THE GREEN FLAGS COME OFF the file easily. Wadding them up, I throw them in the trash.

“Well done, Ms. Sims,” I say out loud. The first error was intentional. I was just curious how well she paid attention to detail. Apparently, she’s careful because the second two she found weren’t on purpose and that’s a problem in and of itself.

“Graham?” Mallory’s voice rings through the intercom. It’s sweet, professional as always. Anyone overhearing it wouldn’t think twice, but I do. I hear the little tease, the slight taunt that lies just beneath the surface.

Besides her keeping me in a state of constant distraction, I hate to admit Lincoln was right: It is nice having her around.

“Yes?” I respond.

She smacks her lips together, the sound going straight to my cock. This is what I’ve been waiting on all day, the moment when she brings up what almost happened yesterday. Despite thinking about it all night and all morning, replaying the things I wish would’ve happened, I’m still not sure how I’m going to deal with it.

I want her. Of course I fucking do. I’ve admitted that to myself. Intelligence, round ass, sharp tongue—what’s left to be desired? But that’s just the thing . . . it’s all desire. It simply won’t work. Besides, desire uncontained can really fucking burn.

The women I fuck aren’t involved in my life in any way. They’re acquaintances, women that know our time together is just that—a few hours here and there. It offers me freedom to work without the trappings of a relationship. It gives me autonomy to do what needs to be done. It’s clean, organized, practical. Mallory Sims is none of those things.

So what happens if that box is opened? I already know she doesn’t fit inside a mold. I can’t just put this girl back in a box and I’m not sure where that would leave me. Her. Us.

I sit at my desk and stare at the phone, waiting to see exactly what she has to say. She’s been very coy all morning. Polite. Detailed. Hot as hell. But she hasn’t crossed a line or asked me about yesterday. Until now.

“Graham?” she asks again.

“I’m sorry. I’m here. What can I do for you?”

“Your mother is on line one.”

Chuckling, I place my hand on the receiver. “Not what I thought you were going to say.”

“Hmmm . . .” she says. “What did you think I was going to say?” The silence is filled with a heaviness that’s undeniable.

“I can tell her you’re busy.”

“But I’m never too busy for my mother,” I grin. “Send her through.” I wait, relieved, to hear her voice.

“Good afternoon, Graham,” she says sweetly in the phone. “Hi, Mother.”

“I suppose you heard the news. Lincoln and Danielle are getting married at the Farm.”

“I did. Barrett told me.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Linc didn’t say anything to you at all? That’s odd.”

“He did,” I grumble, turning away from my computer so I’m not tempted to check my email. “Barrett just spoiled the news.”

“Are you helping get things together?”

Sighing, I look out the window. “I told him to send me contracts before they signed them. I’ll have our attorney look at them and make sure we pay for them through the company.”

“I hope your siblings tell you how much they appreciate you,” she says.

“I just hope they all sign prenuptial agreements,” I laugh. “Lincoln is all ‘I’m in love and I’m not signing shit’ right now and it’s ludicrous. I like Danielle just fine. But that doesn’t mean Lincoln doesn’t need to cover his ass.”

“Assets, Graham. Cover his assets,” she corrects me. “I agree, but it’s Lincoln’s money to gamble with. I hate to say that, but it’s true. He’s a grown man.”

“Sure he is. He’ll have some grown man problems on his hands if this doesn’t work out.”

“You know, sometimes things aren’t so black and white . . .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“It means that sometimes things get blurry. Lincoln loves Dani, Graham. If he believes in that, maybe we should too.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t. I just said it was ignorant.”

“Oh, son,” she laughs. “I need to go. I have an appointment at the salon at four. I just wanted to check in and see how you were. Think we could do lunch this weekend?”

I glance at the pile of work on the corner of my desk. “I’m still really behind, Mom. I’ll probably be in the office all weekend.”

“What if I order you over here? Pull the Mom Card? Or tempt you with a homemade coconut cream pie?”

“I’ll try. How’s that?”

“Better than no,” she sighs. “I love you, Graham. Make sure you’re taking time for you, okay?”

“Love you, Mom.”

