CHAPTER TWO: The Ghost in the Pile

Leo stared at the application photo, his head throbbing. The memory of her voice from fifteen years ago echoed in his skull, sharp as a razor.

"Because you’re nothing. You’re just a grunting pig," she’d whispered.

The worst part? She was right. He had been a monster to her back at Lyons College. He was the scholarship kid with the chipped tooth and the permanent chip on his shoulder, and she was the girl who owned the air he breathed. He’d spent years oinking at her in the halls just to hear his friends laugh—and to stop himself from crying because she didn’t even know his real name.

He looked at his mahogany desk, then at his hands. He’d worked himself to the bone to become a millionaire CEO by twenty-seven. He had the suits, the cars, and the power. But one look at Amara Denz turned him right back into that scrawny kid in hand-me-down jeans.

"Jesus, Leo. Get a grip," he muttered.

His body was reacting before his brain could. His heart was hammering, and he felt a sudden, sharp heat in his gut that was half-nostalgia and half-lust. He’d dated plenty of women, but they were all just placeholders. They weren't her.

He checked the name again. Amara Denz.

He’d changed his own name from Pluo to Joe the day he turned eighteen to ditch the ghost of his deadbeat father. If she saw the name "Leo Pluo" on the door, she’d probably jump out the window. But "Leo Joe"? To her, he was just another faceless suit.

He skimmed the resume, forcing himself to be professional. Her family’s bank had imploded years ago—a massive scandal that left them broke. She wasn't a "gilded girl" anymore; she was a survivor. She’d been grinding as a PA for tech start-ups, and her references were glowing.

He slid her file into the "Keep" pile. He’d let HR interview a few others to keep things looking legit, but the decision was already made. He needed to see her. He needed to show her he wasn't that jagged little jerk anymore.

The next morning, Leo stood by his floor-to-ceiling window, adjusting his cuffs. He felt like he was preparing for war.

"She’s here," his secretary, Precious, crackled over the intercom. "Ms. Denz is in the lobby."

"Send her up."

Leo turned as the elevator pinged. The doors slid open, and Amara walked in.

The air left the room. She was wearing a charcoal suit that looked like armor, her blonde hair pulled back tight. She looked like a goddess who had learned how to fight in the trenches.

She stopped in the middle of the office, her eyes scanning the room before they landed on him. Leo didn’t move. He watched the exact second the recognition hit her. Her eyes went wide, her breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, the "professional" mask shattered.

"You," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Leo leaned back against his desk, trying to look cooler than he felt. "Hello, Amara. It’s been a minute."

Amara gripped her briefcase until her knuckles turned white. "Leo Pluo?"

"It’s Joe now," he said. "But the rest is mostly the same."

"I... what the hell?" She took a half-step back toward the door. "The listing didn't have a photo. I wouldn't have stepped foot in this building if I’d known it was you."

"But you're here," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave. "And I’ve seen the court records, Amara. I know things are tight. I know you’re the only one taking care of your mother."

Amara flinched like he’d slapped her. "Are you serious? You brought me here just to rub it in? What’s next, Leo? You going to oink at me again? Make a few more pig jokes for old time's sake?"

The guilt hit him like a physical weight. "No," he said, stepping toward her. "I brought you here because you’re the best person for the job. And because I want to apologize."

Amara let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "An apology? After ten years? You’re a billionaire CEO, and you’re playing games with a girl who just needs a paycheck."

"I’m not playing," Leo insisted. "I was a piece of sh*t back then. I was a scholarship kid who hated that I couldn't get you to look at me. I wanted your attention, even if I had to be a monster to get it."

He looked her dead in the eye. "I’m tired of being the villain in your story, Amara. I want to make it right."

Amara stood frozen. The silence stretched until it felt like the walls were closing in. She looked at him—really looked at him—seeing the man instead of the bully.

"If I take this job," she said, her voice like ice, "it’s strictly business. No 'old times.' No 'Leo and Amara.' I’m the assistant, you’re the boss. That’s it."

Leo felt a pang of disappointment, but he nodded. "Deal."

He held out his hand. Amara hesitated, then reached out and took it. Her grip was firm, her skin warm. It sent a jolt through him that made his teeth ache.

"See you Monday, Mr. Joe," she said, turning on her heel and walking out.

Leo watched the door close, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. She was back. And this time, he was going to make sure she never wanted to leave.

Amara Denz sat in the waiting area of Baze, her hands gripped together so tightly her knuckles turned white. She tried to appear calm, staring at the monochrome, hyper-modern decor of the lobby, but inside, she was a frantic mess. Glass dividers and steel beams surrounded her, creating a cold, fishbowl environment where every movement was visible to the bustling corporate staff moving through the corridors.

