The Design (8 page)

“Yeah, well, anything would be better than the job I have now. My manager sucks. I just got off work like five minutes ago.”

“Are you serious?” Brooklyn asked as she twisted around to check the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen.

“Want me to come beat him up for you?” Jason asked with a wink.

“Yes,” I said without a hint of remorse. I would love for Jason to beat up Alan. Maybe while he was there he could knock some sense into Grayson too.

Brooklyn set her guitar down and cracked her knuckles. “That’s it! I’m dropping by to have a little chat with your manager,” she said with a tone that I knew she reserved for serious ass-kickings.
Oh jeez
.

I dropped my spoon into my ice cream, cringing. “No. Please don’t.”

Brooklyn shook her head. “Too late. No one takes advantage of mon petit dejune.”

A part of me wanted to tell Brooklyn that she had just called me “her little breakfast”, but another part of me wanted to warn Alan. He might be terrible, but hell hath no fury like my pop star sister scorned.

Chapter Eight

Amount saved for Paris
: $312

Items I have
: a new travel toothbrush I stole from Brooklyn’s bathroom

Items I need
: everything else

French phrases that I know
: S’il vous plait, donnez-moi ce croissant…which I think translates into “Please give me that croissant, if you know what’s good for you.”

I pulled up in front of the construction site Thursday morning to find nothing more than a concrete foundation and the rough exoskeleton of a future home. From the driver’s side window of my car I could spot debris and tools littering the ground. With a sigh, I reached for my worn work boots in the back seat. I knew better than to walk on a construction site in heels. A nail in your foot is not cute. Unfortunately, neither are work boots with slacks.
Grayson, eat your heart out.

Once my boots were laced up, I checked my phone and confirmed I was at the right address. The sound of crunching gravel caught my attention and I looked up to see a dark gray Tesla turn onto the street from the opposite direction. Like a fish moving through water, the car slid into a parking spot in front of the house and the door popped open to reveal Grayson in dark jeans, a Henley, and work boots.
Welp, my ovaries just exploded.

He shielded the sun from his eyes and stared up at the house for a moment, probably confirming progress on the build. I sat watching him until he turned and saw me sitting in my car—my twelve-year-old Toyota Corolla,
i.e. sex on wheels
. Not exactly up to par with his car, but I didn’t need anything fancy. I’d be leaving the country in three months and I’d sell the car right along with anything else that could fund a day or two abroad.

“Let’s go,” he hollered when I didn’t immediately move to join him.

I rolled my eyes and hopped out of my car, steeling myself for the early morning chill. It didn't come—the morning was muggy and humid. I stripped off my blazer and slung it over my arm as I walked to join him.

He skipped a formal greeting and headed straight into the house; apparently I was expected to trail after him like a dutiful pupil. He immediately started pointing out various aspects of the building, like the support beams and their placement. I knew I was expected to remember them, but I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet and the chances of me retaining any of the information were slim to none. Now, the way Grayson’s butt looked in his Levi’s?
I’d easily pass a test on that
. I could point out and name every section of his derriere.

Usually I would have jumped at the idea of getting a private tour of a build like this, but I was too distracted by Grayson, too busy trying to come up with some way to talk to him.

He pulled me farther into the heart of the house and continued to point out the features of the home. He described how the client had asked for a modern open floor plan. I marveled at the height of the first floor. Grayson had designed sky-high ceilings paired with massive windows to allow for ample amounts of natural light. I knew it’d be a spectacular house once it was finished.

“So, did you have a good night last night?” I asked as we entered what would become the master bedroom.

He paused to glance at me over his shoulder. “I don’t think that pertains to the job site, Cameron.” His eyes warned me to drop it.

I smiled, already prepared for him to answer like that. “You’re right. Let’s just stick to nuts and bolts like robots. Beep boop.”

Grayson sighed and turned to keep walking. “It was fine,” he admitted.

I smiled, though he couldn’t see it.

“My night was fine too,” I volunteered. “Thanks for asking. I went to a strip club and then I robbed a bank with a bunch of strippers. We didn’t take much, since y’know strippers don’t tend to have many pockets.”

Grayson laughed and shook his head.

“Has anyone told you that you’re insufferable?” he asked, continuing to walk ahead of me.

Sure, he said insufferable, but what he really meant was
irresistible
.

After that, he insisted on continuing to talk about the house and I actually listened this time. The design was too amazing to ignore and I loved hearing Grayson walk me through the process with him. It was like getting a glimpse into his creative genius.

