Shit, shit, shit.
Mallory digs into the side of the carrier and presses the leash into Heidi’s hand, wishing she’d paid more attention to the pile of frozen foods they’d sifted through in the chest in Grayson’s apartment, stuffing some into his normal freezer, tossing the rest. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. Walking him is more than enough.”
“Nonsense. I’ll even use the code for the service elevator so I don’t get waylaid by Archie.”
Mallory crosses her arms in front of her chest. That first night, in their world, after the nut-free vegan meatballs and greasy Shake Shack burgers, Grayson had taken her up the service elevator, explaining after the tearing off of shirts and arching of backs that he often used the service elevator to avoid getting drawn into an interminable conversation about the security guard’s sciatica, and other times when he needed to sneak in a repair company not on the condo association’s approved list. Some ongoing conflict with the cleaning staff and the condo board meant no cameras had been installed at the back of the building or in the service elevator. Grayson had said riding in that elevator, unencumbered by stock tip solicitations and pleas for angel investments, was one of the few times he felt free to truly be himself.
He became someone else in that moment, someone she understood on a level she didn’t even want to admit to herself. She’d traced her fingertip down his cheek, across his lips, parting them slowly, letting their kiss begin softly this time, and their touches followed suit until they could no longer go slow. She shivered beneath him, the second time even better than the first. She felt so close to him, in a way she hadn’t with anyone, not since she and Ilena first met.
“Actually...” Mallory makes a show of opening her phone. “Let me. It would be hyperefficient for us both. Ilena and I havean appointment right near Grayson’s building, and I’m sure you have a lot to do, rescheduling Grayson’s commitments.”
Heidi, who’s been burying her fingers into Harley’s underbelly, snaps her head up. “Of course, thank you, Ms. Latham. Role reversal today. Me off my game and you spot-on!”
Mallory grits her teeth, missing Patrick, but plays into whatever this Mallory’s got going on here. “Well, to stay that way, I better not risk Archie.”
Heidi nods emphatically. “His disc history alone will have you there until next Tuesday.” She pulls a sticky and a pen from her pocket. “Use the service elevator.”
Perfect.Code in hand, Mallory closes the door behind the cooing Heidi Hoffman and this stuffed animal of a dog that won’t stop with those goddamn puppy dog eyes.
“Just what are you up to?” Ilena says.
Mallory’s and Ilena’s approaches to life increasingly diverged as the years went on, Ilena’s black-and-white rules growing thicker while Mallory’s philosophy of “ask forgiveness not permission” turned to “ask forgiveness never.” Grayson understood that, didn’t judge it. They were both always on, waiting for the right moment or cataloging information that might be useful later. It’s a skill that brought them together and separated them, starting with the moment she overheard Grayson in his penthouse and ending at the outing when he threatened to ruin her best friend.
“Text Aubrey to meet us.”
“Why?”
“Because if this morning’s any indication, you’re in no shape to help me move a body.”
12
Mallory
Four and a Half WeeksBeforethe Outing
He shifted the weight of his body so as not to crush her, the first step in their well-honed dance to transition Mallory on top. Because she was close. But this time, as his torso rotated, he cupped the back of her head with his hand. Briefly. Gently. Intentionally. So when Mallory climaxed it was with the force of a battalion of confetti cannons and the realization that they were no longer simply fucking. She and Grayson Fields had just made love for the first time.
Well, shit.
But also, spectacular.
Mallory didn’t quite meet his eyes as she moved off of him. She was still somewhat surprised she was here rather than with Ilena. But as much as Ilena understood Mallory, Grayson understood this. The impossibility of failure.
She was a strong woman who didn’t squeal at mice (much) or need help changing a tire (except for the tire part), and she had never needed a romantic relationship before and she didn’t need one now. And yet, she’d come to Grayson, just wanting him to make everything right. But to do that, she’d have to tellhim that AIM’s growth wasn’t real. Saying the words out loud seemed like a betrayal to this company she needed like oxygen.
Still, he knew something was wrong. Grayson leaned against the headboard, his gelled dark hair a slick contrast against the tweed fabric. “Ah, Mallory, you and I are so much alike that our only options are to fall desperately in love or kill each other. Perhaps both.” He grinned, and those dark brown eyes that had drawn her in nearly a year ago did so again. “You’re taking your company public. The pressure is overwhelming, I know. The night before my first IPO, I vomited blood. I clutched that toilet bowl and vowed not to let it get the better of me. My stomach lining couldn’t take it. And even though it wasn’t just nerves, and it turns out I’d broken a rib the night before during an impromptu triathlon... Still, a lesson learned.”
He was cocky and arrogant, and it wasn’t a turnoff, not then. Grayson pulled Mallory to him, and his fingers trailed the bare skin of her upper arm. She yearned for more of the physical connection, which was uncomplicated and satisfying and should have been enough. Yet her mind couldn’t let go of the reason she was there. AIM wasn’t the success she thought it was. (Which meant, neither was she.)
Grayson kissed her cheek before hopping out of bed to feed Harley. Mallory gnawed on her lower lip, growing impatient. She slipped on his robe, hurried down the hall with its photo homage to the sports elite, and entered the great room overlooking Boston’s Copley Square. The white marble of the kitchen counter made her want to lie naked on it, cool her flushed skin. She was about to call for Grayson to suggest just that when a gravelly voice fluctuating in volume stopped her.
“...user base... deep-seated error... unchecked...”
The voice wasn’t Grayson’s. She strained to hear the next low rumble of words, drawing in a sharp breath at the last ones: “suspicious accounts.”
“Not here.” A terse response unmistakably from Grayson.
And the scream that had been lodged in Mallory’s throat since that afternoon nearly choked her.
