Switch (Landry Family 3)

Once we reach the end of the hallway, he turns to me. “Behave.”

Before I can answer, the door is open and inside we go.

Mallory

A LONG, MARBLE TABLE THE color of sand extends the length of the conference room. Ford and his father sit across from each other, Graham and I sit at either end.

The security meeting has lasted three hours, most of which I’ve sat and watched Graham in action. His brain works so fast, his intelligence so apparent, that I’m awestruck. I’ve worked with bright men before, but nothing like this. He’s on another level with facts, figures, insight that blows my mind. How does one man, at his age, no less, have so much knowledge?

Everything Ford or Mr. Landry ask, Graham has the answer. He seems to have thought and researched this from every possible angle and I’m beyond impressed.

And beyond turned on.

“All we need to close up this piece are the numbers for the insurance. Do you have them?” Mr. Landry asks, turning to Graham. He starts to flip through his files, his forehead crinkled perfectly.

He doesn’t have them. I do. In our little banter this morning, he left them on my desk.

“You had me bring them, Graham,” I say, sliding the file to his father. “Remember?”

A look of relief washes over his face. “Thank you, Mallory.”

“You’re welcome. Also,” I say, pulling out a notepad, “I found this in Linda’s drawer. It looks like there were notes taken by someone at some point in a meeting about training courses and different licenses.”

“We’ve been looking for that!” Ford exclaims as I scoot the legal pad down the table to him. “We’ve looked everywhere. With Graham’s assistant merry-go-round, we didn’t know where these went.”

“They were in a file buried in the back of my desk,” I explain. “There’s no notation on them at all to indicate what they’re for. I just knew because I’ve been working with you all on this.”

Mr. Landry peers at me much the same way Graham does. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not long,” I reply, looking at Graham. He’s almost beaming at me. “A couple of weeks.”

“I like you,” he says, almost like an afterthought as he flips through the file. “These insurance numbers look great. Let’s get some lunch and then get started on location. I really like that one downtown, but I know Ford prefers the one on Woodrose Avenue.”

They all start to stand and I clear my throat. “I hope it’s not out of line, but I ordered you all lunch. It should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“You did?” Graham asks.

“You told me this would last through the morning,” I shrug. “Not taking a lunch break will expedite this. That’s what you want, right, Ford?”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning at me. “Thanks, Mallory.”

“No problem.”

“Graham, if you ever want to get rid of Mallory, I’ll take her.”

Graham flashes his brother a look that only makes him laugh.

“I was kidding,” For

d says, “but not kidding. If this doesn’t work out,” he says, looking at me, “I have this company I’m starting . . .”

“She’s employed,” Graham says.

“Boys,” Mr. Landry interjects, silencing them both, “she’s sitting right here.” He looks at me and smiles. “And she’s not stupid. If you need a job, I’ll hire you.”

We all laugh before they return to their discussions about location and square footage, and I find myself spacing out while I watch my boss. His fingers twist a pen, flipping it back and forth, while volleying ideas with his family members. The way they defer to him, ask for his opinions, the way he’s ready with a plan for every possible path is such a turn-on.

I take my hands off the table and place them in my lap.