Roman
Page 30
At the end of the game, Gray and I invited her out for a drink, but she declined, stating that she hadn’t slept well the night before and wanted to get home. I offered to take her and she accepted, but was unusually quiet during the trip. At the time I reasoned it was as she said—she was just exhausted—but in the past week, she’s continued to be restrained and withdrawn. I’ve invited her to lunch twice, dinner once, and she’s declined all three, stating she needed to work extra shifts at The Grind because they were short on help. I didn’t question this, but I did wonder why she didn’t perhaps invite me to come there and see her.
When I questioned Gray a few days ago about it, she brushed off my worry, stating that she was sure Lexi was busy. I also asked Gray if she’d reached out to Lexi herself, and she admitted she had invited Lexi out to lunch one day and had also gotten the same speech about needing to work extra shifts, but she just didn’t seem concerned about it.
So I’m trying not to be.
Perhaps it’s just she’s nervous because we are expecting the results of the DNA test any day, and maybe she has a sliver of doubt as to what will be revealed. While I don’t doubt for one second she’s my daughter, perhaps she’s just trying to remain a bit detached from us on the very slim chance her mother wasn’t being truthful with her.
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.”
When I questioned Gray a few days ago about it, she brushed off my worry, stating that she was sure Lexi was busy. I also asked Gray if she’d reached out to Lexi herself, and she admitted she had invited Lexi out to lunch one day and had also gotten the same speech about needing to work extra shifts, but she just didn’t seem concerned about it.
So I’m trying not to be.
Perhaps it’s just she’s nervous because we are expecting the results of the DNA test any day, and maybe she has a sliver of doubt as to what will be revealed. While I don’t doubt for one second she’s my daughter, perhaps she’s just trying to remain a bit detached from us on the very slim chance her mother wasn’t being truthful with her.
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.”
