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“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when your parents literally give you a name that means ‘unfortunate.’” I pulled my bagel from the bag and tore it in two. “I was never going to be a ballerina, was I?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s what your name means?”
“Yeah. I’ve spent a long time wondering if that was how they felt about me, but apparently, my dad has a mild obsession with Mount Everest. He was fascinated by some English guy who climbed it and disappeared until his body was found years later. Mallory was his surname.” I shrugged. “If I were a boy, I’d have been George, after his first name.”
“Interesting namesake. Usually, it’s a book character or movie star.”
“Oh, yeah. It gets the conversation going at parties.” I laughed. “Bit strange, but whatever. It was a weird coincidence that Mallory means ‘unfortunate’ and that’s pretty much what I am.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “I still prefer Hurricane Mallory. That explains the mess of papers on the floor when I walked in. I don’t know what describes why you’re still wearing those gloves.” He grinned, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Shit.” I tugged them off. “Thank God they were new.”
His laughter bounced off the walls.
I tossed the gloves in the trashcan behind me and sighed. “See? That’s about right for my life.”
“All right. Maybe there is a slight unfortunateness to you, but it’s weirdly endearing. I’m almost looking forward to what mess you’re going to cause next.”
“That’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever been given.”
He mock bowed from his seated position and picked up his coffee. “You’re welcome. What’s on my schedule today?”
We broke from the friendly banter to run through his schedule which included one phone call with the accountant, another with his lawyer about an upcoming buy, two viewings, and not a lot else. After finishing our breakfast and him telling me about two new rental properties that were being photographed over the weekend to go up on Monday, Cameron gathered all the trash from our breakfast and stood up.
And knocked his half-full coffee off the edge of my desk.
I didn’t even try to hide my grin as he jumped back to avoid being splashed. He did, but only just, and I laughed as he looked at me and sighed.
“That’s karma, isn’t it?”
I nodded my head, turned around, and grabbed the rubber gloves from the trash. “You might need these.”
***
“Good afternoon, you’ve reached Cameron’s Reid’s office at Reid Real Estate. Mallory speaking, how can I help you?” I flicked hair from my eyes and held the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I finished typing an email to the attorney’s office.
“Mallory! Is Cameron available?” asked an extremely unfamiliar voice.
I felt like I should know who this was.
“I’m afraid he’s out of the office right now. Can I take a message?”
The sigh was massive and should have given away the identity of the caller before she said it. “Yes. Can you tell him his mother called? Again?”
Oh, shitballs.
“Oh, Mrs. Reid, hi. Absolutely. Should I ask him to call you back?”
“Darling, you can ask him to, but that doesn’t mean he will.” She tutted, and I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. “Can you pass along a reminder about the mixer tomorrow night at the house? It’s imperative that he attends because of his father’s future partnership. It should allow us to open an office in Denver.”
“Absolutely. Let me write that down for you.”
“Seven p.m., but he should arrive at six. His timekeeping skills outside of work are so terrible that he’ll likely show up a day late to his own funeral.”
This time, I smiled, writing down the times. “I assume he should wear a suit?”
“Darling, have you seen him wear anything else?”
“No, ma’am, but I’ve only seen him at work.” I laughed slightly. “I’ve written that down, and I’ll be sure to pass the message on when he gets back to the office.”
“Thank you, Mallory.” She paused slightly. “Would you like to come? I haven’t been able to get into town and I hear such good things about you. I’d love to meet you.”
“Oh, well—”
“I understand it’s incredibly short notice, and I apologize, but I know Cameron thinks highly of you and it would be great to have you there.”
Whoa. Back up. Back up. Back up.
I was not a person to have at a formal mixer.
I was barely a person to have at a slumber party.
Me. In heels. A fancy dress. Around rich people. Business people. Formally.
Hell. To. The. No.
That was the quickest way to get me fired, let me tell you. I wasn’t even allowed to use a straightening iron in my bedroom anymore. I had to use my mom’s because that was how much I was trusted, and I was a grown-ass woman… who had every reason not to be trusted with a flat iron, but I digress.
