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 . . .”
“What about you?”
“I ordered for myself and prepaid it on my credit card,” I tell him, omitting that I was a little shell-shocked at the prices and opted to order the cheapest thing on the menu. “I had them charge yours to your account like normal. Everything should be delivered shortly. I know they’re late, but you’ll have to take that up with them.”
“And with whom should I take up the fact that you paid for your lunch today?”
“What?”
“Mallory,” he sighs, “when I ask you to have lunch with me, please don’t disrespect me by buying your own.”
Biting my lip, I nod as quickly as I can. “That’s not what I meant by it.”
He just nods, his annoyance down a few notches but not gone altogether. “Go ahead and take a seat.”
We get situated across from one another. I study his face while he moves things around his desk. If I look closely enough, I can see the Graham I remember. The dimple in his left cheek is barely noticeable, but I’d venture to guess it’s still heavenly when he smiles a real smile, something I don’t think I’ve seen from him.
As he types furiously on his keyboard, I wonder what makes Graham Landry happy. What makes him loosen that tie around his neck. What it would take to lose this fa?ade that has to be some sort of veneer because how can someone as beautiful, successful, and wealthy seem so . . . joyless?
As I start to consider what he might do after work, he folds his hands together on top of his desk and looks at me. “I just sent you an email about a new venture Landry Holdings is taking on. It’s called Landry Security and my brother Ford will be at the helm. He’ll be in soon for a strategy session that I’ll ask you to sit in on. We want to get this up and running as soon as possible, and since I’ve been short-handed in here for much longer than I care to admit, I’m behind. Also something I hate to admit.”
“Things happen,” I shrug. “You have to be able to roll with the punches.”