Navy.Her eyes dropped to her own dress, heat creeping up her neck as she realized they’d accidentally coordinated likesome couple who’d been together long enough to subconsciously mirror each other’s choices.
Stop it. Think professional thoughts.
But professional thoughts proved impossible when he approached the table with that predatory grace, his green eyes scanning the restaurant’s layout before settling on her with an intensity that made her heart race. His gaze lingered—definitely lingered—on the deep V of her neckline, and she suddenly felt too exposed.
He cleared his throat, pulling out his chair with perhaps more force than necessary. “Sorry I’m late.” His voice carried that same authoritative edge she’d noticed in the office, but softer somehow in the intimate lighting. “Got tied up with a late meeting.”
Camille tilted her head, her memory for details betraying her before she could stop herself. “Oh, it must have been unplanned. I didn’t see anything on your calendar after four today.”
The words hung in the air between them, and she watched something flicker across his features—surprise, maybe embarrassment. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah, it was last minute.” He settled into his chair. “Didn’t have time to put it on the calendar.”
Why would he lie about something so trivial? Unless it wasn’t trivial at all.
“How was your first day?” The subject change felt deliberate, his tone shifting to safer professional ground. “Did you settle in all right?”
The question unleashed a flood of enthusiasm she couldn’t quite contain. “I got so much done already—I organized your calendar with a color-coded system based on priority levels, and I sorted through your emails and created folders for different project phases and client communications, and I started a spreadsheet tracking the Lexington project timeline with?—”
“You did what to my emails?” The edge in his voice stopped her mid-sentence.
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I probably should have asked first. I just thought it would be more efficient than?—”
“It’s fine.” He waved a hand, but his expression remained guarded. “Your system is probably more organized than whatever I had anyway.”
A server appeared at their table—tall, distinguished, with the kind of presence that suggested he’d been working at establishments like this for decades. Leander’s entire demeanor shifted, familiarity replacing the tension.
“Vincent, good to see you. Could we get a bottle of the Barolo? And tell Pierre we’ll take whatever he’s feeling inspired by tonight.”
“Of course, Mr. Drake. Two of the chef’s special coming up.”
When Vincent disappeared, Leander turned back to her, and she caught something almost sheepish in his expression.
“Was that all right? I should have asked what you preferred.”
“That was perfect.” She smiled, genuinely touched by the consideration. “Pierre is incredible—anything he makes is going to be delicious.”
Something shifted in his eyes, a flash of realization. “You know this place.”
Of course you’d know this place,his expression seemed to say.Socialite privilege.
“I do.” She traced the rim of her water glass. “I come here sometimes when I need to think. The architecture is fascinating—the way they preserved the industrial elements while creating intimacy.”
The wine arrived with appetizers that looked more like art installations than food, and Camille found herself hyperaware of every movement Leander made. The way he tasted the wine with practiced authority, the careful precision with which he cut hisfood, and the intense focus he brought to everything—including the way he watched her.
It wasn’t predatory like Damian’s calculating assessment. This felt different. Like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and the mystery frustrated him as much as it intrigued him.
She tried to ignore the electric current humming between them, telling herself it was nothing more than intellectual compatibility. They were both passionate about design and development. Of course there would be chemistry in their shared interests.
But her body betrayed her rationalization, leaning closer when he spoke and her pulse quickening when their fingers accidentally brushed reaching for the bread. The attraction was undeniable, dangerous, and completely inappropriate.
When their main courses arrived—Pierre’s signature lamb with rosemary reduction that melted on the tongue—Leander’s questions turned more personal.
“Travis mentioned you graduated summa cum laude from Columbia. They have a superb architecture program.”
She nodded, downplaying the achievement with practiced humility. “It was a long time ago. I’m probably rusty on a lot of the technical aspects.”
“Don’t do that.” His voice carried sudden intensity. “Don’t minimize your accomplishments. You should be proud of that kind of academic success.”
