Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  As if he knew I was about to grab my client files, my phone rings and Walker’s name appears on the screen. I pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Did ya make it?” Walker’s voice is gruff on the other side. “I told ya to call when ya landed, Blaire.”

  “Yes, I made it. This is not the first time I’ve taken a trip.”

  “Of course not. Just the first time in a decade.”

  “Why do you really care?” I ask for the millionth time. “I’m just going to sit here and dwell on how far behind I’m falling at work.”

  “I care because I heard you go batshit crazy on a man through the phone the other day. And because you were telling me you were afraid your assistant was going to quit with the workload your office has. I know you feel all fancy and shit in that corner office in the city, but fuck, Blaire. You can’t live to work.”

  He’s right. Of course, he’s right. But that doesn’t mean he’s … right.

  “You’re wrong,” I sigh, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I absolutely can live to work. I find it fulfilling.”

  “Whatever. How’s Georgia? Sienna said it’s nice there this time of year.”

  Glancing out the door, I shrug. “I can’t imagine it ever not being nice here. I’ll never understand why she moved to Illinois.”

  “You have met me, you know.”

  “My point remains.” Pulling my legs up under me, I rest my head against the pillows. “Sienna made you a sap.”

  “I’m not a fucking sap,” he cuts back. “I’m just saying. Been thinking a lot lately …”

  The way his voice trails off hits me right in the heart. My face falls and I fight the urge to lecture him, to mother him in some way. This happens every summer, as soon as the days turn warm. I think all my siblings start to think of our parents and their accident and it makes us all a little different, just in our own separate ways. But Walker has Sienna now. As much as I wasn’t sure I’d like her with her silver spoon upbringing, I do. A lot.

  “Can I ask a favor of you? Well, not for me, but for Sienna?” Walker asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you meet up with one of her brothers and pick up some paperwork or some shit?” he grumbles. The sound of metal crashing onto a hard surface ricochets through the line. “Fuck!”

  “What are you doing?” I laugh.

  “Peck! Come finish this before I stick a fucking wrench in it!” The line gets muffled before he comes back. “I was trying to take an oil filter off a tractor, but it’s stuck. Peck will mess with it while I’m on the phone and then I’ll go finish it, because God knows he won’t.”

  “Cut him some slack, Walker,” I say through a laugh. “He tries to help you, but you knew what you were getting when you hired him.”

  He chuckles as the sound of water in the background trickles through the phone. “Anyway, can you do that?”

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Meet with one of Sienna’s brothers?”

  Something about the way he says ‘brothers’ takes me back to the man at the airport today. He was devilishly handsome in his three-piece suit, a Rolex strapped around a thick, muscled wrist. He spoke well and seemed educated, which were bonus points to his light-colored hair and jade eyes. The problem? I see men with that same air about them, the controlled, alpha quality, every day and we don’t mesh well.

  “I’m not sure what my schedule looks like,” I say for the second time today.

  “You don’t have a fucking schedule. I made your schedule.”

  “I’ll happily refund your money and come home.”

  “The hell you will,” he chuckles. “It won’t kill you to do her this one favor.”

  “For what? So, you can get laid?”

  “I’ll get laid regardless …”

  “Ew!” I say, getting to my feet. “How did we get here? I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “It’s vacation. Weird feeling, huh?”

  Moseying across the seafoam carpeting, I gaze across the water. Families are holding hands, letting the waves rock against them. I wish I could do that—just throw all caution to the wind and let my guard down. But, I can’t.

  “I’ll text you the address, okay?” Walker asks.

  “Fine. But tell Sienna she owes me blueberry muffins when you pick me up from the airport.”

  “Will do. Talk to you soon, Blaire.”

  “Bye.”

  The line goes dead as he shouts at our cousin again. Tossing the phone to the sofa, I stretch my arms leisurely overhead. For once, I don’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, don’t have to look over my shoulder for a colleague or client. It’s weird and I’m not sure how I’ll manage this for four days.

  Three

  Holt

  “What in the hell took you so long?” Oliver hits the gas, barely giving me enough time to shut the door to his sport utility vehicle.

  “Delayed flight.”

  My briefcase sails across the floorboard in the back, ramming the door behind my brother, as he takes a tight right turn onto the freeway.

  “You know, we could always buy a private jet.” He looks at me like he’s just proven a point he’s struggled to make for years. As the President of Mason Ltd, I control the purse strings and major financial decisions. I remind him of this with a simple quirk of a brow.

  He scoffs. “We’re going to be late to our meeting with Graham Landry.”

  “And what the fuck should I have done about it? Explained to the weather gods in Portland my little brother needed me for a business meeting and the storm should just vanish because I said so?”

  He’s not entertained. With a roll of his eyes, he sits back in the leather seat and hits cruise control on the steering wheel.

  “And stop fucking calling me every twenty seconds and handle shit like a big boy,” I add for good measure.

  “Really, Holt?”