In the corner, a receptionist with a sleek earpiece routed calls with robotic precision. Amara watched her, thinking how much she would hate being trapped behind that massive desk, exposed to every passerby. But desperation had a funny way of silencing pride. She needed this job. She needed it before the bank took the last of what her family had left.

This was her third interview this month. The previous two had resulted in nothing but polite, automated rejection emails. This invitation had come with almost no warning—a stern phone call just hours ago.

"The position must be filled immediately," the woman on the phone had snapped. "If you aren't available today, I have forty other names on my list."

Amara had dropped everything. She knew almost nothing about Baze, other than the fact that it was a multimedia giant and its CEO was a self-made millionaire named Leo Joe. The name "Leo" had initially sent a sour jolt through her system, reminding her of the cruel boy from high school who had made her teenage years a living hell, but she pushed the thought aside. This was business. This was survival.

"Ms. Denz?" the secretary called out, her smile bright but entirely hollow.

"Yes," Amara replied, standing up and smoothing her skirt with damp palms.

"Conference Room D. End of the hall. They're ready for you."

Amara walked down the corridor, focusing on her breathing. She was barely five feet tall, but she pulled her shoulders back, trying to project the confidence of a woman who wasn't currently staring down the barrel of financial ruin. She reached the door, took a final, jagged breath, and knocked.

"Come in," a muffled voice called.

She stepped inside. The room was dominated by a glass table that looked large enough to host a small parliament. Three people sat on the far side: a woman and two men, all dressed in sharp, expensive suits.

"Take a seat, Amara," said the man in the middle, a tall, imposing figure with a nameplate that read Tyrant McKinney. "We’re on a first-name basis here. This is Ama Locks and Pete Sky."

Amara sat, her mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton. She reached for the glass of water in front of her, taking a small sip to keep her hands from trembling.

"Your resume is impressive," Tyrant began, flipping through the pages. "Business degree from the College of Pinnsons, two years as a PA to a tech CEO. But that start-up went bust, didn't it?"

"It did," Amara said, deciding that honesty was her only play. "The CEO was short-sighted. He panicked when the market shifted and chose to coast on a failing idea rather than innovate. I did my best to manage the fallout, but you can't save a ship if the captain refuses to turn the wheel."

Pete jotted something down on his legal pad. Ama Locks, the HR assistant, leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "So, why Baze? Why us?"

"I’m looking for a leader," Amara said. "I took a chance on a start-up last time. Now, I want to be part of an organization that defines the industry." She hesitated, then added with a small, forced smile, "And let's be honest—the benefits here are legendary."

Silence met her joke. None of them smiled. The air in the room seemed to grow ten degrees colder. Amara felt the panic climbing up her throat, hot and suffocating.

"What makes you a good fit for this specific culture, Amara?" Ama asked. "Not your skills—we see those. Why you?"

Amara launched into a practiced monologue about her versatility and her focus on task management. She talked until she realized she was rambling, but the more she spoke, the more she saw the disappointment in their eyes. She hadn't researched the company’s specific mission, and they knew it.

"That's all very well," Ama interrupted, her voice brusque. "But you’re giving us a canned answer. I have the sense you’ve sent out fifty resumes this week hoping someone—anyone—would bite. It makes me nervous that you’d leave us the moment a better offer comes along."

"I am a sure thing," Amara retorted, her voice sharper than she intended. "My record shows I stay. I stayed with a failing start-up until the doors were locked. I don't quit. I see myself here in five years because I’m looking for a home, not a stepping stone."

The three interviewers exchanged a look that Amara recognized all too well. It was the "thank you for your time" look. The interview was over.

"Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Ms. Denz," Tyrant said, sliding her folder shut. The shift from "Amara" back to "Ms. Denz" was the final nail in the coffin.

"You’ll hear from us by the end of the day," Pete added, standing up.

Amara stood, her legs feeling like lead. She shook their hands, her game face finally beginning to crack. She turned toward the door, her only thought to get to the elevator before she burst into tears. But as she reached for the handle, the door swung open.

A man stepped in.

Amara froze. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He was older, his shoulders broader, his face etched with the sharp lines of a man who held the power of life and death over companies. But those eyes—those magnificent, cold, piercing eyes—were unmistakable.

It was Leo Pluo. The boy who had called her a pig. The boy who had laughed when she cried.

Leo Joe stepped into the conference room, his mind already churning through the day's crises. He had been in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation when Tyrant messaged him that the final PA candidate was finishing up. He had seen the name "Amara Denz" on the list that morning, and it had haunted him every hour since.

