“Who is in control of this, Mallory?”
“You,” I bite out.
“Who says when you come?”
“You fucking do,” I huff, spreading my legs farther. “Now do it.”
“You take orders pitifully,” he says, but gives in, and within four strokes, has me coming all over him.
Graham
LINCOLN’S PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT IS IN my hands. It takes all of three seconds to read it.
A heavy, bold X strikes through each page with an arrow indicating I should turn the document over on the last one. I do and see this scratched out in Lincoln’s handwriting:
I, Lincoln Fucking Landry, will not make my girl sign some stupid piece of paper letting her know if she leaves me, she can’t have my money. Truth is, if she goes, she may as well take all the cash I worked so hard for because who would give a shit at that point? (And I have you. You can make me more.)
I know you’re making that face you make when you think I’m making a really bad choice (worse than the time I used duct tape to keep the braids Sienna put in the dog’s hair in place), but I got this. Relax. I mean, if I’m wrong, you will be right and we all know how much that makes you happy.
Thanks for looking out for me, G. You’ll be my best man, right?
I don’t know whether to laugh or call him and rip his ass. This is utterly stupid, to not protect your interests when combining your life with someone else’s. But it’s Lincoln, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not entirely surprised he’s going this route.
Mallory’s voice trickles in through the door I left cracked open for that sole purpose. Having her out there is a godsend professionally. Sometimes I sit at my desk and listen to her make phone calls, take care of issues, deny people entry to my office in awe. Linda was good. Mallory is great.
If that’s all it is, I’d be fine. But it’s not. I know it and I can’t fix it and it drives me absolutely mad.
Hearing her a few feet away does the same thing for me that watching Vanessa teach Philosophy did in colleg
e. There’s nothing sexier than a woman with a brain, but it’s more. It’s an unraveling of my wits, a chipping away at my concentration, a veering into the dark, unchartered waters of a place in my life I’m not ready to go.
I wasn’t ready with Vanessa. I had so much to do, so many balls to juggle, but I tried. As they fell to the ground and shattered, I knew things would never look the same to me again. I’d lose the ability to see things through rose-colored glasses. My naiveté was stripped the day her truths were told.
As I sit, one leg resting on the knee of the other and feeling the warm sunlight shine on my face, I listen to Mallory and feel my walls crumble. They aren’t barriers to keep people out; I’ve let many women inside over the years, just in carefully timed, preconceived ways.
I couldn’t do that with Vanessa. It was all or nothing, just like I fear it would be with Mallory. The loss of complete control, and I can never do “all” again.
“Graham?” A knock at the door raps through the room and I glance that way. Mallory is standing there, her head resting on the doorframe, a soft smile touching her lips. “It’s five. I’m going to head out.”
“Come in here for a second.” I sit up and watch her move across my office, a feeling of warmth drifting through my core that unsettles me. “Besides your little outburst, I’m really proud of how you did today with my father and Ford. You made me look good.”
Her cheeks flush. “I just made sure all of your ideas and plans were in line. Today was all about you.” She sits on the edge of the chair across from me.
“Today was about Ford.”
“You should celebrate. Maybe with pancakes.”
“You didn’t bring me any or I would.”
“I didn’t have time,” she scoffs. “I’m not a super morning person, even though today was actually decent.”
“I love mornings. Every day is a fresh start.”
She shrugs. “I guess I’ve not always had a lot to look forward to.”
“I’d venture to say,” I tell her, leaning against my desk, “that you have a lot to look forward to. Your whole life is in front of you.”
“True.” She says it, but she doesn’t believe it.