Her Lover's Legacy

by Adrianne Byrd

  “I got everything you asked for, Gloria,” she said, finding a nice clear spot in the center of the room and dropping everything. “Whew!” She straightened her back just as her eyes widened to twice their size. “Malcolm,” she exclaimed, rushing around the pile of packing material and then pulling him into her pillow-soft body.

  If Mabel was ever to enter into a celebrity look-alike contest, she would win for Star Jones (pre-surgery) hands down. “Gloria said that you were coming in here to help pack this stuff, but I kept telling her that it was just too soon for you to be dealing with all this right now.”

  Malcolm shot a glance at Gloria, triumphant that someone agreed with him.

  A frown settled around the corners of Gloria’s lips.

  “It’s still work that needs to be done,” he said, quoting the efficient assistant and managing to bring a smile back to her face.

  “I think we’d better get started,” she said.

  Malcolm readily agreed. “Will you be joining us, Mabel?”

  “Unfortunately not. I have four hungry teenage boys and a construction-worker husband who’d be rumbling up a storm if dinner isn’t on the table on time. But I’ll be seeing you again soon, I hope.”

  He smiled. “You can count on it.”

  “Good. Good.” Mabel turned toward Gloria and her smile dropped. “Ms. Kingsley,” she hissed, and then covered a hand over her own bosom. “Your blouse.”

  “Oh, yes.” Gloria blinked. “I just found my button.” She turned toward the desk and retrieved a safety pin.

  “Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to your work,” Mabel said, as if she didn’t believe for one moment that was what they were about to do.

  “It was good seeing you again,” Malcolm said, barely able to contain his amusement.

  “Give my love to the family.” Mabel glanced back at Gloria, shook her head and made her exit.

  “Well,” he said. “I guess that means it’s just you and me.”

  “Apparently.” She mimicked his awkward smile. “Let’s get started. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

  He couldn’t agree more. The sooner he got out of there, the better. He turned and moved toward the first line of file cabinets near the window, pulled opened the top drawer and quickly started shoving files into the closest container.

  “No. No,” Gloria said, rushing over. “Some material will need to stay here for the new…I mean…”

  “It’s all right,” Malcolm said, rescuing her from tripping over her tongue again. “I know what you mean—for whoever is going to take my father’s place.”

  “No one could ever take Harmon’s place.”

  Jealousy stabbed Malcolm and robbed him of his breath, although he agreed wholeheartedly with Gloria’s proclamation. Not for the first time, Malcolm wondered whether Gloria’s feelings transcended the boss-and-employee relationship.

  She flashed something that was obviously meant to be a smile, but ended up looking like perhaps her shoes were pinching the hell out of her feet. “I’m sorry. It all still seems so…surreal.”

  He nodded. A moment of silence flowed between them while his eyes lowered and he damned the safety pin she’d used to close her blouse. He slammed his eyes shut and chanted in his head: focus, focus, focus.

  “All right, Ms. Kingsley. In addition to the bookshelves, desk and walls, why don’t you tell me exactly how you want this part done?”

  “Well,” she said, straightening her back. “I want you to carefully go through each folder and remove only the personal files or pet projects. Then I want you to use these dividers and tabs I purchased—” she reached for the stack of office supplies he’d missed “—and label everything and place them into the containers in alphabetical order.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.” She frowned again. “It’ll make it easier for your family to sift through.”

  “It’ll also take all night,” he grumbled, glancing around the office.

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘Yes, ma’am.’” He made a mock military salute.

  Gloria’s eyes narrowed. “Look. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  “Of course you are,” he said with more sarcasm than he intended.

  Gloria glared, drew a deep breath and then turned away. “I’ll start on the desk,” she said with a strained calm.

  Again, Malcolm’s gaze was drawn to her heavenly backside as she made her way across the room and then planted herself in his father’s old leather chair.

  Instead of getting straight to work, she rechecked her safety pin.

  Malcolm barely turned away in time. It wouldn’t do to continually get caught staring, but he felt her gaze rest on him. He sucked in his invisible tummy and straightened his shoulders so that she could get a good look and…what? Did he want her to like what she was seeing?

  Soon her eyes trailed away and a strange, awkward silence enveloped the room. An hour passed, and Malcolm felt he’d made about as much progress as a turtle sprinting a hundred-yard dash. Periodically, Malcolm would finger his open collar or wipe at imaginary sweat beads. He continued to feel as if he was wilting beneath a desert sun, though the thermostat read a cool seventy-four degrees.

  “Are you sure this thing is working?” he asked, tapping the small square box.

  “It’s working,” she answered without glancing up. She, apparently, had no trouble concentrating on her work.

  When Malcolm reached the bottom of the first file cabinet, he pulled open the drawer and blinked in surprise. Malcolm pulled out a glass picture frame, almost a mirror image of the one of his father at the bottom of Malcolm’s DVD cabinet—right down to the spiderweb cracks in the center. It was a picture of Malcolm graduating from Morehouse College. His father’s arms were wrapped around Malcolm’s shoulders, while his chin and chest were lifted high with pride.

