Her Lover's Legacy

The brave soul who would run for the vacant Twenty-ninth Congressional District seat would hire his own professional crew, but a few, like Gloria, would remain and help with whatever transition was needed from the old guard to the new.

Then what will she do? Malcolm wondered.

The question puzzled him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know that much about Gloria’s personal life or her history. He just knew the meticulously organized woman who ran his father’s office like a well-oiled machine. As far as he knew, she was never late, always professional and thought the sun rose and set on Harmon Braddock.

Simply put, her hero worship of his father annoyed him.

But say what he will, his father seemed equally impressed and dependent on Gloria as well—to the point that she was like a second daughter, a feeling that seemed mutually expressed by Malcolm’s mother as well.

Shawnie and Tyson were also cast under her spell and had bragged about her on more than one occasion. Yep, everyone loved Gloria, and yet whenever she and Malcolm were in the same room atoms and neutrons collided.

“C’mon. Let’s get this over with.” He removed the keys from the ignition and climbed out of his silver hybrid SUV. “Whatever you do, stay calm. Don’t let her bait you or get under your skin,” he coached, as if he was gearing up for his old college football games.

“Malcolm.” A familiar voice whipped out at him as he lumbered up the sidewalk. He looked up and smiled into Mrs. Blake’s kind face. Something about the grandmotherly southern woman made him think of Little League and homemade apple pies. Nothing about her said politics, but in truth she was one impressive campaign manager.

“Hello, Mrs. Blake,” he greeted her when he reached her. He stooped over and kissed each side of her face and enjoyed the sound of her lighthearted giggles.

“Such a handsome boy,” she murmured, like she always did when their paths crossed. “What a lovely service your family put together this past weekend. Your father was a very special man.” Her eyes shimmered. “I can’t tell you how much he’ll be missed.”

“We’ll all miss him,” he said, combating his own tears.

“You know, I don’t even understand why he was driving himself that night,” she said. “He usually had his personal driver, Joe, take him everywhere.”

Malcolm nodded solemnly. “I guess he just felt like driving himself that night,” he said. “The police report said he had to be speeding when he lost control of the car and skidded off the road. The car flipped over and…”

“Don’t do this to yourself. You know he was so proud of you.” Mrs. Blake gave his right cheek a loving pat. “I know the past two years…”

Malcolm tensed and dropped his gaze.

Mrs. Blake patiently tilted up his chin; her smile never wavered. “He loved you,” she said succinctly.

“I know,” he answered, and received another pat on the cheek.

They quickly said their goodbyes and Malcolm trudged the rest of the way to his father’s old stomping ground. The moment he entered through the doors, the few people remaining all turned in their chairs. Most of them smiled, while the others gave sympathetic shakes of their heads.

He gave everyone an awkward wave.

“There you are, Malcolm,” Gloria said, rounding the corner and rescuing him before the curious descended.

“I didn’t know so many people were still going to be here,” he whispered, trailing behind her military-like march to his father’s office.

“There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done,” she said simply. “A lot of loose ends.”

He nodded and made a quick glance at his watch. Two hours, he reminded himself.

“I saw you sitting in your car,” she went on. “I was beginning to think you were going to chicken out.”

Malcolm’s back stiffened. “It feels a bit too soon to be doing this,” he defended.

“And yet it still needs to be done,” she said, rejecting the excuse.

He huffed under his breath, thinking she was more robot than woman.

Gloria walked over to the far right side of the office where a mahogany bookshelf held a library of his father’s law books. “This was Harmon’s personal collection. I believe it was passed down from your grandfather. I have these containers,” she pointed to a stack of blue Wal-Mart brand plastic tubs. “They are labeled and ready. Over here…” She pointed to another bookshelf. “As you can see, these are filled with Harmon’s personal pictures, awards and other personal effects. Those can go into these labeled clear tubs. I sent Mabel out to find us some bubble wrap and foam popcorn so we can minimize potential damages.”

