I tiptoe across the room and slip into my seat. Glancing at the clock, I have four minutes to spare. As my bag hits the floor, the large wooden doors to Graham’s office swing open. I sigh, but not from victory—I whimper from pure delight.
His hair, combed to the side with a spike at the front, is a little darker than usual. My fingers itch to touch it, to see if it’s still wet from the shower. He’s a perfectly put-together image of power and sex appeal in a navy blue suit, crisp beige shirt, and a tie that incorporates both colors in a diamond pattern. Then his cologne hits me and I think I’m going to faint away.
Slipping off the black wire-rimmed glasses from his face, his brows arch in a hurry. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Four minutes early,” I point out with a smug smile. Despite six outfit changes, having to stop for gas, and a mini-traffic jam, I made it on time.
He doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he checks his watch. “Good to see.”
“Yesterday was an anomaly,” I say, leveling up to my desk. “Everyone gets one bad day sometimes, right?”
He doesn’t answer, just watches me with a neutral face as I pull out a few odds and ends from my bag. “What’s that?” he asks.
“This is a stress ball,” I point out, tucking it in my desk drawer.
“I think a happy face on a ball staring at me all day would give me stress.” He crooks his neck as he peers at the light purple device I place on my desktop. “What about that?”
“This,” I say, holding it in the air, “has essential oil inside. I can roll it on my wrists, the back of my neck, wherever . . .”
His eyes flip to mine. His chest rises and falls heavily. “Can you keep that out of sight?”
“Sure,” I say, blushing.
The glass doors swing open, distracting us both. A younger, lighter, more athletic version of Graham walks in wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. He has a huge grin on his face. “Mallory Sims,” he singsongs, extending a large, calloused hand.
“Lincoln?” Although I haven’t seen him in years, except on television, I’m fairly certain I’m right. Those genes aren’t found in that combo just anywhere. He stands by Graham and the two of them together, side-by-side, makes my head spin. And panties melt away.
Good God. Don’t let him visit much.
“I guess my reputation proceeds me,” he winks. “Can I call you Mal?”
“You are not nicknaming my assistant,” Graham huffs.
Lincoln’s shoulder hits Graham’s, knocking him sideways a step. Graham mutters something, which causes his younger brother to chuckle. “Lighten up, G.” He turns to me. “What do you think of my brother here? Did he treat you right on your first day?”
“She’s my employee, Linc,” Graham says just loud enough for me to think he didn’t want me to hear.
Lincoln ignores him, watching me with a wide smile. “I know he’s not charming right off the bat and kind of a nerd with that suit and—when did you start wearing glasses?” he asks, looking at his brother.
“Mallory? Remember how I told you my family are the only ones that can come in without advanced notice?” Graham asks.
“Yes.”
“If you see this guy in here again, call security.”
Lincoln and I laugh as Graham just shakes his head.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Lincoln offers. “You know, I just moved back to town. My girl, Dani, doesn’t really have any friends here. I think the two of you might hit it off.”
I look at my boss. His body language—crossed arms, pressed lips—tell me everything I need to know. His eyes are trained on me, his gaze burning into mine. His eyes darken as my heartbeat picks up and I imagine him doing just what I want him to do. Lift me up, pull up my dress, and discover that, today, I’m wearing no panties.
He cocks his head slightly to the side. It’s as if he’s issuing me some warning not to go there. Little does he know, I’ve gone there. Multiple times. All the way a few times as I got ready for bed last night and once before I got here today. What’s a girl to do when he looks like that?
“Oh, who cares what Graham has to say? He’s all bark, no bite,” Lincoln promises, bringing me out of my daze. “Well, except that time in St. Petersburg . . .” He glances at Graham. “That’s probably not a story to tell in front of your new employee, huh?”
“Why are you here this morning?” Graham asks, pulling his gaze to Lincoln.
“If I remember correctly, the sign out front—you know, the large one in big, black letters?—says LANDRY on it.”