Chapter 3 Camille #2
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 his food, 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.”
The unexpected validation made her chest tight. When was the last time someone had encouraged her to own her achievements rather than diminish them for other’s comfort?
“Actually,” she heard herself saying, “I write a blog about architectural design around the city. Design Around the City, under the name Neve Taylor.”
Leander’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, and then he laughed—a genuine, surprised sound that transformed his entire face.
“You’re Neve Taylor? I read your piece on the High Line renovation last month. The analysis of how they balanced preservation with innovation was brilliant.”
Heat crept up her neck, but this time it was pleasure rather than embarrassment. “You read my blog?”
“When I have time. Your perspective on adaptive reuse is refreshing—most developers miss the soul of a building when they’re focused on profit margins.”
The compliment hit deeper than it should have, striking at the part of her that had spent years hiding her passion behind charity galas and social obligations. Here was someone who not only understood her work but valued it.
“I can’t believe you actually read it,” she murmured, then caught herself gushing. “I mean, I’m glad you find it useful.”
“More than useful. Insightful.” His green eyes held hers across the table. “This partnership might work out better than I expected.”
Partnership. The word sent an unexpected thrill through her.
When they finished dinner, Leander surprised her again. “Would you like to take a walk? It’s a nice evening.”
Every rational part of her brain screamed that walking alone with her enigmatic boss was a terrible idea. But she found herself nodding before she could engage her better judgment.
He helped her from her chair with old-fashioned courtesy, his hand briefly touching the small of her back as he guided her toward the exit. The contact sent electricity shooting through her entire nervous system.
Outside, Manhattan pulsed with its usual evening energy—traffic, conversation, and the distant sound of music from street performers.
But Camille barely registered any of it.
Her attention was completely captured by the man walking beside her, close enough that she caught hints of his cologne—something clean and expensive that made her want to step closer.
This is insane, she thought. You’ve known him for exactly one day.
But knowing him felt less accurate than recognizing him, as though some part of her had been waiting for this particular combination of intelligence, intensity, and carefully controlled power.
“Can I ask you something?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
“Depends on the question.”
“Your social life—how does it usually impact your schedule? I want to make sure I’m not booking over important personal commitments.”
He was quiet for several steps, and she worried she’d overstepped some invisible boundary.
“Not much to worry about there,” he said finally. “This past month I’ve been completely absorbed by the Lexington project. Once I let Denise go, I’ve been working around the clock. So I’m grateful to have you on board.”
“I’m more than willing to help with whatever you need. No task is too small or too big.” The eagerness in her voice made her cringe internally. “I could pick up your dry cleaning, manage your personal appointments, whatever would be useful.”
His laugh was low and warm. “That’s not necessary.”
“It’s no bother. I want to make myself as useful as possible.”
They finally reached the entrance to her parents’ building, the doorman recognizing her with a respectful nod. She expected Leander to say goodnight at the curb, but he followed her into the marble lobby.
“You really don’t need to—”
“I insist.” His tone brooked no argument, pure alpha assertiveness wrapped in polite courtesy.
The elevator ride felt endless, the confined space amplifying every detail—his height, the breadth of his shoulders, and the way he watched the floor numbers with focused attention. When they reached the penthouse level, he walked her to the ornate door bearing her family’s name.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said, fumbling for her keys. “And for the opportunity. I know my background isn’t traditional.”
Leander lingered, his green eyes intense in the hallway’s soft lighting. For a moment, she thought he might say something more, might acknowledge the current of attraction that had hummed between them all evening.
Instead, he stepped back, professional distance reasserting itself.
“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” His voice was carefully neutral. “Have a good night, Camille.”
“Good night, Mr. Drake. I’m really looking forward to working with you.”
“Just call me Leander.”
Something flickered in his expression—his eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t quite read. Then he turned and disappeared into the elevator, leaving her standing in her doorway with her pulse racing and his scent lingering in the air around her.
She stood there long after the elevator doors closed, her mind spinning with the evening’s revelations. The dinner had gone well—maybe too well. Every rational thought told her to maintain professional boundaries, but her body seemed determined to ignore that advice.
He read my blog. The thought sent another wave of warmth through her chest. He values my insight.
But it was more than professional validation keeping her reeling as she finally entered the penthouse.
It was the way he’d looked at her, the careful control that seemed to slip just slightly when he thought she wasn’t watching, the sense that beneath his commanding exterior lived something vulnerable and unexpectedly tender.
Whatever this was—attraction, chemistry, intellectual connection—it was already more complicated than anything she’d planned for when she’d accepted Gerri’s offer.
And despite every warning bell in her head, she couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow might bring.