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by Adriana Locke

  “When the time is right,” I tell him. “But I don’t have the time or energy to give to someone right now.”

  That’s true. I barely have enough time in my day to do what I need to do to keep everything going. But that’s only half the story.

  He doesn’t need the other half.

  Mallory

  “PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE,” I PRAY as the elevator inches north. “I can’t be late!”

  My black heel taps against the tile, my hand clenching around my bag, as I watch each number slowly light up. Kicking myself for not getting gas last night and waiting until today, I’m at the door before the buzzer goes off. As soon as the right floor dings, after what feels like an eternity, I dash out.

  The landing forms an “H,” with offices lining each long hallway. Pivoting to the right, I turn left and dash, more carefully than yesterday but not any slower, down the hall to the double glass doors that open into what is now my office. They close softly behind me.

  My heart is thrashing beneath a wine-colored blouse that nicely showcases my boobs. I feel good in it, but not as good as I feel with Graham’s eyes on me.

  I tiptoe across the room and slip into my seat. Glancing at the clock, I have four minutes to spare. As my bag hits the floor, the large wooden doors to Graham’s office swing open. I sigh, but not from victory—I whimper from pure delight.

  His hair, combed to the side with a spike at the front, is a little darker than usual. My fingers itch to touch it, to see if it’s still wet from the shower. He’s a perfectly put-together image of power and sex appeal in a navy blue suit, crisp beige shirt, and a tie that incorporates both colors in a diamond pattern. Then his cologne hits me and I think I’m going to faint away.

  Slipping off the black wire-rimmed glasses from his face, his brows arch in a hurry. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Four minutes early,” I point out with a smug smile. Despite six outfit changes, having to stop for gas, and a mini-traffic jam, I made it on time.

  He doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he checks his watch. “Good to see.”

  “Yesterday was an anomaly,” I say, leveling up to my desk. “Everyone gets one bad day sometimes, right?”

  He doesn’t answer, just watches me with a neutral face as I pull out a few odds and ends from my bag. “What’s that?” he asks.

  “This is a stress ball,” I point out, tucking it in my desk drawer.

  “I think a happy face on a ball staring at me all day would give me stress.” He crooks his neck as he peers at the light purple device I place on my desktop. “What about that?”

  “This,” I say, holding it in the air, “has essential oil inside. I can roll it on my wrists, the back of my neck, wherever . . .”

  His eyes flip to mine. His chest rises and falls heavily. “Can you keep that out of sight?”

  “Sure,” I say, blushing.

  The glass doors swing open, distracting us both. A younger, lighter, more athletic version of Graham walks in wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. He has a huge grin on his face. “Mallory Sims,” he singsongs, extending a large, calloused hand.

  “Lincoln?” Although I haven’t seen him in years, except on television, I’m fairly certain I’m right. Those genes aren’t found in that combo just anywhere. He stands by Graham and the two of them together, side-by-side, makes my head spin. And panties melt away.

  Good God. Don’t let him visit much.

  “I guess my reputation proceeds me,” he winks. “Can I call you Mal?”

  “You are not nicknaming my assistant,” Graham huffs.

  Lincoln’s shoulder hits Graham’s, knocking him sideways a step. Graham mutters something, which causes his younger brother to chuckle. “Lighten up, G.” He turns to me. “What do you think of my brother here? Did he treat you right on your first day?”

  “She’s my employee, Linc,” Graham says just loud enough for me to think he didn’t want me to hear.

  Lincoln ignores him, watching me with a wide smile. “I know he’s not charming right off the bat and kind of a nerd with that suit and—when did you start wearing glasses?” he asks, looking at his brother.

  “Mallory? Remember how I told you my family are the only ones that can come in without advanced notice?” Graham asks.

  “Yes.”

  “If you see this guy in here again, call security.”

  Lincoln and I laugh as Graham just shakes his head.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Lincoln offers. “You know, I just moved back to town. My girl, Dani, doesn’t really have any friends here. I think the two of you might hit it off.”

