“I didn’t say I didn’t. I just said it was ignorant.”
“Oh, son,” she laughs. “I need to go. I have an appointment at the salon at four. I just wanted to check in and see how you were. Think we could do lunch this weekend?”
I glance at the pile of work on the corner of my desk. “I’m still really behind, Mom. I’ll probably be in the office all weekend.”
“What if I order you over here? Pull the Mom Card? Or tempt you with a homemade coconut cream pie?”
“I’ll try. How’s that?”
“Better than no,” she sighs. “I love you, Graham. Make sure you’re taking time for you, okay?”
“Love you, Mom.”
I hang up the receiver and sit back in my chair. The hours upon hours of work I’ve been doing is starting to add up. I can feel it across the back of my shoulders, in my thighs when I stand. It’s just an accumulation of stress and rigidity that’s starting to wear me down a bit.
Swiping my coffee cup off my desk, I head to the coffee maker for a fresh cup. As I pass the door to my office, I hear Mallory’s voice on the other side. Pausing, my hand on the knob, I listen to another man’s voice. I’m not sure who it is, other than it’s not one of my brothers.
I pop open the door, my jaw pulsing, before I realize what I’m doing. Leaning on her desk is a man in a brown work uniform, a package sitting between them. Mallory is leaned away from him, rolled away from her desk a few feet.
“Excuse me?” I ask, causing them both to jump.
“Oh, Graham!” Mallory gasps, her hand flying to her chest. She reads my pressed lips correctly and stands. “Can I get you something?”
Instead of answering her, I flip my glare to the delivery man. “Are you done here?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I just had a package to drop off.”
“That looks accomplished. You can go now.”
He bolts out the door like a flash of lightning. I give Mallory one quick look before retreating to my office.
My jaw still clenched, I don’t bother to sit down. I won’t be able to sit still. I’ve run off delivery guys before, ones that try to get out of doing their job by chatting up my employees. But this time, it wasn’t about time management. It was because I was jealous.
I haven’t felt that tinge of fury in a long fucking time, and I hate it just as much now as I did back then. I forgot what it felt like to have your blood boil in such an animalistic way, that caveman desire to mark your territory. Only thing is, she’s not my territory. She’s not my anything and she can’t be. It would be like this every fucking day and everything would fall to pieces. This feeling is not what I want. It’s not what she wants, either.
I feel her behind me. The air shifts, a lavender scent rippling around the room. My body is on alert as she comes closer. I don’t have to turn around to know that.
“Graham? Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Did you get your package?”
“No,” she says. “I got yours.”
I fight the smile on my lips and continue to stare forward. I need to get a hold of this ridiculousness before it overtakes me.
“I have to say,” she says as she comes around into full view, “I thought your package would be bigger.”
“Is that so?” I ask, trying not to break.
A ruby red dress skims the curves of her body, a shiny necklace tucked in her cleavage. None of that is as spectacular as her smile.
This is the exact fucking reason I’ve avoided being around her today. My cock is hardening, my tongue nearly panting as I watch her body move in that damn dress. How did I ever think this could work? I’m a fool.
“It’s a printer cartridge,” she says. “I’ll put it in the media room.” We watch each other, the force between us stirring once again. I swear you can almost see it. “I just . . . You aren’t upset with me, are you?”
“No.” I force a swallow. “Of course not.”
“Good.”
She runs her hands down the front of her dress the same way I do my hair when I’m flustered. Her lip is in between her teeth, her eyes on the floor.
I lift her chin with the tip of my finger. My chest tightens from the moment I touch her and I know it’s a mistake, but I do it anyway. “Mallory?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure I could be upset with you for anything,” I say much more gravelly than I intend.
Her head tilts to the side, her cheek pressing against the sleeve of my jacket. Our eyes connect and it’s like we’re transported to another time and place, one where there are no rules, no fears, no histories or responsibilities.
“For the record,” she says, looking at me with her big, whiskey-colored eyes, “I could be upset with you.”
I half-laugh as my hand cups her jaw, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. My mouth drops open just a touch to let actual air in. “I’m sure you could.”
“I might be upset with you right now,” she whispers.
“Why is that?”
“Because you didn’t kiss me yesterday.”
I hold her gaze for a long moment, in a way to apologize, before dropping my hand away from her face. “I think that would only complicate things. Don’t you?”
The words taste acrid as they fall out of my mouth, and the look she gives me feels even worse as it hits me in the chest. It’s not resentful, not broken—for which I’m grateful. It’s steely, a cage locking over her feelings.
“You’re right. I do,” she says, pasting on a smile and taking a step back. “I’m glad one of us has some sense,” she winks and trots out of my office. I follow her, shutting the door with a snap.
“It’s the right thing,” I remind myself, heading back to my desk. “This is the best thing for both of us.”
Mallory
“HELLO?” I ASK, WITH A little more bite than I intend.
“Mallory?”
“Yes?” I pull out a handful of random items from my junk drawer and put them on the counter. “This is Mallory.”
“This is Keenan Jacobs. Camilla Landry gave me your number.”
I lean against the counter and sigh. “Yes, Cam said she was going to. How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Shitty day at work, but otherwise . . .”
“I’ve had better days. This starting a new job thing sucks.”
“Tell me about it,” I groan. “Although I think my particular situation is unique, but whatever.”
“Want to have dinner tomorrow and commiserate? Something simple, maybe a pizza or something?”
For a split second, I consider not going. I’m not in a date-going mood, not that I really am sure what that means considering I haven’t had a real date in maybe ever. Besides, I don’t think it would be fair to him. I’m not sure how he would compare to Graham and I know I’ll compare. Fair or not, I will.
“Can I be honest with you?” I ask.
“I hope you will.”