Chapter 2 Leander
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 the next 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 carefully maintained 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.”
After Travis left, the office fell back into its familiar silence, but Leander found his concentration fractured.
His thoughts drifted where they always went when emotional vulnerability threatened his carefully maintained control—back to that night twelve years ago, when everything he’d understood about safety and strength had shattered beyond repair.
The memory never arrived with dramatic fanfare, just sharp sensory details that cut through his defenses like a blade.
The metallic smell of blood mixing with expensive cologne.
The weight of his father’s body in his arms, life draining away despite Leander’s desperate attempts to stop the bleeding.
The moment when Martin Kellerman—his father’s trusted business partner, the man who’d shared family dinners and holiday celebrations—raised a gun with the cold calculation of someone who’d been planning betrayal for months.
Instinct had overridden conscious thought.
Leander’s hand had found the letter opener on his father’s desk, muscle memory from years of self-defense training taking over where shock had paralyzed rational thinking.
The blade had found its mark before Kellerman could fire again, and suddenly Leander was standing over two bodies instead of one, blood on his hands and a wound burning along his collarbone where Kellerman’s first shot had grazed him.
The physical wound had healed within weeks. The emotional devastation had carved permanent channels through his psyche, teaching him that love and trust created leverage people could exploit. Attachment meant vulnerability. Caring deeply was the fastest path to catastrophic loss.
Control, discipline, and emotional distance had become survival strategies.
The idea of any meaningful relationship, especially a mate bond—something he couldn’t negotiate, manage, or escape—sent him into a panic.
It was the ultimate threat to everything he’d built.
His lion might crave connection with primitive intensity, but Leander had learned to silence those instincts through sheer force of will.
He’d cultivated a reputation as one of New York’s most eligible bachelors not to collect conquests, but to maintain the illusion of availability while never risking genuine attachment.
Casual relationships served their purpose. Physical release without emotional investment. Companionship that ended when convenience demanded. But love? Love was the enemy of survival.
A knock on his office door cut through his spiraling thoughts.
Leander straightened in his chair, muscle memory snapping his posture into the commanding presence that had built an empire.
“Come in.”
The door opened with a cheerful confidence that made Leander’s teeth clench.
Gerri Wilder swept into his office like a pink-clad hurricane, her white bob perfectly styled and her blue eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that had toppled kingdoms and destroyed carefully laid plans.
At four foot eleven, she should have been dwarfed by the imposing space, yet somehow her presence commanded the room more effectively than his six-foot-three frame ever had.
“Good morning, Leander.” Her voice carried the warmth of someone greeting an old friend, though they’d met exactly twice. “You look wonderfully brooding today.”
Leander’s jaw tightened. The woman had a talent for dismantling his composure with surgical precision, her observations landing with uncomfortable accuracy. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Wilder. I trust you are eager to share your news.”
“Oh, I’m very eager.” Gerri settled into the chair across from his desk without invitation, crossing her legs with the poise of someone accustomed to making herself at home anywhere.
“Camille St. James is absolutely perfect for the executive assistant role. In fact, she’s perfect for you in ways that go far beyond professional compatibility. ”
His lion stirred with dangerous interest, recognizing something in Gerri’s tone that made every instinct flare to attention. “What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything, dear.” Gerri’s smile held the satisfied gleam of someone revealing a winning hand. “I’m stating it plainly. She’s your fated mate.”
The declaration landed with the force of a wrecking ball, shattering the careful equilibrium Leander had spent years constructing. His lion surged forward with primal recognition, roaring approval that sent shockwaves through his nervous system.