Georgia bounces into my office with her little perky tits waving in the air like two flags telling me to come hither.

Jesus, she's got a killer body.

She smiles, and her eyes widen, bustling with that innocence that I want to corrupt.

To hell with human resources. I should shut the door and show her what Sebastian Cartwright's really about.

She strolls to the side of my desk, and her rose-scented perfume flares in my nostrils. And I swear she bathes in sugar, which only adds to my torment. She puts a file on my desk, then opens it. She says, "I found a—" Her eyes lock on my trash can.

My chest tightens.

Hurt fills her expression. She blinks hard, then pins her blues on me. "There's a big error in your spreadsheet. I think you can negotiate a twelve percent increase at your two o'clock meeting." She taps the highlighted column, then spins and walks out.

Three

GEORGIA

The Next Day

Everything feels strange this year. It's the first time I've not gone back to Savannah or been with my grammy for the holidays. Since she died six months ago, there's no reason to return to my hometown. No one is left.

When I was little, my parents were always on the road. They had musical ambitions, so they traveled the country, singing. One night, their tour bus crashed, and the little time I did get to spend with them was gone. I became an orphan.

I'd already been living with my grandfather and grandmother in Georgia. In some ways, it didn't seem any different even though there was grief. And I noticed how sad my grandparents became.

My grandfather had a harder time hiding it than my grandmother. I'd catch him staring at my mother's picture and crying some nights.

But my grammy’s saying was, "when life gives you lemons, you turn them into lemonade." So even though my parents were gone, I didn't feel the loss like a child might have. Sure, it hurt, but if they hadn't been so absent, I imagine I would have had a harder time adjusting.

Ever since I can remember, I'd spent every holiday with my grammy. This will be the first year I stay in Dallas for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Most of the friends I met in college when I was getting my MBA have left. They've gotten jobs around the country or returned to their hometowns to be closer to their families. The only friend I have in town is Melanie. She's married with a four-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter.

One night, we were talking. I was having a hard time contemplating spending the holidays without my grammy. Then I heard her voice telling me to turn lemons into lemonade. That led to me volunteering to host Thanksgiving for Melanie and her family since her and her husband's parents are all in Ohio.