“Good thing I stopped by then. I feel like this is my area of expertise,” Lincoln says. “Women are my thing. I mean, look at it. I’m the one that’s engaged and a little Landry on the way. Bring it, G.”
“I don’t need your advice.”
“So we’ll give it to you without you asking,” Barrett quips. “Does that make you feel better about it?”
I groan, putting my head on the table.
“You go first,” Lincoln tells our brother. “We’ll save the best for last.”
“Lincoln, you’re still on a thin fucking line over this wedding bullshit.”
“I can’t help it you don’t have balls,” Lincoln sighs. “When I see what I want, I go for it.”
I’m not sure what happens, but I hear a scuffle and the two of them start laughing. When I look up, they’re looking at me. “Okay, G. What are the problems with Mallory?”
They’re both looking at me, their gazes affixed on my face. There’s no way out. I’m as stuck in this situation as I am in the one with Mallory, only with this one, I see a way out. It’s going to be painful and potentially humiliating, but there is a way.
Sucking in a breath, I say, “The problem with Mallory is there isn’t one.” Neither of them respond immediately and that annoys me. “Are we done here?”
“Nope,” Lincoln says. “So, just let me get this straight, she does like you? Right? Not saying you aren’t all—”
“Knock it off, Linc,” Barrett laughs. “What’s stopping you, Graham?”
“It just won’t work.”
“I told you I have tips to fix that,” Lincoln winks. “They also make these pills . . .”
I sigh. “Look, guys, I appreciate your desire to help. I do. But I don’t need help. I just need . . . to figure it out.”
Barrett leans against the table, his watch clinking against the wood. “When you meet the right one, it’s never easy. There were a number of women I was with and it was so fucking easy,” he says. “They did what I said. They had the right last name or were on the right track to add to my persona for public office.”
“Or they wore black fishnets,” Lincoln grins.
“And that,” Barrett says, pointing at Lincoln, “is how you know they aren’t the right one.”
“True.” Lincoln takes off his hat and twists it around backwards. “What Barrett is saying is true. With Dani, it wasn’t easy. Hell, it’s still not. She tells me when I’m wrong and sets me straight. And then we had the whole baseball thing. Shit is complicated. The key is—”
“Wanting to figure it out instead of just replacing them,” Barrett says, smiling at Lincoln. “It’s when you’d rather take all these problems, all this headache, and fight for it because when you imagine another woman’s perfume on your skin or someone else’s smile looking back at you . . .”
“You can’t.” Lincoln smiles at me. “Someone told me once that maybe I couldn’t have the job and the girl. Maybe you can’t have this delusion that it ‘just won’t work’ and whatever that fucking means, which is stupid, by the way, and the girl. You’re gonna walk away with one of them, G—your dumbass excuses or Mallory Sims. You pick.”
The door opens and Ford and Huxley walk back in. I’ve never felt more relieved to see a kid in my life.
“This isn’t over,” Lincoln warns.
“Did you have fun?” Barrett asks Hux.
“Yeah.”
“Are you cheating on me?” Lincoln asks, grabbing Hux by the arm and giving him a quick hug. “How are you, buddy?”
“Good. Hey, I heard you were having a baby. I was thinking. If you want to name your kid after me, I’m okay with that.”
“I’ll pass that along to the boss,” Lincoln laughs.
“All right, guys, I need to get back to the office. Ford, I’ll get that final insurance paper faxed back before the end of the week. As soon as that’s in place, I think we’re good to go.”
“Thanks.”
“Now go get some puuuu. . . . Puppies,” Lincoln chokes, looking at Hux. “Puppies. Go buy yourself a new puppy, Graham.”
We all laugh, Huxley looking confused, as I walk out of the Farm.
Graham
MALLORY’S SEAT IS VACANT WHEN I enter our suite at Landry Holdings. Her phone and keys are in a clump on her desk, wrappers from some kind of candy in a heap by her keyboard.
I can’t resist. Picking them up and tossing them in the garbage, I head to my office. Door left open.
I try to focus on the contract in front of me, but every time I hear a sound, I look up to see if it’s Mallory. It’s some Pavlovian dog bullshit and I hate I’m to this point with her.
Mulling over my brothers’ words on the way over here, I know they’re right. This is going to end one way or the other. It always does. It’s the natural progression of things.
Mallory deserves more than this. She should have the world, someone she can love and mean it. She needs a relationship in which she can fall in love like Alison or Danielle and be safe in it. Besides, I couldn’t watch her decide she loves me, then realize she doesn’t. I wouldn’t survive that.
I’ve avoided her today. She’s avoided me too. Getting to the end of this might be easier, and less of my decision, than I thought. That should afford me some relief. Instead, it just winds up my anxiety even worse.
She comes in the suite. Cellophane crinkles through the air and I laugh. She’s such a fucking mess.
“Hey,” she says, poking her head around the door. “I’m going to take off, okay?”
“Is it five already?” I ask, looking at the clock.
“It’s five-thirty, actually. I stayed over to finish up something for your father.”
“Really? I didn’t know anything about that.”
“It’s no big deal,” she says, waving me off. “But I do need to get going.”
“Do you have plans?”
“I have yoga.” She steps inside my office and I almost choke. Skin-tight pants are stretched over her curves while a white shirt hugs her top. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say, wheezing. Clearing my throat, I imagine her at dinner with Keenan. “Could I ask a favor of you?”
“Sure. I wanted to talk to you anyway,” she says, pulling her eyes away from mine.
My stomach fills with dread. Heavy, foul, infuriating trepidation. “What about? You can come in, if you’d like.”
She considers it for a good bit before taking the steps to the chair across from me. “After today, Ford’s company will be good to go for the most part. I’m just waiting for you to sign the insurance paper and then I’ll get it faxed back.”
I scoot a sheet of paper across the desk. “I signed it. It’s done. I’ll fax it though. It has to get there by six or the offer is void and we’ll have to start from scratch again.”
“I’ll send it,” she says.
“It has to be there before you leave. If not, we won’t be guaranteed that rate and we need that rate to hit budget.”
“Don’t you trust me?” she grins, taking the paper.
I look at her warily, but she’s right. I do trust her.
“That being said,” she says, clearing her throat, “I’d like you to replace me. As soon as possible, preferably.”
There’s no sunshine in her face, no ease that I’m used to seeing and that winds the dread even tighter.