(Leo's POV)
I never liked Ella Sinclair.
The first time we met, I thought she was impossible—too sharp, too cold, too fucking proud. She walked into that meeting room with her head high, her voice firm, as if she owned the world. As if she owned me.
And I don't let anyone own me.
Yet somehow, she's still in my head.
I could still see the way she looked at me during our business trip—defiant, unshaken, completely intoxicating.
I had spent years around beautiful women, the kind who knew exactly what to say, exactly how to touch me. And yet, none of them have ever crawled under my skin like she has.
It was fucking irritating.
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the glass of bourbon in my hand, staring out at the New York skyline from my penthouse.
It was past midnight, and yet, I wasn't tired. Not when my mind kept circling back to her.
Her lips—full, shaped like sin itself, the kind that made a man think about doing things he shouldn't.
Her eyes—so damn piercing, like she could see straight through every layer of bullshit.
The way she carried herself—confident, untouchable, fucking untamable.
And I hated that I wanted to be the one to tame her.
By the time morning came, I was already in my usual routine—an early workout in my private gym, followed by a cold shower and a black espresso.
I had barely finished my coffee when Lena Moreau walked in like she lived here.
"Leo," she greeted casually, dropping her handbag onto my kitchen counter. "You look like shit."
I smirked, leaning against the counter. "And you look too awake for this hour."
She poured herself a cup of coffee, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her emerald-green eyes sharp, observant. She was wearing a fitted black blazer over a silky camisole, effortlessly elegant.
Lena had been in my life for as long as I could remember. Our mothers were best friends, meaning she had practically grown up in my house. She was my right hand, my best friend, my most trusted confidante.
She was also my assistant and the only person who could handle my shit without losing her mind.
"So," she started, sipping her coffee, "who is she?"
I raised a brow. "Who?"
She gave me a knowing look. "Don't play dumb, Leo. You only look this distracted when a woman is involved."
I exhaled, rubbing my jaw. "No one important."
Lena tilted her head, studying me. "Liar."
I ignored her, taking a slow sip of my drink.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Wait… don't tell me it's Ella Sinclair."
I stiffened for half a second.
Lena noticed.
Her lips parted in shock before she burst into laughter. "Oh my God. It is Ella."
I scowled. "It's not."
"Leo, please. I know you. If you're this irritated, it means you either want to kill her or fuck her."
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. She wasn't wrong.
"She's…" I hesitated. "She gets under my skin."
Lena's smirk faltered slightly. "And you like that?"
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure.
She pressed her lips together, looking at her coffee as if debating something. Then, after a beat, she smiled again—too bright, too forced.
Sophia tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was trying to solve. Then, out of nowhere, she smirked.
"You're so fucked," she teased.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't you have something to do?"
She grinned, finishing her coffee. "Fine, I'll drop it—for now. But don't think I won't be watching this disaster unfold."
With that, she grabbed her purse and sauntered out.
I exhaled deeply, running a hand through my hair.
What the hell was Ella Sinclair doing to me?
If there was one woman who could force me into a lunch meeting I didn't want, it was my mother.
Eleanor Sterling was elegance incarnate—flawless in a navy-blue dress, her platinum-blonde hair styled into perfect waves, a diamond bracelet resting on her wrist.
We were seated at The Royal Club, an exclusive restaurant reserved for the city's elite. The kind of place where business deals were signed over champagne and five-course meals.
She smiled at me, sipping her wine. "You look… troubled, darling."
I sighed. "Not this again."
She tilted her head. "It's Lena, isn't it?"
I frowned. "What about her?"
"You know how much I adore her," my mother said smoothly, setting her glass down. "And her mother and I have always thought you two would make the perfect match."
I exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to groan. "Mother."
She smiled innocently. "What? You're both successful, you understand each other, and she's been by your side for years."
I took a sip of my whiskey, ignoring the fact that this was an argument I had been having with her forever.
She loved Lena.
Hell, everyone loved Lena.
And if I had ever been attracted to her, maybe things would have been easier.
But I wasn't.
I never had been.
Not once.
"I assume she's dating someone," I said flatly. "You should be encouraging that instead of trying to marry her off to me."
Mother smirked. "She is dating someone."
I raised a brow. "Then why are we having this conversation?"
Her smirk widened. "Because you are still my first choice for her."
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Jesus Christ."
Mother laughed softly, placing a hand over mine. "Fine, I'll drop it for now. But you do need someone in your life, Leo. You work too hard."
I said nothing, glancing down at my drink.
Someone in my life?
The only person who had been invading my thoughts lately was Ella Sinclair.
And she was the worst possible woman for me.