Chapter 2 - The Rules of the Perry House
Twenty minutes later, Nevie found herself sitting in the plush leather backseat of a black Maybach cruising through the rain-slicked streets of downtown.
Leandro sat beside her, silently reviewing documents on an iPad. Up front, his driver, a broad-shouldered man named Marcus, drove with practiced precision. Stella was nowhere to be seen—Leandro had dispatched her in a separate car with explicit instructions to stay inside her apartment until further notice.
Nevie held a dry wool blanket around her shoulders, provided by Marcus before they left the restaurant alley.
"Where are we going?" Nevie asked, breaking the heavy silence inside the cabin.
"To my residence," Leandro said without looking up from his screen. "You need dry clothes. And we have contracts to discuss."
"I haven't agreed to work for you."
Leandro clicked off his tablet and turned to face her. The ambient streetlights cast dramatic shadows across his sharp features. "You walked into my car, Ms. Brown. In my world, that is an agreement."
"In my world, that's called having no good options," Nevie countered coldly. "What exactly does a 'personal assistant' to Leandro Perry do? Should I expect to hide bodies or launder money?"
Leandro leaned back against his leather headrest, studying her with genuine curiosity. "Do you believe everything the tabloids write about my family?"
"I know your father ran the waterfront docks with an iron fist," Nevie said. "And I know six months ago, when he had his stroke, the police doubled their patrols around your headquarters. You don't get that kind of attention by running a legal logistics firm."
"My father was a blunt instrument," Leandro admitted, his voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous register. "He believed power was built through shouting and bloodshed. I believe power is built through discipline, efficiency, and absolute loyalty. My legitimate businesses generate hundreds of millions. My 'other' interests ensure those businesses remain undisturbed. Your job will be managing my schedule, filtering my correspondence, and ensuring people like my sister do not destroy my public image."
The car pulled up to a gated estate in the exclusive hills overlooking the city. The iron gates swung open automatically, revealing a sprawling stone mansion surrounded by high security walls and guarded by men in dark suits.
The Maybach stopped beneath the grand portico. Marcus opened Nevie's door.
Inside, the mansion was a masterpiece of cold, modern luxury—marble floors, soaring glass walls, and dark velvet furnishings. A stern-looking older housekeeper named Mrs. Gable met them in the foyer.
"Mrs. Gable," Leandro commanded smoothly. "Take Ms. Brown to the guest suite on the west wing. Find her clean clothes, ensure she has a warm meal, and bring her to my study in one hour."
"Yes, Mr. Perry," Mrs. Gable said respectfully.
Nevie turned to face him before following the housekeeper. "And if I read your contract and decide to walk away?"
Leandro paused at the foot of the grand staircase, looking back at her over his shoulder. "Then I will pay off your mother’s medical debt anyway, clear your name with Gerard, and have Marcus drive you home."
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Nevie frowned, caught off guard. "Why would you do that?"
"Because," Leandro said softly, his dark eyes glittering beneath the chandelier, "you didn't flinch when my sister threw water in your face. And I respect bravery, Ms. Brown. Even when it's directed at me."