As he walked in, he saw his HR team rising to their feet.

"Thanks for coming in, Leo," Tyrant said. "We just finished with the last one."

Leo didn't hear him. His gaze was locked on the woman standing by the door. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Her skin was pale, her green eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a deep-seated fear that made his stomach twist with a familiar, black shame.

Amara.

She looked exactly as he remembered, yet entirely different. The soft girl was gone, replaced by a woman who looked like she had fought every inch of the way to stand in this room.

"Did she just finish?" Leo asked, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears. He kept his eyes on the HR panel, trying to maintain his mask of professional indifference.

"Yes," Ama Locks replied, sensing the sudden tension. "Amara Denz. She has the experience, but honestly, Leo, she wasn't prepared. She didn't do the research. I think we should keep looking."

Leo sat at the head of the table, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the empty chair where she had sat. He could almost feel her lingering presence in the room—the scent of her perfume, the echo of her voice.

"Her CV is fantastic," Leo said, his voice level. "Two years with a tech CEO? That’s a baptism by fire. We need someone who can handle chaos."

"She seemed... distracted," Pete added. "Nervous. Quick to leave."

"She’s not distracted," Leo countered, a little too quickly. "She’s probably just exhausted. The start-up she worked for collapsed; she’s been fighting for a paycheck while looking for a leader who won't let her down. I say we offer her the job."

Tyrant frowned. "Are you sure, Leo? It’s a big risk for your personal office. If she’s not committed—"

"I’m sure," Leo interrupted, his tone final. "Make the offer. Full benefits. Start Monday."

The HR team exchanged puzzled glances, but they didn't argue. Leo was the boss. His word was law.

"Fine," Tyrant said. "We'll send the offer over by end of day."

Leo nodded and stood up, his mind racing. He walked out of the conference room, his pulse still high. He had spent years changing his name and building his empire, trying to shed the skin of Leo Pluo, the boy who had nothing. Seeing her again brought it all back—the guilt, the obsession, the desperate need to prove himself to her.

He knew she had changed her name too. Taking "Denz" was her way of escaping the shadow of her father’s disgrace. They were both running from their pasts, both trying to reinvent themselves in this cold, glass city.

As he walked toward his private office, he felt a strange sense of destiny. This wasn't just a hire. It was a collision. He was going to give her everything she needed to survive, and in return, he was going to find a way to make her look at him without that flicker of fear in her eyes.

He sat at his desk and pulled up her file one last time. He touched the screen, his finger tracing the line of her jaw in the photo.

"Monday," he whispered.

He was ready. He had the power, he had the money, and now, he had the girl. All he had to do was convince her that the man he had become was worth more than the boy she remembered.

"Would you mind sitting back down for a moment, please, Ms. Denz?"

Amara sat down hard, her knees turning to water. Leo Joe towered over her, a solid six-foot-three of tailored charcoal wool and raw, masculine energy. His dark hair was styled in a way that looked effortlessly disheveled, as if he had just stepped out of a high-end roadster. His brown eyes were as beautiful as they were cold, and as he smiled—showing off rows of Hollywood-perfect teeth—Amara realized with a jolt of horror that he didn't seem to recognize her at all.

To him, she was just an applicant. To her, he was the ghost that had haunted her nightmares since graduation. Leo Pluo had become Leo Joe. The charity-case rebel with the ripped jeans was now the billionaire CEO of Baze.

Shit, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. If she had known, she never would have set foot in this building. But she was here now, and she was trapped.

"Is something wrong, Leo?" Tyrant asked, his voice cracking slightly. The HR manager looked as blindsided as Amara felt.

"Not at all," Leo answered, reclaiming the head of the conference table. He reclined in his leather chair like a king surveyng his court. "I just have a few follow-up questions for our candidate."

The three HR managers exchanged uneasy glances. This was a total breach of protocol. Amara watched them, her mind racing back to Lyons College, back to the day the "wolf" had first bitten.

She had been a shy, quiet girl back then, hiding behind a mask of aloofness because she didn't know how to talk to people. And Leo? Leo had been the sun around which the school revolved. He was the bad boy, the scholarship genius, the extrovert. She had nursed a crippling crush on him for years, pretending he didn't exist while her heart shattered every time he walked past.

Then came the day in the cafeteria. She had overheard him boasting to his friends about a math assignment due on Friday. She knew it was due on Wednesday. Against her better judgment, she had turned around, her palms sweating, and whispered, "The assignment is due on Wednesday."

He had swiveled that god-like head and scowled. "Ah, the teacher’s sheepdog wants to corral the sheep. News flash—I’m a wolf."