  A pain in his heart caused a few tears to trickle from the corners of his eyes. Here was the proof of his father’s disappointment in him. The only photo of father and son was buried in a drawer.

  “It’s not what you think,” Gloria said.

  Malcolm whirled around to find Gloria behind him, breaching his privacy. “How do you know what I think?”

  He shoved the picture into the container and moved to the next filing cabinet.

  “Your father pulled that picture out every day,” she said softly.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

  “Malcolm—”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He slammed the top file cabinet closed.

  Gloria jumped.

  “I need to get some air,” he said, and stormed past her. More than anything, he was embarrassed for losing control and once again lashing out at her. But, hell, she was the only one around.

  “Why don’t we stop and go get some dinner?” she suggested, striding after him and grabbing his wrist. “You need a break.”

  “No. I want to hurry and get this over with,” he said. “I just need a quick breather.”

  “C’mon,” she said. “You need to eat. I need to eat. Let’s just go somewhere and grab something—and we can talk.”

  Talk. Couldn’t she see that was the last thing he wanted to do?

  “I’m not hungry,” he lied. Just then, his stomach released a long winding growl. For a few seconds, he tried to hold on to his stern expression.

  Gloria’s beautiful full lips were the first to split into a wide smile before her laughter erupted from the center of her chest.

  After a few seconds, Malcolm joined her.

  “Do you still like Chinese?” she asked. “There’s a nice place a few miles from here.”

  He sighed, hesitating.

  “It’s on me,” she added.

  He chuckled. “I’ll pay.”

  “I tell you what. Let’s make it Dutch,” she countered. “That way no one will mistake it for being a date.”

  “A date? Me and you?” Malcolm laughed. “Trust me. No one wi
ll make that mistake.”

  Chapter 4

  Gloria couldn’t wait to get out of the office. Despite the spacious size, it felt as if they were literally on top of each other and walking on eggshells. Dinner, she hoped, would relax Malcolm a bit more. She needed him to loosen up in order for him to be receptive to what she had in mind.

  The Bamboo House was dark when they entered. The only lighting flickered from tiny wicks nestled in small red candleholders placed in the center of each table in sconces on the walls.

  “Ah, Ms. Kingsley,” Samira, the hostess, greeted her. “So nice to see you again. I’m so sorry. I read in the paper what happened to Harmon. It was a shock, no?”

  Gloria nodded while the small woman grabbed hold of her hand.

  “How are you?” Samira asked with genuine concern. “I know we’re definitely going to miss seeing you two in here.”

  Malcolm’s gaze shot to Gloria, his brows launched high. “You and my father came here often?”

  “Often?” Samira chimed. “They came here two or three times a week with their noses buried in paperwork.” Then as if finally catching what Malcolm said, Samira dropped Gloria’s hand and turned her attention toward him. “Harmon was your father?” She gazed up at him. “Ah, yes. I see the resemblance now.” Her smile turned flirtatious. “You’re very handsome like your father.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

  Samira glanced at Gloria and winked. “You better hold on to your heart with this one. He just might steal it.”

  Gloria’s face burned; she had to touch it to make sure it hadn’t melted off.

  Malcolm coughed, choking back his own laughter.

  “This way,” Samira sang, grabbing two menus. “Will it be just the two of you?”

  “Yes,” Gloria answered.

  “Would you like your and Harmon’s regular table? It’s available.”

  “Uh,” she said, stalling.

  “That will be fine,” Malcolm answered, carefully keeping his eyes away from Gloria’s.

  Gloria fell in line behind the hostess as she led them toward the back of the restaurant. It might have been her imagination, but she swore she felt Malcolm’s heavy gaze trained on the back of her head. Was he already regretting coming here with her?

  Most likely.

  “Have a good evening,” Samira said, setting the menus down on their table. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

  Malcolm and Gloria thanked the hostess and slid into opposing sides of a large booth.

  Gloria tried her best not to jump or react when Malcolm’s knees and legs bumped and brushed against her own. She needed to get it together before she looked like a Mexican jumping bean.

  “Well, this is certainly cozy,” Malcolm said, finally settling into his seat. “I can see why this was your and Dad’s favorite spot.”

  Gloria’s head snapped up. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “No,” she countered. Her eyes narrowed. “It definitely meant something.”

  Malcolm met her gaze dead-on.

  “Is there something you want to say to me?” she challenged.

  Silence.

  “Go ahead. What is it?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Forget it.” He picked up his menu.

  “No.” She snatched the menu from his hand and slapped it back down onto the table. “We need to have this out. Go ahead. Ask me.”

  “All right, then,” he said, leaning forward. “Were you in love with my father?”

  Gloria drew a deep breath despite the fact that she was expecting the question. Her shoulders squared while her back morphed into an iron rod.

  Malcolm cocked his head. “Maybe you two got together for more than just…business dinners?”

  She shook her head, disappointed in just how little Malcolm thought of his father and of her, for that matter. “I’m not going to lie,” she said evenly. “I loved your father.”

  Malcolm’s jaw hardened.

  “But I was not in love with him,” she clarified. “It was strictly business between us. He was my mentor and my hero.”