For that, he did roll his eyes. “I don’t think all that was necessary.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course it was necessary,” she said, and then flittered to another section of the office, where she had more containers labeled. Soon he tuned out her endless prattle and wondered when they were actually going to get down to the business of packing boxes. When she reached the file cabinets and started in on personal tax records versus business travel expenses, Malcolm concluded this was definitely going to take more than a couple of hours.

Amazingly, she didn’t stop there. There was stuff on the desk, in the desk, pictures on the walls, pictures on the shelves. It was all mind-numbingly dull. Which was the only reason Malcolm’s gaze drifted to study Gloria’s petite body sheathed in a tight, gray pencil skirt (as Shawnie called them) and a cloud-white blouse that perhaps had one button too many open.

Every once in a while when Gloria dipped or turned, he would get a peek of a creamy-brown breast or a black lace bra. It was a cheap thrill, but he was more than willing to take it…and enjoy it.

“Maybe I should get us some coffee before we get started,” Gloria suggested, turning and almost catching him staring.

She waited a moment, and then he realized that he was supposed to say something. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Coffee?” she asked, folding her arms and pulling her shirt open a bit and exposing a fair amount of what he guessed was a C-cup.

She was still waiting.

He caught and cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, coffee would be great.”

Gloria nodded and placed the clipboard Malcolm hadn’t noticed she held down on his father’s old desk. “How would you like that? Cream, sugar?”

“Black…if you don’t mind.”

Her full lips split into an instant smile. “Just like your father.”

A frustrated sigh escaped his chest before he thought better to contain his irritation.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, unfazed or ignoring the response. “You can go ahead and get started,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed toward the door.

Malcolm’s gaze traveled down her, taking in her every curve until she slipped out of the door. He sighed and then shook his head clear of the direction his thoughts were heading. He turned around and crashed gazes with his father’s portrait hanging on the wall.

“What?” he mumbled toward his father’s stern expression. “Can’t a man look?”

Drawing a deep breath, Malcolm turned and walked to one of the sturdy mahogany shelves lined with photographs. As his eyes brushed across a collage of images that summed up his father’s life, tears rose unrelentingly.

Family pictures were mixed with his father posing with the president of the United States, the vice president, the speaker of the House and even his father’s good friends, Senator Cayman and Judge Hanlon.

Harmon Braddock in his element.

Was it a life well lived? Had his father accomplished everything he’d set out to do? Was his father happy about the man he’d become?

Malcolm drew in a deep breath, wondering if he would ever know the answer to any of those questions. His father certainly wasn’t the man he’d once idolized.

Selecting one iron-and-glass frame, he studied the photograph he’d known most of his life: the picture of his father and mother on their wedding day. His mother, an extraordinary beauty for any era, clung to and smiled up at her new husband through love-filled eyes. It was as if his mother knew without a doubt she’d married her second half, her heart, her soul mate.

Harmon Braddock held his wife with equal fervor; his promise to love and cherish was evident in his expression. Everyone who’d ever seen this photograph commented on how striking and in love the couple seemed.

To which his father always replied, “How can one not fall in love with Evelyn?”

Malcolm smiled at the sound of his father’s voice echoing from a distant memory while his gaze caressed the picture. He’d always loved this picture, for reasons more clear to him now than ever before. His parents’ love was a rarity. Nowadays, marriages didn’t last as long nor did they seem to strengthen over time. As much as their love was inspiring, though, it was also intimidating.

How did one know without any doubts they’d met their destiny? Malcolm thought he’d met her once but he’d been wrong.

Setting the photo down, he casually glanced at another. Shawnie receiving her law degree from the University of Texas, Ty and Felicia’s official engagement photo…

“Okay,” Gloria said, breezing back into the office with two steaming cups. “Black coffee for you and one hot tea for me.”

Whatever heartache Malcolm experienced was temporarily forgotten when he faced Gloria and noticed in her approach a fuller display of her creamy brown breasts thrust high in a black-laced bra.

“Here you go,” she said, trying to extend the mug out to him a second time.

He lifted his hand but his mouth had slackened.

She frowned and then followed his line of vision to see another button had worked its way free.

