“Hey,” I say, waving at Walker through the door so he knows why I didn’t come in, then stepping off to the side. “What’s up?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m sorry. Good morning, G,” I say as sweetly as I can muster. “How are you, big brother? Are things well at the homestead?”
“Homestead? What has Illinois done to you?” he chuckles.
“More than you want to know.”
The sound of his chair rolling around the floor of his office can be heard in the background. “Noted. What’s the plan? Camilla said you were wrapping up things there soon.”
“Delaney is getting the last of her stuff out of the house today. She finished her last project a couple of days ago, so it’s just me in charge. Does that scare you?”
“A little.” He pauses just like our father does before he changes the subject. “What’s happening with you? Are you coming back to Savannah?”
It’s a loaded question. I can hear the follow-ups now if I answer it truthfully and I don’t want to get into all of that today, standing outside of Crank.
“I’m not sure.”
“What are you not sure about?” he asks.
“I might stay up here for a little while, actually.”
“For what?” He says it like it’s the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said.
“Because I want to.”
“Well, Dad and I were talking …” He clears his throat. “What would you think about coming home and getting your feet wet at Landry Holdings?”
The question stuns me so much I can’t move. “What?”
“I know it sounds a little random—”
“A little random?” I laugh. “You won’t even free up enough of my trust fund to let me start my own real business doing what I know. Yet you are wanting me to come work with you?”
“You’ve done really well at managing things up there with what little you had to go on. Dad and I were going over your numbers and were impressed with your business aptitude, quite frankly.”
“Whoa, wait up. Did you just say I impressed you?”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Sienna.”
“Say it again.”
“Sienna,” he grumbles.
“Say it again,” I insist.
“Your numbers were strong. The profit was lagging, but that’s typical for a small business not yet off the ground. You budgeted very, very well, had interesting marketing concepts. I really think, as dumb of an idea as this design company was to start with, you could build something out of it had you not located it in a soybean field.”
My cheeks ache from smiling so big at Graham’s compliment, something that doesn’t happen often. If ever. “G, I don’t know what to say.”
“Just think about it. I really think you could be an asset around here and you know how I like Landry’s to be involved in Landry businesses. I think it sets a good example, keeps us strong.”
“I … Wow. What a start to the day,” I laugh. “I’m … I don’t know what to say. Yeah, I’ll think about it. When do you need to know?”
“You’re always welcome here, obviously. But we’re expanding the Operations Division right now with Landry Security booming. Ford has his hands full over there. I’d essentially like you on board when we go live with the new changes there. I expect that to happen in the next couple of weeks.”
“You do know I know nothing traditionally about business, right? Or security. Or … anything.”
“I do. But you learn fast and if what you were able to manage on a baby scale holds true, in five, maybe ten years, you could be doing a lot of things. Guess you listened to all those business talks at the dinner table growing up after all.”
“Those were so boring,” I chuckle.
“Hey, I have to go. The babies have a doctor’s appointment this morning and I don’t miss those for anyone.”
“How are they? How’s Mallory?”
“Everyone’s good. Everything is really, really good.”
“Tell Mallory I said hi and I miss her,” I say, wishing I was there to snuggle with Graham’s offspring. “Kiss the babies.”
“Will do. Let me know what you decide as soon as you do, okay?”
“I will. Bye, G.”
“Bye.”
Laughing out loud as I shove the phone into my purse, I consider if that conversation just happened. Me? Working at Landry Security on invitation? I’ve quite possibly never felt so proud in my life. Getting kudos from Graham, the essential Chief Executive Officer of our family, is harder to get than from my parents. From any professor I ever had. From any client.
I feel stupid because I know I’m beaming, but I can’t help it. It’s not just because of Graham either; it’s because maybe the struggle I felt with the first year in business wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe it meant we were making it, that we were battling through better than I expected and I just couldn’t see it.
“Hey.”
I jump at the voice behind me, spinning around to see Walker’s face poking out from around the door. He takes in the look on my face and relaxes when he realizes I’m fine.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “That was my brother.”
“Don’t you have like six of them?” he asks, holding the door open.
“No, four,” I say, entering the lobby. “That was Graham. He offered me a job.” I turn to face him, but his back is already to me as he rounds the corner of the desk. “It’s kind of a big deal for Graham to think you’re capable.”
“Does he not know you?” There’s no tease in his tone, no levity. No grin waiting to be cracked either. Just a blank question that he waits for me to respond to.
“Graham’s hard core,” I explain. “He was saying he went over the stuff from my design business and was impressed.”
Walker continues to wait, as if there’s more. Some bomb to drop. Something else to explain my exuberance.
“It made me feel good.” That’s the best I can do to make my point known without him knowing my brother. I go to the back and put my purse into the cabinet, waiting for him to say something.
He clicks around on the computer before clearing his throat. “Are you going to take it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just think it’s cool that he thought enough of me to ask me to work for him.”