His friends had howled with laughter. Amara had tried to explain herself, her voice shaking, but it only made the target on her back larger.

"Denz is probably getting wood from Dusty Sam," Leo had shouted over his shoulder, referring to their ancient math teacher.

The cafeteria had erupted. That rumor—that she was sleeping with a man old enough to be her grandfather—had followed her until the day she graduated. Leo had taken her one moment of courage and turned it into a lifetime of shame. From that day on, he had been her tormentor, finding a new way to humiliate her every time they crossed paths.

And now, here he was. The CEO.

"Ms. Denz," Leo said, snapping her back to the present. "I'm Leo Joe. You'll be working directly for me if you're hired. I'd like to interject, if that's alright with the panel?"

Amara felt a primal, animalistic pull toward him that made her stomach flip. Despite the hatred simmering in her veins, her body was betraying her. She clenched her thighs together, trying to stifle the sudden, unwanted thrumming between her legs.

"When did you realize the previous company you worked for was going to collapse?" Leo asked, his gaze pinning her to the chair.

"Eight or nine months before the doors closed," Amara replied. She was surprised by how steady her voice sounded.

"Did you tell your CEO?"

"I gave him the facts," she said, her chin lifting. "Repeatedly. He refused to listen. I stayed because I don't believe in bailing when things get difficult. I stayed until the lights went out because the team deserved that much loyalty."

Leo nodded slowly, a shadow of something like respect crossing his face. "You start Monday. Eight a.m. sharp. Don't be late."

The room went dead silent.

"Mr. Joe," Tyrant stammered, his face flushing. "We... we still have other interviews scheduled. We have a pool of candidates—"

"And what?" Leo interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we haven't completed the vetting process for the others," Tyrant said, looking at Amara with a mixture of pity and confusion.

"The technical requirements for a PA are standard," Leo said, his voice dropping into a register that commanded absolute obedience. "What I need is loyalty. Ms. Denz has proven she has it. She stayed with a sinking ship; imagine what she’ll do for one that’s actually sailing. I’m satisfied."

Tyrant swallowed hard. "Got it. I'll process the paperwork."

"Thank you," Leo said curtly. He turned his eyes back to Amara. "Do you have any questions for me?"

Amara stared at him. She needed the money—she needed the insurance and the salary more than she needed her pride—but the thought of being at this man’s beck and call every day felt like a death sentence.

"No," she whispered. "No questions."

Leo stood up and walked around the table. He stopped in front of her and extended his hand. Amara rose on shaky legs and took it. The moment their palms met, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm, making her breath hitch. Leo didn't let go immediately. He held her hand for a beat too long, his thumb brushing against her knuckles.

"Good. See you Monday, Amara. Welcome to Baze."

He flashed a dazzling, predatory smile and swept out of the room.

Amara stood frozen, her hand still tingling. The HR team was staring at her in shock.

"Umm, thank you for your time," she managed to stutter out, looking at Ama and Pete.

"Welcome to the company, Amara," Pete said, sounding utterly baffled.

"See you Monday," Ama added, her expression unreadable.

Amara practically ran out of the conference room. She didn't stop until she was outside the building, breathing in the cold city air. Her head was spinning. She had just landed the best job of her career, but the boss was the man who had destroyed her reputation.

She couldn't decide if she wanted to scream with joy or throw up. Leo Joe didn't recognize her—that much seemed clear. He saw a loyal, efficient assistant. But she knew exactly who he was. She knew the wolf beneath the expensive suit.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself, clutching her briefcase. "It's just a job. He’s just a man."

But as she walked toward the subway, the memory of his hand against hers lingered. She had entered that room a girl desperate for a paycheck, but she was leaving it as something else. She was the woman who was about to go to war with her past.

Up in the corner office, Leo stood at the window, watching the tiny figure of Amara Denz disappear into the crowd. He wasn't thinking about business or loyalty. He was thinking about the way her skin felt against his.

"She doesn't know," he murmured.

He had seen the shock in her eyes, the flash of a memory, but she had buried it well. She thought he was a stranger. She thought Leo Pluo was dead and gone.

He walked back to his desk and picked up her resume. He had told Tyrant he hired her for her loyalty, but that was only half the truth. He had hired her because the moment he saw her, the ten years of distance between them had vanished. He was the boy in the hallway again, and she was the girl he couldn't stop hurting because he didn't know how to love her.

"Monday," he said, his voice a low growl.

He had her in his building. He had her on his payroll. And by the time he was done, he would have her in his life—not as a "sheepdog," and not as a "pet," but as his.

The wolf had finally caught the lamb, but this time, he wasn't planning on biting. He was going to make sure she never wanted to leave.