“No, nothing’s new with Graham,” I sigh. “He’s my boss, Joy.”
“So something did happen!”
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“You’re defensive. The last time we talked about this, you were all, ‘He’s so hot!’ Now you’re acting like I’m ridiculous for bringing it up. That means you’re deflecting.”
Heaving a breath, I roll onto my back and look at the spackled ceiling in desperate need of a paint job. “Things haven’t been purely professional,” I admit.
“I knew it!” she shrieks. “My God. Is he as good as I think he is? He is, isn’t he?”
“Joy . . .” I almost whine. I feel like she’s forcing me to talk and I hate that. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Why?”
Struggling to sit up, I try to come up with an explanation that she can understand. That I can understand. “Have you ever not wanted to talk about something until you can get your head wrapped around it?”
“No,” she mutters. “I always call you and have you help me figure it out.”
I toss her a pathetic smile. “I know. I do you too. But I don’t know what to make of this and I’m really afraid getting your input is going to make it harder.”
“I give good advice.”
“You do,” I laugh. “But everything when it comes to him is pro-Graham. I don’t fault you for it. Look at him,” I shrug. “But I need to make sure I’m looking at this pro-Mallory. Does that make sense?”
Joy grabs her water bottle and squeezes some in her mouth. “It does. But you know I’m pro-Mallory, right?”
“Always.” I stand and stretch my arms over my head. “I’m going to the bathroom before everyone gets here.”
Jogging across the mats and through the doors to a vacant hallway, I stand with my back against the cool brick. My mind goes to Graham, like it does anytime I’m not specifically thinking of something else.
I like him. I like him way more than I want to admit. Even more problematic, the more time I spend with him, the more time I want to spend with him.
But am I getting jaded by the TDH—tall, dark, and handsome? Am I wrapped up in the Landry spell and not seeing things like a logical human being?
He’s my boss. A CEO. I’m a drop-out with no plan. What could possibly come of this long-term? Not much. Besides orgasms.
There’s nothing wrong with having fun with Graham. We’re two consenting adults. But I need to remember that no matter how easy it is to become infatuated with him, I have to keep my head clear. I can’t get wrapped up in this and then be gobsmacked when it doesn’t work out. There’s nothing to work out. This is fun. Just fun.
“What are you doing out here?”
I look up to see Sienna propping the door open with her hip. “Hey,” I say, shoving off the wall. “I was just taking a couple of minutes to regroup. Joy can be kind of overwhelming.”
“She really can. I love her to absolute pieces, but she just attacks!” she laughs. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was just thinking,” I say, going through the open door and leading Sienna to our mats. “After I figure everything out, I think I want to start my own yoga studio.”
“I think that could be cool,” Sienna says. “It’s a big thing in LA. You know, you could always head West and come live with me. Free rent. Free food because my mom orders groceries to be delivered to my house. Is that not crazy?”
“Sounds fun,” I note. “I just . . . I think I need a little time on my own. I’ve never had that. It has to be good for a girl, doesn’t it?”
“Sure. But it’s also good for a girl to know people around her care about her and are there for her.” She faces me head-on so her back is to Joy and Camilla. “You’re okay, right? I know you don’t want to talk about everything in front of them, but I also know how working for my brothers can be. My mom made me intern at Landry Holdings one summer in high school. She called it ‘character building.’ I called it hell.”
I laugh, imagining her purple-streaked hair and pink nails fitting in at the office. “It’s not for everyone.”
“No, it’s not.” She peers in my eyes, much like her brother does when he’s trying to read my mind. “I haven’t seen you have this much pink in your cheeks since you got home. You look happy, Mal.”
“I am.” A flutter of butterflies kicks up in my belly and I can’t wipe the cheesy smile off my face. “It feels good to be in charge of my day. To really have options in front of me and know I’m the one that gets to decide what I do. And who I do,” I wink.
“I don’t want to know.” She tosses a toned arm around me and rests her head against mine. “You know what? Fuck Eric.”
“You know she’s probably thinking about fucking your brother,” Joy chimes in, making us laugh.
Graham
MY GLASSES BOUNCE OFF THE papers and rattle as they fall off the stack and land on the desktop. “Ugh,” I groan, covering my face with my hands and massaging my temples.
I can feel the start of a major headache stretching across the front of my face. There isn’t enough stretching or miles with Ford to work out the kinks from today.
Not helping matters is that I got maybe three hours sleep last night. Maybe three. Probably not. After dinner with my mother, a brainstorming session with Barrett, listening to Sienna present reasons why she should be allowed to start her own company since Ford is, and then finding a huge error in the bid for equipment for Landry Security, there was not enough time in the day. Especially when I used whatever remaining seconds left, and a quarter of the ones I didn’t have to spare, thinking about Mallory.
It’s not as bad when we’re at work. She’s here. I’m here. She’s within reach, however stupid that sounds. Not that I can reach, but just knowing I could and no one else has access gives me a sense of comfort.
Add that to the top of my stress load.
