“Yes.”
“And here I was hoping it would be me,” I whisper. The words leave my mouth and I regret them. I mean them, absolutely, but I don’t want to lead her on that this can be a habit. It can’t. It has to end at some point or find some way to fit in boundaries and I’m not sure she’s boundary-able. That’s a completely different obstacle I can’t figure out how to clear.
Thankfully, she ignores my comment. “I think you need balance,” she says. “You do, do, do for all these people. I only know the tip of it, I’m sure, but you are the center of your entire family, Graham. And then you run this company like it’s your baby.”
“It is my baby,” I correct her.
“That’s what I’m saying,” she sighs. “When do you get to do Graham things? When do you relax? When do you get to be you and not in a suit?”
“I’m not sure what planet you’re on, but I look damn good in this suit.”
“Stop changing the subject!”
“While I’m honored you care so much about my dress code, I can assure you I’m fine. I’m doing what I love. This life I have, it’s one I created after a lot of thought and planning. There’s nothing else I want or need that I don’t already have.”
Her face falls and I feel like a complete motherfucking asshole. I didn’t see the shit I was stepping in, just explaining myself like I would to anyone. Except, she’s not just anyone. I don’t know who she is, but if I said she wasn’t any different than Barrett or Linda, I’d be a liar.
Although the next words are the complete opposite things I need to be saying, they’re falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Let’s go to dinner.”
She shoots me a look that tells me just how confused she is. “What?”
“We worked our asses off today. Let’s go get some nourishment.”
“Graham . . .”
“You said we both need balance,” I point out, straightening my jacket back out as I stand. “Let’s get some dinner and some cake to offset the bullshit that happened in here today.”
Her eyes light up and it calms the anxiety building over my inability to think before I speak around her. Still, she doesn’t answer.
“Come on,” I goad, flicking off my computer and holding my hand out to her. “Let me take you to dinner.”
“I only go to dinner with men that take me to places with real forks,” she teases.
“I don’t think forks are your problem,” I say, feeling her soft palm rest in mine. “I think finding real men may be your issue.”
She shoves me with her free hand, and I find myself laughing out loud as we exit the office.
Graham
“CAN YOU BELIEVE I’VE NEVER been here?” Mallory looks at me with wide eyes as we near the entrance of Dalicon. “I almost forget it’s even here. It’s just tucked back here so neatly.”
“This is one of my favorite places in Savannah,” I tell her. I give my name to the hostess and she whisks us through the restaurant. With the large, wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and warm walls set off with dark floors, it’s a very relaxed place. The burnt orange paper lanterns and wall art give it a slight air of sophistication that I love.
Once we are settled into a little table in the corner and have ordered wine, Mallory seems to relax. “This is stunning. I just want to look around and that says something—I always want to eat!” she laughs.
“Soda and protein bars?”
“No,” she says, but stops when the waiter appears at our side. He starts to hand her a glass. As he does, he’s bumped from behind and a splash of wine lands in Mallory’s lap.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, resting the serving try on a vacant table and rushing to Mallory’s side. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me get you something.”
As I start to extend a hand with my linen napkin, I’m stopped by her laugh. “Please,” she gushes to the waiter. “It was an accident. It’s no problem, really.”
“But, madam, I am so sorry. I should be more careful. I’ve just ruined your dress.”
“Please . . . Donnie,” she says, eyeing his nametag. “It’s really no big deal. It’ll clean. And if it doesn’t, it’s a dress. I’ll survive.”
“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?” he asks, stunned. “Can I at least get you an appetizer? Let me do something.”
I tune out, unable to really focus on anything but the pure kindness in her eyes. Before long, she has him laughing along with her and I’m speechless.
“Sir? What can I get you?” Donnie asks.
Shaking my head, I indicate off the menu what I want and once he’s gone, I smile at Mallory. “That was pretty fantastic.”
“What?” she asks, dabbling the wet spot with a napkin, completely oblivious to what I’m referring.
“How you handled that.”
“How was I supposed to handle it?” she asks, resting the linen next to her plate.
“Most women would’ve freaked out over that. You were worried about Donnie boy.”
She takes a sip of her wine. “Accidents happen. God knows I’ve had my fair share. You heard the story I was telling him about the time I dumped an entire tray of margaritas in someone’s lap. You just have to let some stuff go. Or maybe you just realize that once you’ve been in their shoes.”
“You were a waitress?”
“Yeah. I’ve done dishes, worked as a cashier once at a grocery store. That was the worst job I’ve had, actually. People just look at you like you’re garbage,” she frowns. “I’ve worked in a beauty shop, cleaning up tanning beds after the people leave and sweeping up hair and stuff.”
“When? High school? Now?”
“My whole life,” she shrugs. “I did a lot of those while I was in high school. I’d go to school and then work the hours I was allowed under the law. And then, sometimes, I’d work at another place and they’d just pay me under the table so I didn’t get in trouble with school.”
“That must have been really hard,” I note, thinking about how hard I thought it was going to school and helping Dad out on the weekends.
She smiles. “It wasn’t easy. But that discipline got me where I am today.” Her finger runs around the rim of her glass as she thinks. “It’s where my work ethic comes from. If I wanted a tank of gas or car insurance, I had to get the money for it. If I wanted the fancy jeans with the sparkly pockets, I had to hustle for that. It sucked then, but I’m not afraid to work now for what I have. Or what I want.” She looks at me, her eyes shining in the dim light. “That’s why I respect you so much, Graham. I see your work ethic and I admire that. There aren’t a lot of people that will just do the job, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I chuckle. “I replaced your position about fourteen times before you showed up.”
The waiter places our food in front of us. He takes a minute to chat with Mallory, making sure she’s completely happy and comfortable. Watching her get doted on is amusing and witnessing her sweetness shine with Donnie is special. It’s not something I’ve seen often.