  I look at my boss. His body language—crossed arms, pressed lips—tell me everything I need to know. His eyes are trained on me, his gaze burning into mine. His eyes darken as my heartbeat picks up and I imagine him doing just what I want him to do. Lift me up, pull up my dress, and discover that, today, I’m wearing no panties.

  He cocks his head slightly to the side. It’s as if he’s issuing me some warning not to go there. Little does he know, I’ve gone there. Multiple times. All the way a few times as I got ready for bed last night and once before I got here today. What’s a girl to do when he looks like that?

  “Oh, who cares what Graham has to say? He’s all bark, no bite,” Lincoln promises, bringing me out of my daze. “Well, except that time in St. Petersburg . . .” He glances at Graham. “That’s probably not a story to tell in front of your new employee, huh?”

  “Why are you here this morning?” Graham asks, pulling his gaze to Lincoln.

  “If I remember correctly, the sign out front—you know, the large one in big, black letters?—says LANDRY on it.”

  “So does your mailbox,” Graham grumbles.

  “Look,” he sighs, “Barrett told me he told you the news last night. I know you’re pissed, but—”

  “Can we talk about this in my office?” Graham asks, exasperated.

  “I thought this was your office?” Lincoln retorts, the smile on his face making it obvious he’s doing it just to rile his brother up.

  “You two are hysterical,” I say, not able to wipe the grin off my face.

  Lincoln walks in front of my desk and leans against the corner. “You were right, G. I should’ve remembered her.”

  “You didn’t?” I say, my mouth dropping in faux shock. “How could you forget me? Don’t you remember the time you were chasing your sisters and I with a worm at the Farm and I fell and had to get stitches in my chin?”

  “That was you? Wow, Mallory,” he whistles between his teeth. “I remember you as a little girl with braces. You’re . . . beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I offer, blushing at his compliment.

  “Didn’t I hear you got engaged yesterday?” Graham interrupts, his arms crossed over his chest. His watch sparkles in the light as he almost glares at Lincoln. “And are getting married in a few weeks?”

  “Congratulations,” I say, watching Lincoln’s ass as he lifts off my desk.

  He turns to me and gives me a dazzling smile. “Thank you. I’m pretty jacked about it, to be honest. I gotta go get tuxes and all that shit and I don’t even hate it.”

  “Because it means you get her,” I volunteer.

  “Yeah.” He looks at the floor, his cheeks a touch flushed. “She really fucked up everything in my life,” he beams. “I’m going to be a daddy. I mean, I’m going to be responsible for another human, and while I’m not sure that’s a good idea, it’s happening and I’m looking forward to it. It’s crazy how fast shit changes.”

  His entire face is lit up by his admission and I wonder who the lucky girl is. Not just because she wrapped up this handsome guy, but because he’s obviously head-over-heels for her. My heart tugs in admiration and jealousy because I’ve never had someone look at me like that. Ever. Maybe I pretended Eric did, but seeing it like this makes it apparent I haven’t.

  “Let’s finish this in my office,” Graham says, disappearing ins
ide the doors.

  “Nice to see you again, Mal.” Lincoln gives me a peace sign and joins his brother, closing the door behind them.

  I look around the room. I’m not sure if it was this boring from the get-go or if I was so busy yesterday that I didn’t notice. Or if Las Vegas would seem dull after the Landry’s left. I imagine the latter is the case.

  They bring such an air of excitement to a room. When they walk in, everything seems to come to life. I can’t explain it, but damn it if I can’t feel it.

  I wonder what they’re discussing on the other side of the door, if Graham is more like Lincoln when he isn’t in the role of CEO. I’ve imagined what Graham’s laugh sounds like and what kind of music he listens to. He’s so hard to predict. I wouldn’t know where to even start. I doubt I’ll ever know that much about him. It wasn’t on his stupid bullet-point list, but I can read between the lines.

