A flowy, pale yellow sundress hangs from my shoulders and hides the sandals on my feet. It seemed like the perfect easy ensemble to do a little shopping on the quaint little street beside my condo, and I didn’t see the need to change before picking up some papers for Sienna.
I was wrong.
This place is gorgeous and elegant and oh, so Southern. As I knock on the door and wait for someone, presumably a butler, to open the door, I wish to heaven I’d have worn something slightly more professional.
Footsteps sound from the other side before the door is whisked open by a man standing in a pair of dark dress pants and a blue and white checkered shirt. He’s divine with his freshly cut dark hair and clean-shaven face.
“You must be Blaire Gibson?” he asks.
“Yes, I am.”
A smile stretches across his cheeks. “I’m Graham Landry. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand as he steps out of my way so I can enter.
We shake quickly, his palm heavy and strong, then he leads me into the back of the house. I can hear laughter coming from a room in front of us as Graham turns toward me.
“I’m winding up a business meeting,” he says. “It would’ve been over, actually, had my brother Lincoln not shown up.”
As the laughter grows again, I laugh too. “I have a brother like that.”
“So you feel my pain. On a serious note, Sienna has told me a lot about you. I wanted to thank your family for taking her in the way you have.”
We stop just short of the doorway.
“She’s so good for my brother. He’s smitten with her,” I say.
“I think she’s in about the same shape.” He grins. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Linc while I grab the papers you’re after.”
He enters the room in front of me and makes his way toward a chair at the head of the table. I, on the other hand, stutter step.
Sitting in front of me is a man in a tailored suit. A Rolex sits on his wrist. A hand runs through his sandy brown hair as he turns my way.
“And then he …” Holt’s voice trails off as our eyes meet somewhere over the fancy hardwood floor. He leans back as though he can’t quite focus. “Didn’t I …?”
Recovering more quickly than I anticipate, I paste on a practiced smile. “It’s good to see you again,” I say to him.
He looks at Graham before switching his eyes to me again. “You too.” It’s more of a stammer, a caught-off-guard statement than anything. “Do you know the Landrys?”
“I’m just here to pick up a few papers.”
The gazes from around the room are heavy, heating the air even more than the exchange of energy between Holt and me. The slight drop of his jaw and his furrowed brow are slowly replaced with a twitch of his lip and oh, so narrowed eyes that are enough to make me want to back out of the room slowly.
“Is this why you were late today?” A man across from him sighs. He looks like Holt with lighter hair and darker eyes.
Holt responds, bickering back and forth with the man across the table about minding his own business while I take in the men around me. Graham is ignoring them all as he sorts through a stack of papers. A younger version of Graham sits next to him with a wicked grin on his face.
“Lincoln Landry,” he says with a little wave. “Nice to meet ya. You must be Blaire.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you too.”
“Here they are,” Graham mutters, pulling out an envelope and handing it to me. “I put everything she needs in there. If she’s missing something, she can call.”
“Great. I’ll make sure she gets them,” I say, taking the envelope.
“We’d love to have dinner with you this week,” Lincoln says. “Mom would love to meet you.”
“I need to check my schedule,” I say, reverting to my new go-to line. “I’ll get in touch if I can work it out.”
Holt’s chair scoots back in front of me, and he gets to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I can do it,” Graham offers.
“Clearly, he doesn’t want you to do it, asshole,” Lincoln says to his brother. “Sit down and pretend you can see what’s happening here.”
My cheeks warm. I look between the Landry men. “Nice to meet you both. And you too …” I say, pulling my gaze to the other man.
He stands. “Oliver Mason. Holt’s brother.”
“Nice to meet you, Oliver.”
“Likewise.” He tucks his tie beneath his jacket as he takes his seat again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
My first reaction is to tell him not to sound so excited about the prospect. My second thought is to ask him what makes him think we’ll ever see each other again. Instead, I catch myself and give him a tight grin instead.
“Have a good evening,” I say and turn toward the front door.
Holt’s energy ripples behind me, the musk of his cologne filling my nostrils as I reach the exit. He hops in front of me and opens it before I can get to it.
“Thank you,” I offer as I step onto the expansive front porch complete with hanging ferns. Breathing in the cut grass and coolness to the evening air, I look up at the colorful sky. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t notice until now.”
The gravel in his voice snaps my attention to him without me even realizing it. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of Holt Mason as he peers down at me. His irises flicker, greens and golds swirling together in a heady mix of something I don’t want to name.
Passing a hot swallow down my throat, I re-grip the file in my hands. “Look at you, being all charming.”
“It’s one of my many talents.”
“Your confidence is underwhelming,” I tease.
“There’s nothing wrong with confidence if you can back it up.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.” He grins. “It becomes a problem when people tout their abilities and have nothing to fall back on.”
I ignore the look in his eyes and, instead, pretend to ponder his declaration. “The flaw in that logic is in the definitions. Meaning, what if someone truly believes they’re amazing at something, and the other person finds them to be lackluster. Is that confidence wrong?”
“Not if they believe it,” he banters back. “It’s their truth.”
“Fair enough.”
The air flutters around us, almost dancing a private show for our benefit. Crickets sing in the distance; stars begin to shine in the early evening sky. It’s as if the world flipped a switch for this moment. If I believed in gooey girlish things, I’d be delighted. Too bad I’m more realistic than that.
I clear my throat and turn toward my rental car.
“Again, nice to see you, Holt …”
“Quit it.” He sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek.
The connection roots me in place.
His fingertips lightly brush my skin. They’re warm and slightly calloused in a way that makes my thighs ache.
“Let’s go to dinner,” he says.
“I already have a reservation.”
“For one?”
“For dinner,” I say with a smirk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”