Switch (Landry Family 3)

“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.

He leans closer. This doesn’t help, nor does my panic that he’ll get stuck in the syrup on the sleeve of my dress.

“Breathe,” he whispers. The cool mintiness of his breath is a stark contradiction to the fire radiating off him in every other way. Still, his words force into my brain and I drag in a quick lungful of air. “There you go.”

His voice is as warm and smooth as his cologne, and somehow, it seems to break the spell over me. A giggle slips past my lips before I can stop it. It’s my go-to reaction, especially when I’ve had too much to drink, and I’m definitely a little buzzed.

Graham shakes his head, his hand subtly pressing me closer to him, a move I pretend was intentional.

I clear my throat in an attempt to swallow my nerves. “This isn’t exactly a good first impression, huh?”

“Depends how you look at it,” he mumbles under his breath and releases me far too quickly. Straightening his navy blue tie, he takes a purposeful step away. While the heat continues to roll off him, it seems now it’s for a different reason. “You do realize you’re seventeen minutes late.”

“I do,” I gulp. “I had an accident this morning . . .” And once I saw your picture, I had to do what any reasonable female would do: find my prettiest panties and matching bra.

His eyes darken as if he can read my mind. I stand before him, his smolder making me wonder how in the hell I’m going to work alongside him every day.

Maybe I can work on top of him. Or under him. Or . . .

“I assume you’re Mallory,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Yes.” I extend a hand, not sure if that’s necessary since we were basically hugging a few seconds ago. “You must be Mr. Landry?”

He takes my palm in his, the size of his twice the size of mine, and shakes it gently. “I didn’t recognize you. You’ve . . . changed.”

“So have you.”

The corners of his lips drift up, pulling mine along with them. The exchange causes my heart to flutter, and I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

As quickly as it came, the softness in his eyes vanishes. It’s replaced with a resolution—but to what, I don’t know. “First things first, I’m going to need you in your seat, ready to go, at eight on the dot.”

“Of course,” I reply. Suddenly, I’m transported back to Latin club and he’s standing at my desk, asking me if I have a partner for our end-of-year project. My hands shake now, just as they did then.