Chapter 6
SIX
MALLORY
I SEE MY REPLACEMENT STANDING on the other side of the glass wall, talking to another employee. Her name is Raza and she’s super sweet, but today, I’m not looking forward to seeing her.
“I should’ve worn the black dress,” I chastise myself, looking down at what I did choose.
The eggshell blue shift took entirely too long to pick out and almost made me late.
I accessorized it with a couple of gold bangles and nude heels and took extra care to curl my long locks into beachy curls.
It’s cute and fine for a day at work. Because, as I keep reminding myself, this is not a date.
It’s a lunch interview, a part of my work day.
A routine thing that happens between two people that work together.
Only most people don’t work with a man that looks like a Greek god that sounds like a Southern gentleman.
He’s avoided me all morning. Or maybe this is just a normal day at work—I don’t know. I haven’t been here long enough to establish a true normal routine. I suspect, however, there’s nothing normal about Graham Landry.
He’s been polite, yet firm, when I’ve called back to transfer calls or alert him of a visitor. All of his communication with me has come via email. I haven’t seen him since I arrived and that has me more on edge.
Raza bounces through the door, her usual cheery self. “How are you, Mallory?”
“Good.” I stand shakily and put my purse in the locking drawer at the bottom of my desk. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. An hour and a half, maybe. Did Gina tell you?”
“She did. Do you have some sort of appointment?”
“Yeah.” I twist my lips. “I have a working lunch with Mr. Landry.”
Raza’s eyes light up like a schoolgirl’s. “I’m jealous,” she whispers conspiratorially. “But I’m not sure I could be in a closed room with him for that long without a restraining order at the end.”
My attempt at a smile is broken and a little wobbly because I’m not sure how this is going to work either. With a slight wave, I grab a notebook and a pen and take the handful of steps to the large, heavy wooden doors and knock.
“Come in.” His response is immediate and bold, not at all like the tepid Graham I’ve dealt with all day.
The door swings open too easily, denying me that last sweet second to get my wits about me. Before I’m ready, he’s in sight.
His desk is wide and heavy-looking, made of dark wood with antiqued accents. In most offices, this piece of furniture would be the focal point. In this one, it’s the man behind it. There’s nothing that could possibly outshine him.
He’s wearing a black suit and tie and is leaning back in an oversized black leather chair.
Light pours in his office from the glass walls that probably allow you a fantastic view of Savannah, if you were so inclined— meaning if you weren’t a female and Graham wasn’t present.
Because when he’s here, nothing else matters.
“Close the door behind you,” he instructs.
Once the clasp latches, I turn to face him again. This time, I don’t let our eyes meet. I need just a second to compose myself.
Just a work appointment, Mal. Just like with Mr. Beenmeyer.
Glancing up at Graham just in time to witness him unfold himself out of his chair, I find myself laughing out loud.
Mr. Beenmeyer didn’t look like he was packing double-digits.
“Something funny?” Graham asks, smoothing down his tie.
“No. Not at all.”
He casts me a puzzled look. “Would you like to order lunch in?”
“Oh, um, I went ahead and ordered lunch for you at Hillary’s House. It was in the notes—that you order from there every day when you don’t have an appointment. And since this isn’t really an appointment . . .”
“What about you?”
“I ordered for myself and prepaid it on my credit card,” I tell him, omitting that I was a little shell-shocked at the prices and opted to order the cheapest thing on the menu.
“I had them charge yours to your account like normal. Everything should be delivered shortly. I know they’re late, but you’ll have to take that up with them.”
“And with whom should I take up the fact that you paid for your lunch today?”
“What?”
“Mallory,” he sighs, “when I ask you to have lunch with me, please don’t disrespect me by buying your own.”
Biting my lip, I nod as quickly as I can. “That’s not what I meant by it.” He just nods, his annoyance down a few notches but not gone altogether. “Go ahead and take a seat.”
We get situated across from one another.
I study his face while he moves things around his desk.
If I look closely enough, I can see the Graham I remember.
The dimple in his left cheek is barely noticeable, but I’d venture to guess it’s still heavenly when he smiles a real smile, something I don’t think I’ve seen from him.
As he types furiously on his keyboard, I wonder what makes Graham Landry happy.
