaps three seconds, yet something electric had passed between them—a recognition that felt both thrilling and terrifying. Then Leander had withdrawn as though she’d burned him, and his abrupt departure left her standing in his office feeling foolish and confused.
She’d been perfectly polite. Professional. Perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about the Lexington project, but surely passion for the work was preferable to indifference. Yet his reaction suggested she’d committed some unforgivable breach of protocol.
After that awkward encounter, Travis had been her salvation, appearing with his easy smile and self-deprecating humor to guide her through the maze of Drake Holdings’ corporate culture. His steel-gray eyes had held genuine warmth as he’d shown her to her workspace—a glass-walled office adjacent to Leander’s that offered both privacy and proximity.
“Don’t take his mood personally,” Travis had said while helping her arrange her new desk. “Leander’s been particularlygrumpy lately. Something about this Lexington project has him wound tighter than usual.”
The explanation made sense. A development of that scope would carry enormous pressure, and adding a new assistant to the mix—especially one with her unconventional background—probably felt like another variable to manage.
Still, the way Leander had looked at her during those few seconds before his retreat haunted her thoughts. His green eyes had held an intensity that made her pulse quicken, as though he was seeing something in her that she didn’t quite understand herself.
Her phone buzzed against the white tablecloth, Damian’s name appearing on the screen. She let out a groan before she could suppress it. Her parents gave her phone number out yet again without asking her permission first.
Free for dinner tonight? Know a place you’d love.
Camille’s stomach tightened. She’d been dreading this inevitable follow-up, knowing that Damian represented everything her parents wanted for her future—stability, social standing, the kind of marriage that would cement alliances and secure legacies. Sure, on paper, he was ideal. Handsome, successful, charming in that practiced way that suggested he’d learned early how to make people like him.
Yet something about his attention felt calculated rather than genuine.
Can’t tonight—urgent work meeting. I’ll get back to you soon.
His response came immediately, carrying a subtle edge beneath the polite words.
Work meeting this late? Your dedication is admirable. Looking forward to hearing from you very soon.
The message felt like a gentle reprimand, and Camille found herself bristling at the implication that she couldn’t handle herown professional decisions. She set the phone aside without responding, unwilling to explain herself to someone who had no claim on her time.
The irony wasn’t lost on her—here she sat, waiting for one man while another demanded her attention. A work dinner with her intimidating boss was far more important than a romantic dinner with her parents’ chosen candidate.
But as another minute ticked by without Leander’s arrival, a different kind of anxiety began to surface. What if he didn’t show? What if this morning’s awkwardness had convinced him that hiring her was a mistake?
The thought sent an unexpected pang through her chest. This job represented more than professional opportunity—it was her first real chance to step outside the gilded cage of St. James expectations and discover what she might become when freed from the weight of other people’s dreams.
She wouldn’t let one strange interaction destroy that possibility. Whatever had spooked Leander this morning, she’d find a way to prove that she belonged in his world of steel and glass and visionary ambition.
Even if she had no idea what she’d done wrong in the first place.
Just as her thoughts threatened to spiral into self-doubt, movement caught her peripheral vision. Leander emerged from the restaurant’s entrance, and the sight of him stole whatever breath she’d managed to catch. He moved with the fluid confidence of a man accustomed to commanding attention without demanding it, his navy button-down shirt fitting his broad shoulders with tailored precision. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing strong hands and a watch that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