“Well, I thought enough of you already to let you work for me.” He looks at me through his lashes. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say, letting my hand drop to his thigh. “What would you like me to do today?”
“That’s a loaded question,” he chuckles. “First thing, before I get another call and have to deal with it,” he says, palming the back of my thigh with his hand, “is something really dumb, but I’d like to know.”
“What?”
He twists his lips together, trying to hide his almost embarrassment. “What’s your last name? I don’t even know. It occurred to me this morning.”
Scooting closer to him so that my torso is lined up with his, I try to concentrate on his words and not the way his fingers are deliciously close to my vagina.
“Landry,” I breathe, rolling my hips as his fingers press into the denim of my jeans.
“Well, Miss Landry,” he husks, his hand moving north, “it’s a pleasure to meet you officially.”
“Didn’t we meet officially in the shop the other night?” I giggle.
“Nah, that was just us fucking.”
Swatting his shoulder, I take a step back and out of his reach. I have to. Otherwise, I’m going to have to get out of these jeans and pull him into the shop bay with me again. “I love how eloquent you are, Mr. Gibson.”
Rolling his eyes, he picks up a pen and twirls it between his fingers.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing a rag and wiping down the edge of the desk. “I saw on the news this morning there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Did you see that?”
“No
pe.”
“It was the top story.”
“I don’t watch the news. It’s all bullshit.”
“Then how do you know what’s happening in the world?”
“Peck.”
“Isn’t he full of bullshit too? I don’t understand your logic.”
This gets a laugh out of Walker. He leans back in his chair, his eyes sparkling. “We need to get a few things straight before this day goes on any further.”
Dropping the rag, I circle the desk and plop on top of it. Invoices and papers scatter, a pen rolls off the desk and hits the floor.
“A little respect for the workplace, why don’t you?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me and locking them behind my waist. He sits in front of me, nestled between my knees, and lets me take off his hat.
My fingers run through the silky strands of his hair as I breathe him in. “Don’t pretend you know what was where on here anyway.”
“Maybe I did.”
“Whatever,” I say.
“I sure as fuck know what’s on here now.”
He tilts his head back, asking without asking for me to kiss him. So I do. He cups my ass cheeks in his hands, scooting me closer towards him as he takes over the kiss.
Despite my insistence, he moves us slowly against one another, the kiss long and leisurely. He takes his time, his tongue parting my lips in the slowest, most delicious way. He nibbles my lip, refusing to let me do anything back but lap up his attention and bask in the glow of being at the receiving end of his attention.
“Walker,” I breathe, resting my forehead against his.
His breathing matches mine breath-for-breath as he pulls me into a straight-up hug. My head falls onto his shoulder, his heartbeat strumming steadily if not maybe a touch elevated. He’s warm and strong and I close my eyes, wishing for the first time ever that the world would stop spinning and end with me right here, right now.
But it doesn’t.
Twenty-Three
Sienna
Flipping off the light in the bathroom, I make my way down the hall, my bare feet slapping against the old hardwood. I suspect its original to the house that has to have been built around the turn of the century. The thick trim, small, oddly-shaped rooms, are nothing like the houses I’ve lived in before.
Running my hand down the wall that was outfitted with a disastrously awful deep green and burgundy wallpaper, I see the holes and marks from the things that hung there previously. Some of them Delaney’s.
I glance in her room as I pass, a heap of newspapers and leftover boxes in the middle of the floor. I asked her to leave them since I’ll be moving soon. Still, the sight of them sitting where her bed used to sit, where we used to hang out with our laptops and build designs and dreams, makes my loneliness grow.
“This is good for me,” I tell myself, shutting Delaney’s door. “You’ve never lived alone. This will build character.” Pivoting to my right, I see the half-emptied living room and frown. “Ugh. I have enough character.”
My stomach rumbles, but most of the kitchen stuff was Delaney’s and I don’t have the energy to go figure out something to make with the little I have on hand. The idea of eating alone depresses me, a side effect of being a twin and from a large family, always having someone around in my formative years.
I flop onto the sofa, the one piece of furniture besides my bed that remains. Flip-flopping between going to sleep and going for takeout, I’m undecided when the doorbell rings.
My phone in one hand, a baseball bat in the other, I lament the fact that the door doesn’t have a peephole. “Who is it?” I call.
“It’s me.”
“Walker?”
“Do you have other men swinging by at night?”
Grinning ear-to-ear, I set the phone and bat down and fiddle with both locks. It seems to take forever before I’m able to pull the door open and let my eyes rest on him.
He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a black shirt with blue writing, and a black hat. In his hand is a brown plastic bag.
“Hey,” I say, rocking to my heels. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, Nana called and had me come over to check her oil. The warning light went on which means she could’ve waited until tomorrow, but …”
“But Nana’s not waiting.”
He grins. “Exactly. And she really shouldn’t have to. It took fifteen minutes.” Raising the bag, he shrugs. “And she made dinner.”
