I'm pulled out of my thoughts when my desk phone chimes. Connecting the call, I hear the front receptionist say in a low, murmured tone, "Mr. Brannon...you have someone here to see you. She doesn't have an appointment but seems confident you'll see her."
"Who is it?" I ask.
"She said her name is Georgia Mack," she responds.
Instantly, my entire body tightens at the thought of that woman just mere feet away in the executive lobby. My pulse simultaneously fires along with a rush of adrenaline spiking through my system. To say I've thought about Georgia a time or two since our meeting almost two weeks ago is an understatement.
Leaning toward the speaker on the phone, I say, "Thank you, Claudia. You can show her back."
Standing from my desk, I fasten the three buttons on my suit jacket and straighten my tie, although I have to restrain myself from running my hands over my hair in a desire to make sure it's neat and presentable. But then I reconsider, because I'm getting ready to present a very buttoned-up, professional image to a woman who is wild, carefree, and seemingly not fond of this image I'm trying to project.
Shit.
I quickly unbutton my jacket, pull it off, and toss it over the back of my chair. Just as quickly, I unbutton my sleeve cuffs, thankful I didn't bother with links today, and hastily roll them halfway up my forearms. My hand just gets my tie pulled away from my throat and loosened a bit when Claudia knocks on the door.
Jesus Christ, I'm a mess.
"Come in," I say, hoping my voice doesn't sound as nervous as I feel.
The door swings open and Claudia motions Georgia in, and I have to struggle to let my breath out in a controlled release. She looks amazing and I give in to admitting that I'm wildly attracted to her. I'm still put off by her brash manner, but there is no denying I like what I see before me.
Her golden hair is long and a riot of curls that hang over her shoulders and down her back. She's wearing black jeans that look painted onto her body and tucked into black high-heeled boots that come up to her knees. I can't see what kind of top she has on because she's wearing a cranberry-colored leather jacket that sits above her waist but is zipped up to the bottom of her throat. She's adorned with rings on all her fingers, and numerous bangles on both wrists. Georgia Mack is an untamed beauty with an equally wicked aura about her, and at this moment all I can think is that she's the complete opposite of me, and yet I'm drawn to her for some stupid reason.
Her brown eyes--which two weeks ago I'd classified as warm--now stare at me shrewdly from across the expanse of my office as she says with that southern twang of hers, "I've got a bone to pick with you, mister."
My body jerks in surprise and my eyes cut swiftly to my receptionist, who is now staring at Georgia with her mouth hanging open.
"That will be all, Claudia," I tell her, and her eyes snap to me. "Thank you."
She bobs her head, doesn't give another look to Georgia, and backs out of my office, closing the door softly behind her.
Because I'm feeling out of sorts because of this unusual attraction I have to this annoying woman, and because she's clearly here to "pick a bone" with me, I manage to straighten my shoulders and wave my hand at one of my desk chairs.
"By all means," I tell her smoothly, establishing firm control of this meeting...well, whatever this is. "Have a seat."
She narrows her eyes and stalks toward me, bypassing my guest chairs and coming right to the edge of my desk, where she slams her palms against it, the bangles on her wrist chiming merrily in opposition to her clear anger. "I want to know what in the hell is going on with Lexi, and we're going out to lunch to talk about it."
Immediate concern for my daughter overwhelms me. "What's wrong with Lexi?"
"Well, we're going to lunch to talk about it," she says adamantly.
"We're going to lunch?" I ask stupidly, thrown completely off-kilter.
"We're going to lunch," she affirms. "I'm killing two birds with one stone. We need to talk about Lexi and I'm tired of waiting for you to ask me out. You move at the speed of molasses and I'm not getting any younger."
My head actually goes dizzy trying to keep up with her. She's clearly pissed at me, feels I've done something to affront her, and yet she wants to go out with me? What little bit of control I thought I might have had with this woman seems to be slipping quickly from my grasp, and to save my male ego from taking too much more of a beating, I calmly say, "I don't have time to go to lunch, but if you'll sit down, I'm sure we can rationally and calmly discuss what has you worried about Lexi."
Those brown eyes flash with something I'd label as indignation before hardening into resolve. I think that perhaps for a brief moment she'll listen to reason and take my suggestion.
Instead, she merely pushes up from her leaning position over my desk and says, "No, thank you. I'm not interested in that."
And to my utter surprise, she shocks me stupid by turning around and flouncing toward my office door. I watch her retreating form, my eyes dropping to her ass that is molded nicely in those jeans, stunned she's leaving.
Worried she's leaving because she's clearly concerned about my daughter, as am I.
Disappointed she's leaving because as much as I'm loath to admit, I've felt more alive these last few minutes with her trampling all over my carefully ordered world than I have in, well, forever.
"Wait," I blurt out as I come around my desk and start walking toward her.
Thankfully, she pauses with her hand on the doorknob and flips her long, curly hair from over her shoulder to her back as her head snaps my way. "What?"
"Do you like Mediterranean food?" I ask as I put my hand into my pocket and grab my car keys.
"Does moonshine put hair on your chest?" she shoots back at me, her southern drawl peaking to its most acute sound yet.
"I'm going to have to assume so," I say carefully, not having ever had moonshine.
She nods in agreement, turns the knob, and opens my office door. "Then assume I like Mediterranean food."
With that she walks out before me and stalks down the hall, and I can't tell if she's still angry at me or not, but I do enjoy the view of her ass in those jeans as I follow her out to the lobby.
--
"So how about telling me what's got you worried about Lexi?" I ask Georgia as I watch her cut up her lamb kabobs. She had informed me when we placed our orders that she normally likes to eat tabbouleh, but she didn't want to risk getting parsley in her teeth on our first date.
I didn't even know how to respond to that, so I'd ordered lamb as well.
Georgia puts a small piece of lamb into her mouth, and I try not to focus on her lips as she chews it daintily while she stares at me thoughtfully. When she swallows, she stabs her fork in the air at me and says, "You tell me. Since she went to that game with you and Gray last week, something's absolutely wrong with her."
"I know," I admit with a heavy sigh, dipping a piece of pita into my hummus. "I've noticed it too. She's been avoiding me this past week."
"Well, what in the hell happened at the game?" Georgia demands.
"Nothing," I say with a shrug. "Not anything that was obvious, at any rate."
"All I know is that she's sullen and crabby as hell with me, and if you know Lexi, which I know you don't yet as well as I do, that is absolutely not like her. That child is the most effervescent, easygoing, and adaptable person I know. She's been handling all of this with you and Gray with incredible maturity and optimism. And now she seems to be defeated, and all I know is you were last in her presence when this happened."
"She was reserved at the game," I say as I remember that night. I'd expected her to be jumping up and down in her seat, but she had no enthusiasm. "Not like when I saw her down near the family lounge before..."
My words trail off.
Lexi was fine then. When Gray and I saw her standing in the hallway, both pleased and surprised at the same time to see her there, she was genuinely happy to see us both. She accepted my hug easily
. It was all good, until a singular moment of some awkwardness when she admitted to us that she was there by invitation of Roman.
I was surprised, of course, as I didn't realize she knew him, but really didn't think much of it. I was just happy to see her there.
But Gray had questioned her about Roman with a little more diligence, and was probably still doing so when I left for the locker room to wish the team good luck.
Had something happened then between Gray and Lexi?