I hang up the receiver and sit back in my chair. The hours upon hours of work I’ve been doing is starting to add up. I can feel it across the back of my shoulders, in my thighs when I stand. It’s just an accumulation of stress and rigidity that’s starting to wear me down a bit.

Swiping my coffee cup off my desk, I head to the coffee maker for a fresh cup. As I pass the door to my office, I hear Mallory’s voice on the other side. Pausing, my hand on the knob, I listen to another man’s voice. I’m not sure who it is, other than it’s not one of my brothers.

I pop open the door, my jaw pulsing, before I realize what I’m doing. Leaning on her desk is a man in a brown work uniform, a package sitting between them. Mallory is leaned away from him, rolled away from her desk a few feet.

“Excuse me?” I ask, causing them both to jump.

“Oh, Graham!” Mallory gasps, her hand flying to her chest. She reads my pressed lips correctly and stands. “Can I get you something?”

Instead of answering her, I flip my glare to the delivery man. “Are you done here?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I just had a package to drop off.”

“That looks accomplished. You can go now.”

He bolts out the door like a flash of lightning. I give Mallory one quick look before retreating to my office.

My jaw still clenched, I don’t bother to sit down. I won’t be able to sit still. I’ve run off delivery guys before, ones that try to get out of doing their job by chatting up my employees. But this time, it wasn’t about time management. It was because I was jealous.

I haven’t felt that tinge of fury in a long fucking time, and I hate it just as much now as I did back then. I forgot what it felt like to have your blood boil in such an animalistic way, that caveman desire to mark your territory. Only thing is, she’s not my territory. She’s not my anything and she can’t be. It would be like this every fucking day and everything would fall to pieces. This feeling is not what I want. It’s not what she wants, either.

I feel her behind me. The air shifts, a lavender scent rippling around the room. My body is on alert as she comes closer. I don’t have to turn around to know that.

“Graham? Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Did you get your package?”

“No,” she says. “I got yours.”

I fight the smile on my lips and continue to stare forward. I need to get a hold of this ridiculousness before it overtakes me.

“I have to say,” she says as she comes around into full view, “I thought your package would be bigger.”

“Is that so?” I ask, trying not to break.

A ruby red dress skims the curves of her body, a shiny necklace tucked in her cleavage. None of that is as spectacular as her smile.

This is the exact fucking reason I’ve avoided being around her today. My cock is hardening, my tongue nearly panting as I watch her body move in that damn dress. How did I ever think this could work? I’m a fool.

“It’s a printer cartridge,” she says. “I’ll put it in the media room.” We watch each other, the force between us stirring once again. I swear you can almost see it. “I just . . . You aren’t upset with me, are you?”

“No.” I force a swallow. “Of course not.”

“Good.”

She runs her hands down the front of her dress the same way I do my hair when I’m flustered. Her lip is in between her teeth, her eyes on the floor.

I lift her chin with the tip of my finger. My chest tightens from the moment I touch her and I know it’s a mistake, but I do it anyway. “Mallory?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure I could be upset with you for anything,” I say much more gravelly than I intend.

Her head tilts to the side, her cheek pressing against the sleeve of my jacket. Our eyes connect and it’s like we’re transported to another time and place, one where there are no rules, no fears, no histories or responsibilities.

“For the record,” she says, looking at me with her big, whiskey-colored eyes, “I could be upset with you.”

I half-laugh as my hand cups her jaw, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. My mouth drops open just a touch to let actual air in. “I’m sure you could.”

“I might be upset with you right now,” she whispers.

“Why is that?”

“Because you didn’t kiss me yesterday.”

I hold her gaze for a long moment, in a way to apologize, before dropping my hand away from her face. “I think that would only complicate things. Don’t you?”

The words taste acrid as they fall out of my mouth, and the look she gives me feels even worse as it hits me in the chest. It’s not resentful, not broken—for which I’m grateful. It’s steely, a cage locking over her feelings.

“You’re right. I do,” she says, pasting on a smile and taking a step back. “I’m glad one of us has some sense,” she winks and trots out of my office. I follow her, shutting the door with a snap.

“It’s the right thing,” I remind myself, heading back to my desk. “This is the best thing for both of us.”