“Oh, my God!” She thrust the cup toward him; his coffee sloshed over the rim and burned them both.

Malcolm winced but managed to hold on to the cup.

Gloria jerked her hand back, waved it in the air as she turned toward the large desk and set her tea down in order to attend to the blouse. “You know you could have said something,” she snapped.

“Sorry,” he said with little conviction. “I was working on it.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Lips curving, Malcolm rather liked seeing Gloria’s feathers ruffled, especially since before now he didn’t think such a thing was possible. “Look, Gloria. I—”

“Forget it,” she muttered while glancing around the floor. “Just help me find the button.”

Still wearing a smile, Malcolm launched into an immediate investigation for the missing clear button against the office’s champagne-colored carpet. That is, until Gloria lowered herself onto all fours and drew Malcolm’s attention to her glorious apple bottom.

“It has to be around here somewhere,” Gloria mumbled, fanning her hands across the carpet as she crawled her way back toward the door.

Time seemed to stop as Malcolm watched Gloria inch her way up the carpet. A near-unbearable heat scorched up the column of his neck and burned the tips of his ears. Malcolm fingered his collar loose, mistakenly thinking that it was the cause of his inability to get air into his lungs. Not to mention the unexpected throb and ache against his pants’ inseam.

Just the sight of the uptight and always-proper assistant kneeling down on all fours made him fantasize about what else that position was good for.

“Here it is. I found it,” Gloria exclaimed, pushing up to sit on her haunches.

Malcolm came out of his trance quick enough to set his coffee down and offer his hand to help her up. “Glad that crisis is over with,” he joked, but his throat was still clogged with the residue of lust.

When Gloria arched a delicately groomed brow, he quickly coughed as a lame cover.

“Thanks,” she said, placing her hand into his.

At the feel of her silky palm sliding into his, Malcolm was sure his body temperature soared into the triple digits.

What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t stand Ms. Gloria “Know-It-All” Kingsley.

Right?

Just then, as if to rescue them from themselves, Mabel burst into the office with her arms bursting with packing material.

“I got everything you asked for, Gloria,” she said, finding a nice clear spot in the center of the room and dropping everything. “Whew!” She straightened her back just as her eyes widened to twice their size. “Malcolm,” she exclaimed, rushing around the pile of packing material and then pulling him into her pillow-soft body.

If Mabel was ever to enter into a celebrity look-alike contest, she would win for Star Jones (pre-surgery) hands down. “Gloria said that you were coming in here to help pack this stuff, but I kept telling her that it was just too soon for you to be dealing with all this right now.”

Malcolm shot a glance at Gloria, triumphant that someone agreed with him.

A frown settled around the corners of Gloria’s lips.

“It’s still work that needs to be done,” he said, quoting the efficient assistant and managing to bring a smile back to her face.

“I think we’d better get started,” she said.

Malcolm readily agreed. “Will you be joining us, Mabel?”

“Unfortunately not. I have four hungry teenage boys and a construction-worker husband who’d be rumbling up a storm if dinner isn’t on the table on time. But I’ll be seeing you again soon, I hope.”

He smiled. “You can count on it.”

“Good. Good.” Mabel turned toward Gloria and her smile dropped. “Ms. Kingsley,” she hissed, and then covered a hand over her own bosom. “Your blouse.”

“Oh, yes.” Gloria blinked. “I just found my button.” She turned toward the desk and retrieved a safety pin.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to your work,” Mabel said, as if she didn’t believe for one moment that was what they were about to do.

“It was good seeing you again,” Malcolm said, barely able to contain his amusement.

“Give my love to the family.” Mabel glanced back at Gloria, shook her head and made her exit.

“Well,” he said. “I guess that means it’s just you and me.”

“Apparently.” She mimicked his awkward smile. “Let’s get started. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

He couldn’t agree more. The sooner he got out of there, the better. He turned and moved toward the first line of file cabinets near the window, pulled opened the top drawer and quickly started shoving files into the closest container.