“Of course she did,” I say, stepping to the side and letting him in. “Don’t mind the mess. Or lack of furniture. I’m kind of using this as a bachelor pad, I guess.”
He doesn’t blink at the reference, just looks around. “I think I’d know this was your place.”
“Oh, God, I hope not,” I laugh. “It’s awful. There’s so much I’d do to it if I were staying here.”
“So you’re not?” He looks at me, the bag crunching in his fingers.
“I mean if I were staying in this house permanently. No, I can’t see having a family here someday.”
“I see what you mean.”
“What would make you think this was mine?”
He walks to the mantle, glancing over the pictures and figurines that are set off-kilter from having been moved when Delaney was taking her stuff. “It feels like you.”
“I was just thinking how lonely it feels in here.”
“I get that. But I’m talking about the pillows on the couch and picture frames and that blanket over there. It’s all very particular. Pretty. Clean.”
“You just like me for my organizational skills, don’t you?” My stomach growls, reminding me I didn’t figure out dinner. “I hope you plan on sharing that food because there’s little chance you make it out of here alive with it.”
“Actually,” he says, shifting on his feet, “I was hoping you hadn’t eaten yet.”
“Wanna eat with me?” I ask, probably a little too excited for the cause but uncaring because this kills two, maybe even three, birds with one stone.
He heads to the coffee table and plops the bag on top. “We have cheeseburger casserole. Does that work for you?”
“Um,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve never had it.”
“You’ve never had it? Ever?”
“Never. What is it?”
“Perfection.” He slips two Styrofoam containers from the bag and places them on the coffee table. Fishing around again, he retrieves two plastic forks and holds them up. “If you have drinks, we’re good to go.”
“I think I have something …” Making a face, I flash him a finger indicating to hang on and disappear into the kitchen. Popping open the refrigerator, I do a quick inventory. One small chocolate milk, three bottles of water, and two bottles of wine. “Ah!”
“Like wine much?”
Giggling, I lean back into his shoulder. “Not really. That was Delaney’s. She must’ve forgotten it.”
“You have no root beer.”
“Is that what you like?” I ask, inhaling his cologne.
“Yup. But I guess it’s water tonight. Unless you think wine and cheeseburger casserole is a good pair?”
I could stand here all night with no food and no drink, just leaning against Walker. “I don’t know what it tastes like, so maybe we should stick with water?”
He buries his head in my hair. His hands cinch at my waist as I hold my breath and wait to see what he does. I exhale when he gently shoves away. “Water it is. Let’s go.”
Grabbing all three bottles, I kick the door shut and follow him back to the living room. He gets settled on one end of the couch and I on the other.
“I grew up eating this,” he says, offering me a container. “It’s hamburger, cheese, onion, biscuits … I don’t know what else. But this is my ultimate comfort food.”
Laughing, I take the container and pop it open. Scents of the hot meal waft through the air, making my stomach rumble harder. “I love that you used the words ‘comfort food.’”
“Nah, Nana said that
earlier. I just repeated it.”
“Figures,” I say, lifting a forkful of the casserole to my lips. Blowing softly, the motion catching Walker’s attention, I wrap my lips around the end of the fork and slowly pull it out of my mouth. His eyes go wide ever-so-slightly as I lose myself in the taste of home-cooked food. “Oh my gosh.”
“I hope it’s half as good for you as this is for me.”
“I can taste the onions and cheese and the sweetness from the biscuits,” I groan, taking another bite. “This is delicious.”
The garlic is subtle, a hint of pepper and a dash of heat that makes me wonder if she used hot sauce, I fall back on the couch cushion and savor it. Closing my eyes, the flavors remind me of my mother, the scents the same that fill the Farm when we all congregate for dinner.
When I open my eyes, Walker hasn’t taken a bite. “What?” I ask, swallowing.
“Nothing.” He swipes a forkful of casserole and shoves it into his mouth.
“You did that so you didn’t have to talk to me.”
He makes a face, stopping only to fill his mouth again.
“I guess I’ll have to keep talking and then you will have a laundry list of things to answer when you stop eating,” I shrug smugly.
Looking alarmed, he washes down his food with half a bottle of water. “I’m done. No need to back me up until tomorrow.”
“That’s what I thought,” I giggle, dragging the fork through the food. “I’m happy you came over here.”
“I was in town.”
“Walker Gibson, you were not,” I laugh. “Nana lives in the country. There’s an entire town between her house and here.”
“So?”
“So just admit you wanted to come see me,” I say, setting my container on the coffee table.
“I … might have …” he says, messing with me.
“I … might have …” I mock, standing up. “Had a date tonight.”
He sweeps me off my feet, settling me on his lap before I can stop him. Laughing as I get situated cross-ways over his body, I gaze up in to his face.
“Did you?” he asks.
“Did I what?”
“Did you have a date?” He peers down, a crinkle in his forehead, as he searches me for something that convinces him I’m telling the truth.
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 19