  His daily email, the list he promised he’d have for me to do each morning, is glowing in my inbox. Instead of attacking it first, I dig inside my bag. After a few seconds, a framed picture of me and Joy is on one corner of my desk, a shot from us hiking at Sandpiper Trail that always makes me smile. A white, freesia-scented candle sets next to my computer.

  “There,” I say out loud, clicking on Graham’s email. “Now I can get to work.”

  I’m poring over a set of files Graham left for me while I was gone for lunch, lost to the numbers and notes, when I hear him clear his throat. Jumping at the sound, I see him standing in the doorway, watching me.

  “You scared me,” I gasp. He’s been running his hands through his hair, his tie slightly askew, and I know better than to look him in the eye. If there’s one thing about my new employer I know already, and there might just be the one thing, it’s that he can read my mind. I’m sure of it.

  “How’s that coming along?” he asks.

  “Good. I’m almost finished. I did find a few errors though in the coding, which I know wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing,” I say, quickly, “but I couldn’t help but note them. That’s what the green flags are on the side.”

  His lips twist in amusement. “That’s interesting. I did that last night.” He seems to get lost in his thoughts for a second. “How many did you find?”

  “Three? Want to see?”

  He comes up behind me as I open the folder. My fingers stumble as I flip through the papers in search of the green flags. His cologne, subtle from the wear of the day, floats around me, teasing me. I gulp and try not to flinch as he reaches over my shoulder, his suit jacket brushing against me, as he points at the first flag.

  “I was off by .002?” His breath is hot against my ear, sending an array of goosebumps across my flesh.

  “Yes,” I say as evenly as I can as I flip to the next flag. “On this one, it was .003. Not much, but still incorrect.”

  “I’m impressed.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t change position, just rests his palm flat against my desktop. Hovering over me, he completely dominates the space. There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can think, that’s not in his control. He knows this. His breathing is completely even, his tone completely cool. “How long did this take you?”

  “An hour or so.”

  “Can I ask you something, Mallory?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Do you like working here?”

  “So far, yes, I do.”

  “Do you think you’ll like working here in the future?”

  I’m not sure what he’s getting at. It seems to be a loaded question, or a question that he’s using to lead me to another one, but I can’t think straight with him leaning over me like this. All I can think about is if I move, I’ll brush his arm. If I tilt my head back, my face will be inches from his. If I turn around, I’d be in his personal space.

  “Is that a no?” he asks, his voice husky.

  “Oh, no,” I stammer. “I mean, it’s not a no. I think I’ll like working here for a long time. I hope so, anyway.”

  After a pause, he pushes off and stands. I’m afraid to look back. My eyes stay trained on a small indentation above the door ahead of me like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He sighs, but I don’t think I’m supposed to hear it.

  “Good job with the file.” He comes around the front of my desk, his glasses in his hand. “I’m happy to have you on board. I don’t think I’ve said that.”

  “You haven’t,” I say, testing his reaction with a grin. His lip quivers, but he doesn’t quite return it. “But it’s nice to hear.”

  “How about this,” he says with a flurry, “With the circumstances what they were, we didn’t have time for an actual interview. What if we have an informal interview tomorrow. A working lunch, maybe?”

  I grin nervously. “That might be a good idea.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’ll admit, I’ve never worked somewhere before where I felt so . . .”

  His gaze deepens, a shadow crossing his face. “So what, Mallory?”

  I look away and plead with my cheeks not to heat. There are so many ways I feel about this position, about working for Graham Landry, and none of them I want to say out loud.

  He won’t let me go without answering. There’s no use in trying. “I don’t know how to take you, exactly. I accepted the job because, quite frankly, I needed one pretty desperately, and I know your family. But the Graham I remember and the one standing in front of me . . .”

  The movement he makes towards me is nothing more than a flinch, a probably unconscious motion as my words trail off. Still, my breath catches in my throat and the heat in my cheeks rises a few notches.