“No. No,” Gloria said, rushing over. “Some material will need to stay here for the new…I mean…”

“It’s all right,” Malcolm said, rescuing her from tripping over her tongue again. “I know what you mean—for whoever is going to take my father’s place.”

“No one could ever take Harmon’s place.”

Jealousy stabbed Malcolm and robbed him of his breath, although he agreed wholeheartedly with Gloria’s proclamation. Not for the first time, Malcolm wondered whether Gloria’s feelings transcended the boss-and-employee relationship.

She flashed something that was obviously meant to be a smile, but ended up looking like perhaps her shoes were pinching the hell out of her feet. “I’m sorry. It all still seems so…surreal.”

He nodded. A moment of silence flowed between them while his eyes lowered and he damned the safety pin she’d used to close her blouse. He slammed his eyes shut and chanted in his head: focus, focus, focus.

“All right, Ms. Kingsley. In addition to the bookshelves, desk and walls, why don’t you tell me exactly how you want this part done?”

“Well,” she said, straightening her back. “I want you to carefully go through each folder and remove only the personal files or pet projects. Then I want you to use these dividers and tabs I purchased—” she reached for the stack of office supplies he’d missed “—and label everything and place them into the containers in alphabetical order.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.” She frowned again. “It’ll make it easier for your family to sift through.”

“It’ll also take all night,” he grumbled, glancing around the office.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Yes, ma’am.’” He made a mock military salute.

Gloria’s eyes narrowed. “Look. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“Of course you are,” he said with more sarcasm than he intended.

Gloria glared, drew a deep breath and then turned away. “I’ll start on the desk,” she said with a strained calm.

Again, Malcolm’s gaze was drawn to her heavenly backside as she made her way across the room and then planted herself in his father’s old leather chair.

Instead of getting straight to work, she rechecked her safety pin.

Malcolm barely turned away in time. It wouldn’t do to continually get caught staring, but he felt her gaze rest on him. He sucked in his invisible tummy and straightened his shoulders so that she could get a good look and…what? Did he want her to like what she was seeing?

Soon her eyes trailed away and a strange, awkward silence enveloped the room. An hour passed, and Malcolm felt he’d made about as much progress as a turtle sprinting a hundred-yard dash. Periodically, Malcolm would finger his open collar or wipe at imaginary sweat beads. He continued to feel as if he was wilting beneath a desert sun, though the thermostat read a cool seventy-four degrees.

“Are you sure this thing is working?” he asked, tapping the small square box.

“It’s working,” she answered without glancing up. She, apparently, had no trouble concentrating on her work.

When Malcolm reached the bottom of the first file cabinet, he pulled open the drawer and blinked in surprise. Malcolm pulled out a glass picture frame, almost a mirror image of the one of his father at the bottom of Malcolm’s DVD cabinet—right down to the spiderweb cracks in the center. It was a picture of Malcolm graduating from Morehouse College. His father’s arms were wrapped around Malcolm’s shoulders, while his chin and chest were lifted high with pride.

A pain in his heart caused a few tears to trickle from the corners of his eyes. Here was the proof of his father’s disappointment in him. The only photo of father and son was buried in a drawer.

“It’s not what you think,” Gloria said.

Malcolm whirled around to find Gloria behind him, breaching his privacy. “How do you know what I think?”

He shoved the picture into the container and moved to the next filing cabinet.

“Your father pulled that picture out every day,” she said softly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“Malcolm—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He slammed the top file cabinet closed.

Gloria jumped.

“I need to get some air,” he said, and stormed past her. More than anything, he was embarrassed for losing control and once again lashing out at her. But, hell, she was the only one around.

“Why don’t we stop and go get some dinner?” she suggested, striding after him and grabbing his wrist. “You need a break.”

“No. I want to hurry and get this over with,” he said. “I just need a quick breather.”

“C’mon,” she said. “You need to eat. I need to eat. Let’s just go somewhere and grab something—and we can talk.”

Talk. Couldn’t she see that was the last thing he wanted to do?

“I’m not hungry,” he lied. Just then, his stomach released a long winding growl. For a few seconds, he tried to hold on to his stern expression.

