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 façade 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 exactly 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 memory. 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.
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?”