“I prefer the term ‘professional.’”
“I bet you do,” he laughs. “I know you have control issues and all, but consider trusting someone else to help out. You don’t have to do it all yourself.”
“This is my legacy. You have your hero medals. Barrett has his public service. Lincoln has batting titles and Golden Gloves. I have this.”
“No one wants to usurp you,” he insists. “We just want to help.” When I just look at him with no response, he sighs. “Fine. But cut the new girl some slack. If you look at her like that when she walks in, she’ll probably march right back out.”
“What? I don’t give off the empathetic boss look?”
“Uh, no. You give off the asshole dictator look.”
“Good. At least she’ll know what she’s in for,” I wink. “Now get out of here so I can figure out what to do when I fire Mallory Sims on her first day at the office.”
He chuckles. “I’ll call this afternoon and see if anyone has sent you to the psychiatric ward.”
“Make sure the walls have extra padding. If it’s an added expense, charge it to Barrett.”
“Will do.” With a shake of his head, he disappears out the door.
The silence I love so much descends around me, the only sound coming from the coffee maker in the corner. The city below the third-story windows encompassing two walls of my office is just beginning to awaken. I love to watch everything sort of turn on for the day. Being awake and working before that happens makes me feel like I’m a step ahead of the game. That no one got anything over on me while I was sleeping.
Sleeping, like my new employee probably is when she should be here.
I fire off an email to Human Resources, letting them know I plan on not hiring Ms. Sims after all, and print out their response to hand to the almost-employee if she ever shows up.
Slipping off my suit jacket, I hang it on the hook behind the door. Rolling my sleeves up to my forearms, I’m mentally going over the list of applicants to replace Mallory when a loud clamor booms from the entryway into the suite.
As I round the corner and peer into the reception area, I spy a woman bent down. The floor is spattered with miscellaneous items. Bobby pins, sheets of paper, a water bottle, and a paperback are being scooped up and shoved into a large bag.
Irritated at another disruption to my day, I lean against the doorframe. A million thoughts roll through my mind, most of them along the lines that as CEO of Landry Holdings, I should not be dealing with this hassle. As my temples begin to throb, I fold my arms over my chest.
She stuffs the last sheet of paper into the bag and stands. Her eyes flick to mine and she stills. I think I do too.
Her skin is pale and creamy, a soft framework for the deep chestnut hair hanging to her waist. A dress the color of moss in the summer showcases toned arms and a long, lean line from her shoulders to her calves. A thin rope belt cinches her trim waist, one that I can imagine digging my fingers into.
I clear my throat. “Can I help you?”
With something besides getting out of that dress?
“I think you probably can,” she says, then blushes a pretty shade of pink. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. What I mean is . . .”
She’s flustered. It’s adorable and sexy at the same time. I should say something, interject, help her out, but I don’t. I like this entirely too much.
“I’ll stop talking now.” She flashes me a pretty smile, one that catches my attention in ways it shouldn’t at eight sixteen a.m. Taking a step towards me, the toe of her shoe catches on the water bottle she didn’t pick up and she comes barreling my way.
Before I know what’s happening, I reach out and catch her under a spray of loose leaf paper.
“Oomph!” she heaves as she lands in my arms and I’m surrounded by a sweet, floral scent.
I should let her go. I should back away, direct her to the front desk to get directions to wherever she’s going, and retreat to my office. Regardless of how sexy her breasts feel pressed against me or the way her ass pops as my fingers lace together at the dip at the bottom of her spine, I have things to do today. Important things. Lots of them. Even if I can’t pinpoint one at the moment.
Large, nearly golden eyes peer up at me. They’re crystal clear, almost like I can see all the way to the depths of her soul. They’re incredible tones of the purest gold and I can’t look away.
The feel of her body against mine sparks something inside me—a carnal, visceral reaction that’s led by feeling rather than intellect. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying desperately to use the brainpower I’m known for in most circles and not the cock I’m known for in others.
“I think so.” She pulls her gaze away from mine. A connection is actually snapped between us and I’m almost certain she feels it too because her features fall. “I’m just running late . . .”
Hell. Fucking. No.
I’m afraid to ask the next question. If the answer is what I think it is, I’m going to kill my little sister.
Mallory
BREATHE, MALLORY, BREATHE.
It only takes a fraction of a second to realize why that’s a horrible idea. As the sweet, rich scent of sandalwood couples with the feel of his fingertips pressing into my back, I know it’s flight or fight. Cut off all oxygen or pull away from his arms. Suffocate or step away while I can, because if I keep breathing him in, I’ll be a puddle at his feet in two seconds flat.
I’m a logical woman. There’s no way I’m stepping out of his embrace.
Don’t breathe, Mal. Don’t. Breathe.
Focusing on the feel of his hand against me, the way his arms hold me up like he’s some kind of savior, the morning events spin wildly in my mind.
The failed alarm. Spilling tea down my new dress. One of my favorite heels snapping as I nearly fell backwards when Graham Landry’s picture loaded on my laptop screen.
This seemed like a great idea. The opportunity to work at Landry Holdings glittered like a gift from above laid beautifully in my lap. I need this job. I’d been praying to find something since I left Columbia and every hope and dream I’d ever had behind. When I ran into Sienna Landry, a friend from high school at yoga class, we started talking. We weren’t the best of friends, hanging out only here and there back then, but she was always so sweet and kind. When she mentioned this job, it seemed like kismet. That is, until I pulled up the website this morning.
Whatever I expected Graham to be, he’s not. At least physically. That’s why I can’t look him in the face as his fingers tense against my dress, and all I can do is imagine him touching me elsewhere.
My cheeks heat at my errant thoughts. As I witness the greens of his eyes mix with a color I can only describe as sapphire, I know I need to say something. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out, and I suddenly feel the oxygen deprivation hitting me full force.