  We watch each other, a heated standoff like only brothers that run a multi-million-dollar company together can manage. We’re both Type A, intelligent, and damn good at what we do. This causes a few skirmishes, but we are also loyal. To a fault. And that’s what makes our bond stronger than any other in the business and why Mason Ltd. kicks ass.

  The ringing of Oliver’s phone through the car breaks our stalemate. Oliver answers. “Oliver Mason.”

  “It’s Rosie.”

  “How are you, Rosie?” I ask our shared assistant. She’s seventy-five years old and still good at old-fashioned typed things. Neither Oliver or I can let her go, despite having to hire separate assistants to help pick up the slack. Wade was going to hire her in his architecture office because it’s more low-key, but when Oliver brought it up to her, she looked hurt. So, we pretended like there was a big fight over her, she was happy, and we just made do.

  “Is that you, Holton?” she asks.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’ve made your brother extremely nervous today. I’ve warned the Landry’s you’re running late. Told them you had a weather delay.”

  I grin at Oliver as he shakes his head. “It was the weather.”

  “Of course it was, dear. I shall ignore any strange credit card charges from the last couple of hours when your bill hits my desk in a week.”

  “That would be awfully kind of you, Rosie.”

  Oliver butts in, going over a few things with her while I gaze out the window and try to get my head quiet. Meeting with Graham Landry is no joke. The man is a powerhouse all of his own—quick witted, smart as hell, and cutthroat. If you aren’t on top of your game, you’re out of play.

  We pause at a traffic light and wait as the cars in the opposite lanes barrel across the street. A pedestrian with long, dark hair, crosses in front of us.

  Unlatching my seat belt, I raise up in the seat to get a better look. Oliver’s eyes are on me as I try to ascertain whether this is the girl from the airport, but I ignore him. Instead, I watch the sway of her hips back and forth and determine, without a doubt,
it’s not her.

  I fall back into the seat with a flourish just before Oliver slams the gas again.

  “Wanna tell me what that was about?” he asks.

  “Not really.”

  “Does it have anything to do with why you were really late?”

  “I wasn’t too fucking late,” I contend. “Just shut the hell up about it.”

  “Fine, fine. Just be ready for Landry. He knows how much we stand to make if we purchase this property from him. He’s not going to give it to us easy.”

  I look at Oliver and laugh. “Maybe he’ll be nice and use some lube.”

  “Let’s hope he remembers how much Dad donated to Barrett Landry’s campaign a few years back. Maybe that’ll help.”

  He takes a right off the freeway and heads to the outskirts of Savannah where the Landry’s Estate is located. I’ve been there a few times for random events and meetings and it’s nice as hell. I keep telling my brothers we need something like that, but our personalities are too different to agree on something. We just meet in Aspen and go skiing every winter instead.

  As the car pulls up to the gate, a man takes Oliver’s information and buzzes us through. We slip by tall rows of trees along the freshly paved path leading to the massive farmhouse nestled back away from the road. Oliver parks the car and looks at me.

  “You ready, big guy?” he asks.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Four

  Blaire

  A lot of assumptions are made on first appearances. That is why I strive never to be underdressed for an occasion. Yet, as I walk up the steps to the large farmhouse at the address given to me by my brother, I feel totally unprepared.

  A flowy, pale yellow sundress hangs from my shoulders and hides the sandals on my feet. It seemed like the perfect easy ensemble to do a little shopping on the quaint little street of my condo and I didn’t see the need to change before picking up some papers for my brother’s girlfriend.

  I was wrong.

  This place is gorgeous and elegant and oh-so-Southern. As I knock on the door and wait for someone, presumably a butler, to open the door, I wish to heaven I’d have worn something slightly more professional.

  Footsteps sound from the other side before the door is whisked open by a man standing in a pair of dark dress pants and a blue and white checkered shirt. He’s divine with his freshly cut dark hair and clean-shaven face.

  “You must be Blaire Gibson?” he asks.

  “Yes, I am.”

  A smile stretches across his cheeks. “I’m Graham. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand as he steps out of my way, so I can enter.

  We shake quickly, his palm heavy and strong, as he leads me into the back of the house. I can hear laughter coming from a room in front of us as Graham turns toward me. “I’m winding up a business meeting. It would’ve been over, actually, had my brother Lincoln not shown up.”

  As the laughter grows again, I laugh too. “I have a brother like that.”

  “So, you feel my pain,” he cringes. “On a serious note, Sienna has told me a lot about you. I wanted to thank your family for taking her in the way you have.”

  We stop just short of the doorway. “She’s so good for my brother. He’s smitten with her.”

  “I think she’s in about the same shape.” He grins. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Linc while I grab the papers you’re after.”

  He enters the room in front of me and as he pulls away along the wall toward the chair at the head of the table, I stutter step.

  “And then he …” The man’s voice sitting just a couple of feet in front of me trails off as our eyes meet somewhere over the fancy tile on the floor. “Didn’t I ….”

  I don’t believe my eyes. It can’t be him, but it is. There’s only one man I’ve ever met that looks like this, that sparks this rumble in my stomach.

