Chapter 6 #2
“I went to the University of Georgia and got a Master’s in business. Pretty predictable, right?”
I grin. “Yes. But there has to be something more. No one gets through high school and college with no crazy tales.”
A knock comes to the door and Graham sags back in his chair. He holds up a finger to tell me to wait a second.
I sit quietly and listen to him converse with Raza, her giggle drifting through the room. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Let’s eat over here,” he says over the rustle of a plastic bag.
I stand and follow him to a circular table near a window. As he places the containers at our seats, I take a moment to admire his office.
It’s a large corner office with bright white paint, dark wood, and a loveseat against the back wall.
A glass table is in front of it with what appears to be a handful of magazines of some sort and a small figurine that I can’t make out.
A tree stands in the corner in a beautiful terracotta pot.
Everything is clean, organized, smart . .
. and slightly uptight. Just like Graham.
“Ready?” he asks. When I look at him, he raises a brow. “Like what you see?”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“I’m glad you approve.” His lips twist and I know he knows I wasn’t just referring to the abstract painting on the far wall. “I had your credit card reimbursed for your lunch.”
“I—” My objection is silenced by a look from Graham. “Thank you,” I gulp.
“That pained you, didn’t it?”
“What?” I say, opening the container in front of me.
“To just say thank you.”
“Kind of,” I laugh. “I’m just not used to someone doing something for me without expecting something in return. I’ve learned it’s easier just to do everything yourself.”
He cuts his sandwich in two pieces and lays half of his alongside my side salad. My mouth opens to object, but closes as his quirked brow silences me.
“First of all,” he says, “you’re right—it is easier to do things yourself. I understand that. It’s hard for me to trust anyone.”
“Is that why you went through so many assistants before me?” He raises a brow.
“Sienna told me,” I say. “She also might’ve said you’re a little difficult to get along with, but if I give you time, I’d like you.”
“Did she?”
“She did,” I shrug. “Lincoln too, now that I think of it,” I admit. “I’m hoping they’re right.”
“So you don’t like me now?” The way he says it, a slight tease to his tone, is enough to send my hormones into a frenzy.
“I didn’t say that,” I blush.
He considers this as he takes a bite of his Rueben. I twirl my fork around in my salad, trying to focus on the colors of the tomato and lettuce and not on the way his eyes are beginning to turn a slight shade of blue.
“I’m not sure I like you either,” he says, not looking at me. “But I’m not sure I want to.”
“And why not?”
“Because . . .” He dabs a linen napkin on his lips. “I think that would give you an unfair advantage over me.”
My cheeks flush the color of the tomato on my plate. I’m not sure what that means, but his gaze tells me it’s a compliment. “I’ll be late,” I assure him. “That’ll help.”
He laughs, the realest laugh I’ve heard from him. It’s wonderful. “That would definitely help. I can’t handle being late.”
“Or disorganization,” I add.
“Or being unprepared.” He grins. “I guess I have a lot of issues, don’t I?”
“That’s what it sounds like,” I tease. “I just hate it when people don’t wave at me when I let them pull out in front of me. It’s so rude. I did you a favor and now you’re going to be snotty? It’s really hard for me not to ram them with my car.”
“So you have anger management issues then?” he teases. “That’s really, really good to know.”
“No. I have a hard time managing assholish behavior.”
“Remind me to keep you away from Barrett,” he winks.
“So you have no assholish behavior?” I ask, popping a chunk of lettuce in my mouth. “None at all?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Interesting . . .” I take a sip of my water. “Okay, then. Name me three words that describe you.”
He takes a bite of his sandwich. The wheels turn as his head cocks to the side. “Careful. Purposeful. Confident.”
“Those are boring,” I sigh dramatically.
“Maybe I’m boring,” he winks. “What about you? Three words.”
“Dependable,” I say, tilting my head to look at him out of the corner of my eye.
“Nice one,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Searching.”
“For what?”
I pop a tomato in my mouth. “A missing piece.”
“To what? A puzzle? A mystery?”
“Me. I’ve never felt like me. Is that odd?”
“Absolutely,” he grins.
“I look back on my life so far and wish I would’ve done something I wanted to do.
There was always someone telling me I couldn’t or shouldn’t, and I believed them.
It’s my fault,” I sigh. “But what if I’d tried?
What if I’d tried business or law or had taken a cooking class? Who knows where I’d be now.”
He leans back in his chair. “I have the opposite problem. I’m afraid to stop moving because I might stall. The one time I tried it, I . . .” He clears his throat. “You have one more.”
I want to dig deeper on that, to see what he means, but I know it’s futile. He’s not going to talk anymore about it. “One more. Okay, I’m going with adventurous.”
He chokes on his food, excusing himself and disappearing through a door next to the sofa that I hadn’t seen. When he returns a few minutes later, his eyes have a twinkle to them.
“Are you all right?” I ask, trying not to smile at the look on his face. He shakes his head, this time refusing to look at me. “I’m fine.” He returns to his seat and takes a long drink of water. After the cap is slowly screwed back on, his eyes find mine. “I’ll admit something to you.”
“Shoot.”
“You confuse the hell out of me.”
A giggle topples from my lips. “Really? In what way?”
His eyes narrow as he chooses his words.
“In every way. On one hand, you’re incredibly efficient, finding my mistakes yesterday in the file.
You thought ahead to order lunch today. You’ve really impressed Gina, and Lincoln loved you—but don’t take that to mean anything.
You’re a beautiful woman. That’s kind of a shoo-in with my little brother. ”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, trying to deflect from the fact that I’m just replaying “beautiful woman” over and over again.