Gloria’s beautiful full lips were the first to split into a wide smile before her laughter erupted from the center of her chest.

After a few seconds, Malcolm joined her.

“Do you still like Chinese?” she asked. “There’s a nice place a few miles from here.”

He sighed, hesitating.

“It’s on me,” she added.

He chuckled. “I’ll pay.”

“I tell you what. Let’s make it Dutch,” she countered. “That way no one will mistake it for being a date.”

“A date? Me and you?” Malcolm laughed. “Trust me. No one will make that mistake.”

Chapter 4

Gloria couldn’t wait to get out of the office. Despite the spacious size, it felt as if they were literally on top of each other and walking on eggshells. Dinner, she hoped, would relax Malcolm a bit more. She needed him to loosen up in order for him to be receptive to what she had in mind.

The Bamboo House was dark when they entered. The only lighting flickered from tiny wicks nestled in small red candleholders placed in the center of each table in sconces on the walls.

“Ah, Ms. Kingsley,” Samira, the hostess, greeted her. “So nice to see you again. I’m so sorry. I read in the paper what happened to Harmon. It was a shock, no?”

Gloria nodded while the small woman grabbed hold of her hand.

“How are you?” Samira asked with genuine concern. “I know we’re definitely going to miss seeing you two in here.”

Malcolm’s gaze shot to Gloria, his brows launched high. “You and my father came here often?”

“Often?” Samira chimed. “They came here two or three times a week with their noses buried in paperwork.” Then as if finally catching what Malcolm said, Samira dropped Gloria’s hand and turned her attention toward him. “Harmon was your father?” She gazed up at him. “Ah, yes. I see the resemblance now.” Her smile turned flirtatious. “You’re very handsome like your father.”

Malcolm smiled. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Samira glanced at Gloria and winked. “You better hold on to your heart with this one. He just might steal it.”

Gloria’s face burned; she had to touch it to make sure it hadn’t melted off.

Malcolm coughed, choking back his own laughter.

“This way,” Samira sang, grabbing two menus. “Will it be just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Gloria answered.

“Would you like your and Harmon’s regular table? It’s available.”

“Uh,” she said, stalling.

“That will be fine,” Malcolm answered, carefully keeping his eyes away from Gloria’s.

Gloria fell in line behind the hostess as she led them toward the back of the restaurant. It might have been her imagination, but she swore she felt Malcolm’s heavy gaze trained on the back of her head. Was he already regretting coming here with her?

Most likely.

“Have a good evening,” Samira said, setting the menus down on their table. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

Malcolm and Gloria thanked the hostess and slid into opposing sides of a large booth.

Gloria tried her best not to jump or react when Malcolm’s knees and legs bumped and brushed against her own. She needed to get it together before she looked like a Mexican jumping bean.

“Well, this is certainly cozy,” Malcolm said, finally settling into his seat. “I can see why this was your and Dad’s favorite spot.”

Gloria’s head snapped up. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“No,” she countered. Her eyes narrowed. “It definitely meant something.”

Malcolm met her gaze dead-on.

“Is there something you want to say to me?” she challenged.

Silence.

“Go ahead. What is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Forget it.” He picked up his menu.

“No.” She snatched the menu from his hand and slapped it back down onto the table. “We need to have this out. Go ahead. Ask me.”

“All right, then,” he said, leaning forward. “Were you in love with my father?”

Gloria drew a deep breath despite the fact that she was expecting the question. Her shoulders squared while her back morphed into an iron rod.

Malcolm cocked his head. “Maybe you two got together for more than just…business dinners?”

She shook her head, disappointed in just how little Malcolm thought of his father and of her, for that matter. “I’m not going to lie,” she said evenly. “I loved your father.”

Malcolm’s jaw hardened.

“But I was not in love with him,” she clarified. “It was strictly business between us. He was my mentor and my hero.”

“Hero?” he spat. “Not too many employees think of their bosses as heroes.”

“Everyone that worked for your father did,” she retorted. “I believe you did, too, at one time,” she added as a sucker punch.