“I can’t be worrying about this,” I grumble.
She came in here like the chorus of a song, blasting her way into my life and falling into my arms. And I, the stupid motherfucker I am, didn’t let go. I say I couldn’t, but I could’ve. I should’ve. But I didn’t. The worst part is—I know why.
Her damn eyes.
I’ve only seen one pair like that in my entire life. Although those were green and Mallory’s are gold, they’re the same in the ways that count. The only two eyes that look at me and see . . . me. The whole package, not just a piece of it.
That’s what makes her irresistible. That’s what makes me insane. That’s what makes this whole damn thing perilous.
“Hey.” I look up and see her poking her head around my office door. “Do you need anything?”
Of course I do. I need so much that I can’t have. The things I need are the things that will ruin me.
“I’m good,” I say, giving her the best smile I can manage.
Her nails tap against the wood before she steps inside and pulls her brows together. “You’re not okay.”
I lean forward on my desk, folding my hands in front of me. My smile now is genuine, a warmth spreading over my core. Not because she’s beautiful or sassy or giving me that look that I’ve come to find so amusing. But because she . . . cares.
“I’m okay, Mallory.”
She shakes her head. “You’ve been quiet all day, weirder than usual.”
“I’m weird?” I chuckle.
“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “You look like you’re walking this line all the time, like you’re afraid someone will see you move a certain way or say a certain thing and ruin everything. But today . . . you haven’t said more than ten words to me.”
She attempts to make me believe this doesn’t bother her. The sadness just below the surface is enough to take all that warmth I felt two seconds ago and drown it in a pit of ice water.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just . . . today’s been Hell.”
“Can I help? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Just keep
doing what you do.”
I hope she hears the professional aspect of that and not the edge of the rest. Not the fact that I’m starting to rely on her presence, her smile, her laugh more than I even care to admit.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking out. I hear things rustle before she reappears.
In a grey dress with pockets on the sides, she looks like a professional administrative assistant . . . with a can of soda in one hand and a protein bar in the other.
“What are you doing?” I lean back in my seat as she sets the items in front of me.
“You need a pick me up. Here, eat this.”
“Do you not see the irony in a sugar-filled soda and a protein bar?”
“It’s called balance,” she sighs, circling behind me. Her fingers dip beneath the collar of my jacket and tenderly grasp the back of my neck. “You need a little balance and a little relaxation.” She works my muscles back and forth, her thumbs rolling up and down my skin. “You are so tight.”
“That’s my line,” I crack, moving my head side-to-side to give her more room. “God, that feels good.”
“That’s my line,” she laughs.
Working out the knots that I didn’t even realize were so apparent, I nearly melt in her hands. I can’t remember feeling like this before. Ever. Any time a woman has touched me, it’s for a purpose—an end result with her as the beneficiary at the end. This? This is just for me.
“You could use some yoga in your life, Mr. Landry.”
“Not my thing,” I say, almost cringing as she really gets deep into the tissue.
“It should be. At least some of it. It’s really amazing,” she sighs. “My first-of-the-month resolution is to find balance.”
“Your what?”
“Everyone does New Year’s resolutions. I always fail by day three. There’s just so much pressure because everyone knows you’re supposed to be walking ten thousand steps or not eating cake. It’s horrible.”
“I’d never vow not to eat cake,” I remark. “That’s absurd.”
She laughs, giving me one final squeeze. “I tried it once. I failed, hence these hips.” As she walks in front of my desk and sits across from me, we exchange a smile.
“I happen to really like those hips.”
“Anyway,” she blushes, changing the topic, “I’m doing a resolution each month. It’s just something I want to work on and get better. Each month is roughly thirty days and that’s how long they say it takes to make a new habit.”
“So your new habit is balance?”
“Yes.”
“And here I was hoping it would be me,” I whisper. The words leave my mouth and I regret them. I mean them, absolutely, but I don’t want to lead her on that this can be a habit. It can’t. It has to end at some point or find some way to fit in boundaries and I’m not sure she’s boundary-able. That’s a completely different obstacle I can’t figure out how to clear.
Thankfully, she ignores my comment. “I think you need balance,” she says. “You do, do, do for all these people. I only know the tip of it, I’m sure, but you are the center of your entire family, Graham. And then you run this company like it’s your baby.”
“It is my baby,” I correct her.
“That’s what I’m saying,” she sighs. “When do you get to do Graham things? When do you relax? When do you get to be you and not in a suit?”
“I’m not sure what planet you’re on, but I look damn good in this suit.”
“Stop changing the subject!”
“While I’m honored you care so much about my dress code, I can assure you I’m fine. I’m doing what I love. This life I have, it’s one I created after a lot of thought and planning. There’s nothing else I want or need that I don’t already have.”
Her face falls and I feel like a complete motherfucking asshole. I didn’t see the shit I was stepping in, just explaining myself like I would to anyone. Except, she’s not just anyone. I don’t know who she is, but if I said she wasn’t any different than Barrett or Linda, I’d be a liar.