  “Hero?” he spat. “Not too many employees think of their bosses as heroes.”

  “Everyone that worked for your father did,” she retorted. “I believe you did, too, at one time,” she added as a sucker punch.

  Malcolm’s chin came up as he sat up straight.

  “Frankly, I can’t believe you’d think such a thing. I had nothing but the highest regard for your father. I respected him, myself and his marriage.” Even as she confessed, she watched waves of doubt wash over Malcolm’s stony features. It only angered her more.

  “Why is it that you’re so determined to think the worst of your father? Surely it’s not because he didn’t support that one bill?”

  “That one bill…” Malcolm clamped his mouth shut and forced himself to calm down. “You know what? I think coming here was a mistake.”

  It was Gloria’s turn to cock her head and stare. “You have a habit of doing that.”

  “A habit of doing what?”

  “Running away.” Gloria leaned back and folded her arms. “You haven’t noticed?” She smirked. “When things get a little hot, you always seem to need to run out…for air.”

  Malcolm leaned back and mimicked her pose. “Is that right?”

  “It makes me wonder if you have what it takes to…”

  Brows sloped unevenly, he asked, “Have what it takes to do what?”

  “Nothing,” she said blithely. “Forget I said anything.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Obviously, you have something you want to say, as well.”

  Their waiter, Quon, a tall, lanky Asian with an obvious aversion to smiling, arrived and Gloria breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Ah, Ms. Kingsley. Nice to see you here again,” he said, setting two empty plastic cups before them and then filling them with a pitcher of iced water. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Yes,” Gloria said.

  “No,” Malcolm countered, and then added, “Could you please give us a few more minutes?”

  Gloria’s brows stretched high. Maybe she wasn’t off the hook just yet.

  “As you wish, sir,” Quon said, sliding away from their table.

  “You’ve never struck me as someone who liked to play games,” Malcolm said, the moment they were alone. “But I’m starting to feel like an unprotected king in the center of a chess game.”

  Gloria shrugged her shoulder and tried her best to look as innocent as possible. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you?” He laughed. “You tell me to come help pack my father’s office, assuring me it will only take a couple of hours when you and I both know it would be, at minimum, an all-nighter. Then of course there is this dinner—”

  “Well. You make it sound like I held a gun to your head. Is being alone with me so terrible?” she snapped. “Maybe I just wanted…to talk. Share stories about how great a man your father was or how much he meant to me and the other staffers. I was a fan of your father’s long before I started working for him. He was a powerful speaker and he campaigned for health-care reform long before the number of uninsured reached crisis numbers. I was thrilled when Senator Cayman recommended me to Harmon. I just…” After a few seconds with struggling for the right words, she clamped her mouth shut, but her lips continued to tremble and tears burned the backs of her eyes.

  Gloria drew a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

  At the first sight of tears shimmering in Gloria’s eyes, Malcolm felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Obviously, the woman was still grieving, and here he was…

  He sighed. “Look. So far it seems I’ve spent half the night apologizing to you for my behavior. Why don’t we just…start over?”

  She glanced at him and wiped a tear before it broke free from the mesh of her eyelashes.

  “F
or real,” he assured her. “This time, I’ll be on my best behavior.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I promise.”

  Finally, Gloria smiled and nodded.

  Their waiter returned. “Have you two made your decisions?”

  “Hmm.” Malcolm grabbed his menu and quickly perused the items. “What’s good here?”

  “You should really try the Hunan chicken with black mushrooms,” Gloria suggested. “It was your father’s…I mean…” Her words trailed off.

  Malcolm offered her a small smile. “I know what you mean. And you know what?” He handed the menu over to the waiter. “I think that’s exactly what I’ll have.”

  She returned the smile and surprised him by ordering the Mongolian barbecue beef. She might be a small woman but she had a healthy appetite. He liked that.

  “Very good selection,” Quon intoned, his lips still a flat line as he scurried off toward the kitchen.

  Being alone with Gloria—with anyone, really—was the very thing Malcolm had tried to avoid since the news of his father’s death.

  He wasn’t ready to be the shoulder to cry on. How could he deal with other people’s grief when he didn’t know how to deal with his own? However, the longer he stayed in Gloria’s presence, the more he was able to see through her thin veneer. She wanted what everyone wanted—for him to open up.

  And maybe—just maybe—he wanted that, too.

  As he witnessed her struggle, a small part of him caved. “I loved my father,” Malcolm said suddenly.

  Gloria lifted her shimmering gaze.

  “I don’t want you to think I stopped loving him,” he added softly, and then cleared his throat. “I still love him. It’s just that our relationship in the past couple of years was…complicated.”

  “Most are.”

  “Oh?” He arched his brow. “I’ve never heard you talk about your family.”

  “When have you ever been around?” she asked.

  “I guess that’s a good point,” Malcolm said with a tilt of his head. “Are you close to your father?”

  Gloria’s eyes lowered to the table while she gave a firm shake of her head.

  Malcolm wondered how it was possible she could judge him when she apparently had issues with her own father. Yet, he bit back the comment.