  Recovering more quickly than I anticipate, I paste on a practiced smile. “It’s good to see you again,” I say to him.

  He looks at Graham before switching his eyes to me again. “You too.” It’s more of a stammer, a caught-off-guard statement than anything. “Do you know the Landry’s?”

  “I’m just here to pick up some papers.”

  The gazes from around the room are heavy, heating the air even more than the exchange of energy between Holt and me. The slight drop of his jaw, the furrowed brow is being replaced with a twitch of his lip and oh-so-narrowed eyes that’s enough to make me want to back out of the room slowly.

  “Is this why you were late today?” A man across from him sighs. He looks like Holt with lighter hair and darker eyes.

  Holt responds, bickering back and forth with the man across the table, while I take in the men around me. Graham is ignoring them all, sorting through a stack of papers. A younger version of Graham sits next to him with a wicked grin on his face.

  “Lincoln Landry,” he says with a little wave. “Nice to meet ya. You must be Blaire.”

  “Yes. Nice to meet you too.”

  “Here they are,” Graham mutters, pulling out an envelope and handing it to me. “I put everything she needs in there. If she’s missing something, she can call.”

  “Great. I’ll make sure she gets them. I can see myself out.”

  “We’d love to have dinner with you this week,” Lincoln calls out. “Mom would love to meet you.”

  “I need to check my schedule,” I say, reverting to my new go-to line. “I’ll get in touch if I can work it out.”

  Holt’s chair scoots back in front of me. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “I can do it,” Graham offers.

  “Clearly, he doesn’t want you to do it, asshole,” Lincoln says to his brother. “Sit down and pretend you can see what’s happening here.”

  My cheeks warming, I look between the Landry men. “Nice to meet you both. And you too …” I say, pulling my gaze to the other man.

  He stands. “Oliver Mason. Holt’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

  “Likewise.” He tucks his tie beneath his jacket as he takes his seat again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  Not knowing what to say, I give him a tight grin and make my way through the house and to the front door. Holt’s energy ripples behind me, the musk of his cologne filling my nostrils as I reach for the exit.

  He hops in front of me and opens it before I can get to it.

  “Thank you,” I offer as I step onto the expansive front porch complete with hanging ferns. Breathing in the cut grass and coolness to the evening air, I look up at the colorful sky. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t notice until now.”

  The gravel in his voice snaps my attention to him without me even realizing it. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of Holt Mason as he peers down at me. His irises flicker a color of green mixed with gold and the colors swirl together in a heady mix of something I don’t want to name.

  Passing a hot swallow down my throat, I re-grip the file in my hands. “Look at you, being all charming.”

  “It’s one of my many talents.”

  “Your confidence is underwhelming,” I tease.

  “There’s nothing wrong with confidence if you can back it up. It becomes a problem when people tout their abilities and have nothing to fall back on.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” I say, ignoring the look in his eyes and, instead, pretending to ponder his declaration. “The flaw in that logic is in the definitions. Meaning, what if someone truly believes they’re amazing at something and the other person finds them to be lackluster. Is that confidence wrong?”

  “Not if they believe it,” he banters back. “It’s their truth.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The air flutters around us, almost dancing a private show for our benefit. Crickets sing in the distance, stars beginning to shine in the sky. It’s as if the world flipped a switch for this moment. If I believed in gooey girlish things, I’d be delighted
. Too bad I’m more realistic than that crap.

  “Again, nice to see you, Holt …”

  “Quit it,” he sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek. His fingertips lightly brush my skin. They’re warm and slightly calloused in a way that makes my thighs ache. “Let’s go to dinner.”

  “I have a reservation already,” I tell him, pulling away.

  “For one?”

  “For dinner,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. Not a muscle. He just stands in front of me and grins a shit-eating grin.

  “I’ll take you to the best restaurant in Savannah,” he tells me. “You’ll love it.”

  “Why do men always think they know what a woman wants? It’s annoying, not to mention arrogant.”

  “It’s not arrogant if I’m right.”

  This should turn me off. This should be a blazing, flashing red light to dress him down, put him in his place, and be on my way. It’s what I do to every other guy that thinks he’s something I can’t live without. But, I don’t. Or I can’t. I don’t know which and I can’t even spare the mental capacity to sort it out because every synapse is firing just for him.

  There’s a look in his eye, something behind the brazen façade, that intrigues me. I haven’t given a man more than a dirty look in a courtroom in longer than I can remember. Who has time? Who has energy? Who wants to deal with that bullshit?

  But as I stand on the porch of this beautiful home in the middle of a perfect southern evening, I remember Sienna’s instruction to enjoy my vacation.

  “You don’t know enough about me to be right,” I volley back.

  “I disagree.” He shifts his weight, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll tell you three things about you besides the obvious. If I’m right, you’ll go to dinner with me.”

  “Fine,” I say, thinking there’s no way the man knows anything about me at all. I didn’t even tell him my name. “But it can’t be obvious things like hair color.”

  “Absolutely not. There’s no fun in that.” He grins.