Although the next words are the complete opposite things I need to be saying, they’re falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Let’s go to dinner.”
She shoots me a look that tells me just how confused she is. “What?”
“We worked our asses off today. Let’s go get some nourishment.”
“Graham . . .”
“You said we both need balance,” I point out, straightening my jacket back out as I stand. “Let’s get some dinner and some cake to offset the bullshit that happened in here today.”
Her eyes light up and it calms the anxiety building over my inability to think before I speak around her. Still, she doesn’t answer.
“Come on,” I goad, flicking off my computer and holding my hand out to her. “Let me take you to dinner.”
“I only go to dinner with men that take me to places with real forks,” she teases.
“I don’t think forks are your problem,” I say, feeling her soft palm rest in mine. “I think finding real men may be your issue.”
She shoves me with her free hand, and I find myself laughing out loud as we exit the office.
Graham
“CAN YOU BELIEVE I’VE NEVER been here?” Mallory looks at me with wide eyes as we near the entrance of Dalicon. “I almost forget it’s even here. It’s just tucked back here so neatly.”
“This is one of my favorite places in Savannah,” I tell her. I give my name to the hostess and she whisks us through the restaurant. With the large, wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and warm walls set off with dark floors, it’s a very relaxed place. The burnt orange paper lanterns and wall art give it a slight air of sophistication that I love.
Once we are settled into a little table in the corner and have ordered wine, Mallory seems to relax. “This is stunning. I just want to look around and that says something—I always want to eat!” she laughs.
“Soda and protein bars?”
“No,” she says, but stops when the waiter appears at our side. He starts to hand her a glass. As he does, he’s bumped from behind and a splash of wine lands in Mallory’s lap.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, resting the serving try on a vacant table and rushing to Mallory’s side. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me get you something.”
As I start to extend a hand with my linen napkin, I’m stopped by her laugh. “Please,” she gushes to the waiter. “It was an accident. It’s no problem, really.”
“But, madam, I am so sorry. I should be more careful. I’ve just ruined your dress.”
“Please . . . Donnie,” she says, eyeing his nametag. “It’s really no big deal. It’ll clean. And if it doesn’t, it’s a dress. I’ll survive.”
“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?” he asks, stunned. “Can I at least get you an appetizer? Let me do something.”
I tune out, unable to really focus on anything but the pure kindness in her eyes. Before long, she has him laughing along with her and I’m speechless.
“Sir? What can I get you?” Donnie asks.
Shaking my head, I indicate off the menu what I want and once he’s gone, I smile at Mallory. “That was pretty fantastic.”
“What?” she asks, dabbling the wet spot with a napkin, completely oblivious to what I’m referring.
“How you handled that.”
“How was I supposed to handle it?” she asks, resting the linen next to her plate.
“Most women would’ve freaked out over that. You were worried about Donnie boy.”
She takes a sip of her wine. “Accidents happen. God knows I’ve had my fair share. You heard the story I was telling him about the time I dumped an entire tray of margaritas in someone’s lap. You just have to let some stuff go. Or maybe you just realize that once you’ve been in their shoes.”
“You were a waitress?”
“Yeah. I’ve done dishes, worked as a cashier once at a grocery store. That was the wors
t job I’ve had, actually. People just look at you like you’re garbage,” she frowns. “I’ve worked in a beauty shop, cleaning up tanning beds after the people leave and sweeping up hair and stuff.”
“When? High school? Now?”
“My whole life,” she shrugs. “I did a lot of those while I was in high school. I’d go to school and then work the hours I was allowed under the law. And then, sometimes, I’d work at another place and they’d just pay me under the table so I didn’t get in trouble with school.”
“That must have been really hard,” I note, thinking about how hard I thought it was going to school and helping Dad out on the weekends.
She smiles. “It wasn’t easy. But that discipline got me where I am today.” Her finger runs around the rim of her glass as she thinks. “It’s where my work ethic comes from. If I wanted a tank of gas or car insurance, I had to get the money for it. If I wanted the fancy jeans with the sparkly pockets, I had to hustle for that. It sucked then, but I’m not afraid to work now for what I have. Or what I want.” She looks at me, her eyes shining in the dim light. “That’s why I respect you so much, Graham. I see your work ethic and I admire that. There aren’t a lot of people that will just do the job, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I chuckle. “I replaced your position about fourteen times before you showed up.”
The waiter places our food in front of us. He takes a minute to chat with Mallory, making sure she’s completely happy and comfortable. Watching her get doted on is amusing and witnessing her sweetness shine with Donnie is special. It’s not something I’ve seen often.
“So,” I say, “what do you want to do with yourself? You don’t want anything in the field of medicine, that we know. What are you thinking?”
“Honestly?” She slices her chicken breast carefully, her lips pressing together. Finally, she shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?”
Her hair swishes back and forth as she shakes her head. “I tell Joy I’m having a mid-life crisis,” she half-laughs. “I’ve spent my entire life, since turning eighteen, doing what I needed to do or what Eric wanted me to do.”
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