What makes him loosen that tie around his neck.
What it would take to lose this facade that has to be some sort of veneer because how can someone as beautiful, successful, and wealthy seem so .
. . joyless? As I start to consider what he might do after work, he folds his hands together on top of his desk and looks at me.
“I just sent you an email about a new venture Landry Holdings is taking on. It’s called Landry Security and my brother Ford will be at the helm.
He’ll be in soon for a strategy session that I’ll ask you to sit in on.
We want to get this up and running as soon as possible, and since I’ve been short-handed in here for much longer than I care to admit, I’m behind. Also something I hate to admit.”
“Things happen,” I shrug. “You have to be able to roll with the punches.”
“I don’t roll with the punches,” he chuckles. “I like all my ducks in a row. On a chain, if possible.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
He falls back in his chair, seemingly surprised by my question. I do what he does to me—I wait him out. Just when I think he’s going to wait all day if it takes that for me to speak next, he shocks me and answers.
“It works for me. I know my style isn’t for everyone, Mallory. I like to have a plan for the back-up plan. It’s how I keep all the balls I juggle daily in the air.”
“What if one falls?”
“They don’t,” he replies, a brusqueness to his tone that ripples across the desk and chills me. “Failure is not an option, especially when it comes to anything for my family, and this business is a family business.”
The passion he feels for his family and work is palpable, something I’ve never seen in anyone firsthand. It’s another dimension to this man that I suspect has a lot of layers. “They’re lucky to have you running things for them.”
“That works both ways.” Before I can press him on this, he changes the subject. “What should I know about you?”
I inhale a deep breath. “I think my resume pretty much said it all. I just moved back to town. Nursing school wasn’t for me.”
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“Have you ever had to inject something into someone?”
His face blanches. “No.”
“Yeah, not my thing. I also felt like I was going to get everything everyone had that came in. I just couldn’t imagine living every day with a box of bleach wipes in my purse, you know?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure I couldn’t work in the medical field. It’s too unpredictable.”
I wince. “Yeah, I can’t imagine you in a room full of people going every which way, coughing all over each other, liquids squirting everywhere.”
“That’s a disgusting image you present there, Ms. Sims,” he chuckles.
He rests one ankle on the opposite knee and strokes his chin, watching me intently. “I’ll admit, I was surprised you were interested in the medical field to begin with. You always seemed so . . .”
“So what?”
He shrugs, weighing his words. “You were so studious before, so serious. Focused. Your Latin was impeccable. I remember you telling me you wanted to be an attorney and I couldn’t imagine you in front of a jury.
Then we had a disagreement over our paper and I could see you in front of a judge, winning your case,” he admits.
“Law is a far cry from nursing. What made you change your mind?”
My spirits tumble as memories I haven’t thought about in a long time roll through my mind. When life was simple and hope seemed free. Before my senior year came and I was put in my place by my parents and made the best decision I could under the circumstances.
“I actually moved to Columbia with Eric Johnson.”
“Do I know him?”
“Probably not,” I say, not wanting to dwell on Eric, even if he did know him.
Graham leans forward and narrows his eyes. “What does moving to Columbia have to do with you not going to law school?”
“It just didn’t work out. I was nineteen when we moved. I had to get adjusted there and I needed to work to save money to go. Part of that went to helping Eric get his degree and then, when it was my turn, I chose nursing. It seemed like a fast degree that would pay well.”
“Do you plan on going back now?”
My shoulders rise and fall. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I plan on doing.
So many things have changed for me and I’m not really sure where I sit these days.
I’ve worked as an Administrative Assistant for years now.
Even when I was going to nursing school, I worked at Beenmeyer Company.
It’s all I really know and can do well.”
I look away because I feel like he’s trying to read me again. I’m afraid that this time, he’ll realize what a mess I am. That’s not something Graham will appreciate in all his organizational bliss.
“Eric Johnson,” he says finally. “Is he still in the picture?”
“No. I told him I wanted to drop out of nursing school, we had a fight, and I ended up leaving him.”
Something passes through his eyes. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about that. I apologize for pressing you.”
“It’s fine,” I concede, finding my footing. “You didn’t press me. It’s still so raw for me to discuss.” Especially with you. “So, what happened in your life?”