  “You aren’t the Mallory I remember, either.” He whips in a deep inhale and blows it out slowly. “I don’t want this to be awkward.”

  “It shouldn’t be. There’s no reason for it to be,” I lie, omitting the fact that it’s so difficult because I can’t stop imagining him naked. “Maybe we just didn’t have that getting-to-know-you phase. You know, as the people we are now.”

  “Maybe.” He slips his glasses back on his face, his features softening. “Block off an hour and a half for my lunch tomorrow. Get with Gina in the morning and let her know your substitute for lunch will need to stay longer than usual.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He almost smiles. Almost.

  Mallory

  I SEE MY REPLACEMENT STANDING on the other side of the glass wall, talking to another employee. Her name is Raza and she’s super sweet, but today, I’m not looking forward to seeing her.

  “I should’ve worn the black dress,” I chastise myself, looking down at what I did choose. The eggshell blue shift took entirely too long to pick out and almost made me late. I accessorized it with a couple of gold bangles and nude heels and took extra care to curl my long locks into beachy curls. It’s cute and fine for a day at work. Because, as I keep reminding myself, this is not a date. It’s a lunch interview, a part of my work day. A routine thing that happens between two people that work together.

  Only most people don’t work with a man that looks like a Greek god that sounds like a Southern gentleman.

  He’s avoided me all morning. Or maybe this is just a normal day at work—I don’t know. I haven’t been here long enough to establish a true normal routine. I suspect, however, there’s nothing normal about Graham Landry.

  He’s been polite, yet firm, when I’ve called back to transfer calls or alert him of a visitor. All of his communication with me has come via email. I haven’t seen him since I arrived and that has me more on edge.

  Raza bounces through the door, her usual cheery self. “How are you, Mallory?”

  “Good.” I stand shakily and put my purse in the locking drawer at the bottom of my desk. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. An hour and a half, maybe. Did Gina tell you?”

  “She did. Do you have some sort of appointment?”

  “Yeah.” I twist my lips. “I have a working lunch with Mr. Landry.”

  Raza’s
eyes light up like a schoolgirl’s. “I’m jealous,” she whispers conspiratorially. “But I’m not sure I could be in a closed room with him for that long without a restraining order at the end.”

  My attempt at a smile is broken and a little wobbly because I’m not sure how this is going to work either. With a slight wave, I grab a notebook and a pen and take the handful of steps to the large, heavy wooden doors and knock.

  “Come in.” His response is immediate and bold, not at all like the tepid Graham I’ve dealt with all day.

  The door swings open too easily, denying me that last sweet second to get my wits about me. Before I’m ready, he’s in sight.

  His desk is wide and heavy-looking, made of dark wood with antiqued accents. In most offices, this piece of furniture would be the focal point. In this one, it’s the man behind it. There’s nothing that could possibly outshine him.

  He’s wearing a black suit and tie and is leaning back in an oversized black leather chair. Light pours in his office from the glass walls that probably allow you a fantastic view of Savannah, if you were so inclined—meaning if you weren’t a female and Graham wasn’t present. Because when he’s here, nothing else matters.

  “Close the door behind you,” he instructs.

  Once the clasp latches, I turn to face him again. This time, I don’t let our eyes meet. I need just a second to compose myself.

  Just a work appointment, Mal. Just like with Mr. Beenmeyer.

  Glancing up at Graham just in time to witness him unfold himself out of his chair, I find myself laughing out loud.

  Mr. Beenmeyer didn’t look like he was packing double-digits.

  “Something funny?” Graham asks, smoothing down his tie.

  “No. Not at all.”

  He casts me a puzzled look. “Would you like to order lunch in?”

  “Oh, um, I went ahead and ordered lunch for you at Hillary’s House. It was in the notes—that you order from there every day when you don’t have an appointment. And since this isn’t really an appointment . . .”