“FUCK!” MY VOICE BOOMS OVER the sound of the door shutting. Reaching up, I tear away at the knot in my tie and instantly think of Mallory and the way she does it for me. That only angers me more.

My eyes pull shut and I try to regulate my breathing. I suddenly know what seeing red means. Everything is pulsing so quickly through me that I’m dizzy.

I don’t fail. I don’t make mistakes of this caliber, ones that cost thousands of dollars and weeks of time. But I trusted her to do it. I thought she understood the importance.

“Hey.” I whirl around and see Ford standing in the doorway. He watches me warily. “What the hell just happened?”

“About what?”

“About what?” he repeats. “About Mallory running out of here practically bawling.”

The look on his face tells me much more than any adjectives he uses to describe her. I’ve never seen him look at me this way, like he’s second-guessing me.

“She was probably crying because I pointed out her fuck-up.”

“I didn’t say she was crying, Graham. I said she was bawling.”

Choking back a lump in my throat, I look at my brother. “I just told her I’d take care of it.”

He shakes his head. “I have a feeling you said a little more than that.” As he walks deeper into my office, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “No one is more upset about this than I am. It’s my company, my bottom line at the end of the day. But there are worse problems to have.”

“I don’t fail,” I say through clenched teeth. Despite my narrowed eyes, my hands shake as I place them on my desk. Her face floats through my mind, the shock written all over her features.

“No, you don’t and you didn’t this time. But you are about to.”

I hang my head.

“I’ve been around the world,” he reminds me. “I’ve seen real problems, real issues, and it makes things like this seem pretty inconsequential in comparison.”

He gives me a second to respond, but I don’t. The anger that was spilling over a few seconds ago wanes, the flames of fury doused with a dose of reality marked by Ford’s words.

“So what? We will pay a little more for insurance and we’ll start awhile later. That’s all fixable,” he says. “As long as our family is happy and healthy, everything is fixable.”

I raise my eyes to meet his and regret it as soon as I do. For maybe the first time ever, one of my brothers is putting me in my place. He could forego all the words and just look at me like that and his point would be well made.

“What you just did,” he says, “may be a whole lot harder to fix.”

As the smoke begins to clear, I see the situation with a clarity that makes me sick. “I . . . I don’t know what to do.”

“You better fucking get a plan together, G.”

“If I were her, I wouldn’t talk to me.”

“If I were her, I’d tell you to go straight to hell,” he points out. “But I have a feeling she may be more forgiving than me.”

When I don’t move, he steps closer. “Graham, if you don’t reach out to her now—not tonight, not tomorrow, now—you just might end up in the same boat as me.”

“What boat is that?”

“A boat with more pride than sense. It’s a lonely fucking place, brother.”

I whip out my phone and press her name. It rings three times before

I’m sure I was put to voicemail. Glancing at Ford, he winces.

I call her again and am sent to voicemail on ring number two.

“I’m out of my element here,” I say out loud on the verge of panic. “What do I do?”

He stands stoically in front of me. “You have to talk to her.” “But she won’t talk to me.”

“So, go to her.”

It sounds like simple logic, an answer that should’ve been obvious. “I don’t know where she went.”

Scurrying by my brother, I sit at her desk. Pulling open her drawer, I rifle through her things until I find her calendar. “She doesn’t have yoga tonight.”

“She’s probably at home,” Ford offers. “Did you think of that?”

“I . . .” I fight the calamity in my brain. “I don’t know where she lives.” His jaw drops and I groan. “We just started doing this thing. I’ve never been there.”

“That’s an issue for another day.”

My body tenses as the door opens and Raza walks in. She’s all smiles, hips swinging, until she sees the look on our faces. “I’m sorry. I thought this would be a better time.”

“Better than what?” Ford asks as I continue to rifle through Mallory’s drawer. It’s a mess, but instead of irritating me, I find it sort of comforting. “There was a woman in here earlier. I came in to ask about a couple of things, and she and Mallory were in a heated conversation.” Ford and I exchange a glance as I stand. “Who was she?” I ask.

Raza shrugs. “I don’t know. Mallory called security.”

My blood chills as a host of images flow through my mind at what might have happened for Mallory to call for help. “Was there a physical altercation?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. The woman was just demanding to see you and Mallory refused. She didn’t like that much.”

“Who could it have been?” Ford asks from beside me. I shake my head.

“No clue. What was said, Raza?”

Her cheeks flush. “The woman said she was the love of your life. And she didn’t like Mallory’s response.”

“Oh, fuck.” My gaze flips to Ford’s. “Vanessa.”

“That crazy bitch,” my brother hisses.

“Yes!” Raza cries. “That was her. Vanessa. She seemed a little crazy, to be honest. Mallory let her know, in no uncertain terms, what she thought of her and that she would never contact you through Landry as long as she worked here.”

“She was jealous,” Ford smirks.

“No,” Raza disagrees. “I didn’t get that at all.” She looks at me with a simple smile. “I felt like she was protecting you more than anything.”

My breath is stolen, my heart crushing inside my body. “My God.”

Ford and Raza exchange a few words before she leaves, none of which I’m privy to. All I can do is think of Mallory and the words I said and the pain she must be feeling.

If I were alone, I’d scream out in rage. If I were home, I’d slam my fists in a punching bag. If I were running, I’d go so hard that my legs would give out just so I could override the shame I’m feeling now.

“I’m going to—” I begin before my gaze rests on the corner of her desk. A white envelope bearing my name in red ink sits like a loose grenade. Swiping it up, I stick it inside my jacket pocket and look at Ford. “Her resume is in the lower left-hand corner of my desk. Text me her address.”

“Where are you going?” Ford asks as I dash towards the door.

“To find her. To make this right.”

An eruption starts in the pit of my stomach and creeps through my body. The fire courses through my abdomen, then my chest, and creeps up my face as reality, the truth of everything, slams into me with no mercy.

I dial her again but it goes straight to voicemail. “Fuck!”