MY GLASSES BOUNCE OFF THE papers and rattle as they fall off the stack and land on the desktop. “Ugh,” I groan, covering my face with my hands and massaging my temples.

I can feel the start of a major headache stretching across the front of my face. There isn’t enough stretching or miles with Ford to work out the kinks from today.

Not helping matters is that I got maybe three hours sleep last night. Maybe three. Probably not. After dinner with my mother, a brainstorming session with Barrett, listening to Sienna present reasons why she should be allowed to start her own company since Ford is, and then finding a huge error in the bid for equipment for Landry Security, there was not enough time in the day. Especially when I used whatever remaining seconds left, and a quarter of the ones I didn’t have to spare, thinking about Mallory. It’s not as bad when we’re at work. She’s here. I’m here. She’s within reach, however stupid that sounds. Not that I can reach, but just knowing I could and no one else has access gives me a sense of comfort.

Add that to the top of my stress load.

“I can’t be worrying about this,” I grumble.

She came in here like the chorus of a song, blasting her way into my life and falling into my arms. And I, the stupid motherfucker I am, didn’t let go. I say I couldn’t, but I could’ve. I should’ve. But I didn’t. The worst part is—I know why. Her damn eyes.

I’ve only seen one pair like that in my entire life. Although those were green and Mallory’s are gold, they’re the same in the ways that count. The only two eyes that look at me and see . . . me. The whole package, not just a piece of it. That’s what makes her irresistible. That’s what makes me insane. That’s what makes this whole damn thing perilous.

“Hey.” I look up and see her poking her head around my office door. “Do you need anything?”

Of course I do. I need so much that I can’t have. The things I need are the things that will ruin me.

“I’m good,” I say, giving her the best smile I can manage.

Her nails tap against the wood before she steps inside and pulls her brows together. “You’re not okay.”

I lean forward on my desk, folding my hands in front of me. My smile now is genuine, a warmth spreading over my core. Not because she’s beautiful or sassy or giving me that look that I’ve come to find so amusing. But because she . . . cares.

“I’m okay, Mallory.”

She shakes her head. “You’ve been quiet all day, weirder than usual.”

“I’m weird?” I chuckle.

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “You look like you’re walking this line all the time, like you’re afraid someone will see you move a certain way or say a certain thing and ruin everything. But today . . . you haven’t said more than ten words to me.”

She attempts to make me believe this doesn’t bother her. The sadness just below the surface is enough to take all that warmth I felt two seconds ago and drown it in a pit of ice water.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just . . . today’s been Hell.”

“Can I help? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“Just keep doing what you do.”

I hope she hears the professional aspect of that and not the edge of the rest. Not the fact that I’m starting to rely on her presence, her smile, her laugh more than I even care to admit.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking out.

I hear things rustle before she reappears.

In a grey dress with pockets on the sides, she looks like a professional administrative assistant . . . with a can of soda in one hand and a protein bar in the other.

“What are you doing?” I lean back in my seat as she sets the items in front of me.

“You need a pick me up. Here, eat this.”

“Do you not see the irony in a sugar-filled soda and a protein bar?”

“It’s called balance,” she sighs, circling behind me. Her fingers dip beneath the collar of my jacket and tenderly grasp the back of my neck. “You need a little balance and a little relaxation.” She works my muscles back and forth, her thumbs rolling up and down my skin. “You are so tight.”

“That’s my line,” I crack, moving my head side-to-side to give her more room. “God, that feels good.”

“That’s my line,” she laughs.

Working out the knots that I didn’t even realize were so apparent, I nearly melt in her hands. I can’t remember feeling like this before. Ever. Any time a woman has touched me, it’s for a purpose—an end result with her as the beneficiary at the end. This? This is just for me.

“You could use some yoga in your life, Mr. Landry.”

“Not my thing,” I say, almost cringing as she really gets deep into the tissue.

“It should be. At least some of it. It’s really amazing,” she sighs. “My first-of-the-month resolution is to find balance.”

“Your what?”

“Everyone does New Year’s resolutions. I always fail by day three. There’s just so much pressure because everyone knows you’re supposed to be walking ten thousand steps or not eating cake. It’s horrible.”

“I’d never vow not to eat cake,” I remark. “That’s absurd.”

She laughs, giving me one final squeeze. “I tried it once. I failed, hence these hips.” As she walks in front of my desk and sits across from me, we exchange a smile.

“I happen to really like those hips.”

“Anyway,” she blushes, changing the topic, “I’m doing a resolution each month. It’s just something I want to work on and get better. Each month is roughly thirty days and that’s how long they say it takes to make a new habit.”

“So your new habit is balance?”

“Yes.”

“And here I was hoping it would be me,” I whisper. The words leave my mouth and I regret them. I mean them, absolutely, but I don’t want to lead her on that this can be a habit. It can’t. It has to end at some point or find some way to fit in boundaries and I’m not sure she’s boundary-able. That’s a completely different obstacle I can’t figure out how to clear.

Thankfully, she ignores my comment. “I think you need balance,” she says. “You do, do, do for all these people. I only know the tip of it, I’m sure, but you are the center of your entire family, Graham. And then you run this company like it’s your baby.”

“It is my baby,” I correct her.

“That’s what I’m saying,” she sighs. “When do you get to do Graham things? When do you relax? When do you get to be you and not in a suit?”

“I’m not sure what planet you’re on, but I look damn good in this suit.”

“Stop changing the subject!”

“While I’m honored you care so much about my dress code, I can assure you I’m fine. I’m doing what I love. This life I have, it’s one I created after a lot of thought and planning. There’s nothing else I want or need that I don’t already have.”

Her face falls and I feel like a complete motherfucking asshole. I didn’t see the shit I was stepping in, just explaining myself like I would to anyone. Except, she’s not just anyone. I don’t know who she is, but if I said she wasn’t any different than Barrett or Linda, I’d be a liar.

Although the next words are the complete opposite things I need to be saying, they’re falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Let’s go to dinner.”

She shoots me a look that tells me just how confused she is. “What?”

“We worked our asses off today. Let’s go get some nourishment.”

“Graham . . .”

“You said we both need balance,” I point out, straightening my jacket back out as I stand. “Let’s get some dinner and some cake to offset the bullshit that happened in here today.”

Her eyes light up and it calms the anxiety building over my inability to think before I speak around her. Still, she doesn’t answer.

“Come on,” I goad, flicking off my computer and holding my hand out to her. “Let me take you to dinner.”

“I only go to dinner with men that take me to places with real forks,” she teases.

“I don’t think forks are your problem,” I say, feeling her soft palm rest in mine. “I think finding real men may be your issue.”

She shoves me with her free hand, and I find myself laughing out loud as we exit the office.