I’d assumed we were alone on the job site until we made it to the backdoor of the house and came upon a group of construction workers out on the grass, taking their time getting started for the day. A lanky man who didn’t look a day over eighteen was using a circular saw to cut planks of wood into even segments. The rest of the crew was unwrapping breakfast tacos and chatting animatedly until they spotted Grayson walking through the backdoor. They immediately straightened up and paused their conversations, waiting for him to speak. Grayson was both the architect and the general contractor on the project, which gave him nearly full control—a fact that I’m sure made him very, very happy.

I stood to the side as he went over the day’s work with them. They were expected to have the kitchen framed by the end of the day so that the siding and roofing process could begin the following day. A few of the guys peered over at me as Grayson spoke, most likely curious about my role. I kept my eyes on Grayson, trying not to let their gazes intimidate me.

When Grayson finished up his instructions, he turned and motioned for me to lead the way back through the empty house.

“Sorry for that. It was probably a little boring,” he said, peering over at me as we walked.

I smiled and shook my head. “Nah, it’s what I love. Don’t worry about it.”

He nodded.

“So what exactly did you do last night?” I asked, trying one last time to engage him in a real conversation.

His blue eyes slid to me for a moment and he shook his head. “What’s your angle here, Cameron?”

I laughed, holding up my hands in innocence. “Not everything has to be angles and safety factors, Grayson. Can’t an employee make small talk with her boss?”

Grayson grunted. “Sure. Except you aren’t curious about what I did last night, you’re curious about
who
I did last night.”

I turned to inspect the kitchen, or what would serve as the future kitchen, so he wouldn’t see me blush. My face burned with embarrassment.

“And if I am?” I ventured, still diverting my gaze.

“You’re being childish by asking these questions. You think I didn’t mean what I said the other day in my office, about us never happening. You’re playing a game.”

Of course I didn’t believe him.

“That doesn’t make me childish. That makes me willful,” I said, turning to glance at him, residual blush still stinging my cheeks. “And if you remember, this is work, not play.”

“I didn’t bring you here to have this conversation,” he argued, moving ahead so that I had to walk fast to keep up.

I should have dropped the conversation. I’d already pissed him off, but we were back on the street, seconds away from splitting off to our cars and heading in opposite directions. Any chance of having a private conversation with him would be over once we left.

“Do you ever think of me when you’re with them? The other women in your life?” I asked, pausing on the grass.

The second the words slipped out, I wanted to reach for them, pull them back in one syllable at a time and replace the question with some vague goodbye. I’d never been as bold as I’d been in the last few days. I usually went after what I wanted, but there was a difference between being confident and being certifiably insane. It’s like I wanted him to squirm, to feel uncomfortable in my presence. I needed to jar him out from behind whatever wall he was building for himself.

Something about Grayson pulled out every bit of confidence I had. Maybe it was the fact that I knew he found me attractive or maybe it was the fact that I was leaving soon. Either way, it felt like I had nothing to lose.

He stopped walking mid-step, and glared back at me. We stayed like that for a few seconds, his blue eyes warning me away as best as they could. I stayed rooted to my spot, clenching my fists and waiting for his response.

“No,” he said with a sharp shake of his head. “When I was with Nicole last night… in my bed… with her legs wrapped around my neck, I never once thought of you.”

I wanted to rear back and punch his stupidly gorgeous face. His demeanor practically begged me to, but instead, I swept up every bit of confidence left inside of me and walked up to him until I was just an inch or two away from his chest. The rounded toes of our work boots pressed together and I jabbed my finger into the center of his ribcage, hard.

“You’re such a liar, Grayson,” I declared as the tension multiplied around us.

“You know what else I am?” he asked, leaning an inch closer. I stared at his lips as he spoke. “Your boss.”

I clenched my jaw, narrowed my eyes on him for another second, and then turned away. He stayed perfectly silent as I walked away from him, heading back toward my car with emotions boiling over inside of me. My heart knocked against my ribcage as I realized there’d be consequences for the game I was playing. He was my boss, and he had major pull in this city. If I pushed him too hard, too fast, my career could be over, but something told me he was enjoying the game just as much as I was.

After all, he didn’t have to hire me, he didn’t have to be my mentor,
most of all, he didn’t have to divulge the fact that he found me attractive during my interview. He could have kept that his little secret.

…

Grayson’s lover, Nicole, made an appearance in the office for another lunch-time romp later that day. As her size zero frame floated through the main room, I mentally called Grayson every nasty name under the sun. He’d called her on purpose. He wanted me to back down. He greatly underestimated me.

I turned to watch her walk toward Grayson’s office. Beatrice caught me staring and did a finger-down-the-throat gag. I smiled and winked.

“Three times in two weeks,” Peter spoke up, drawing my attention back to our table. “That’s a record.”

“What is?” I asked.

“Grayson’s lunchtime rendezvous. I’ve never seen him bring women into the office like this before,” Peter said.

I shrugged with feigned indifference and tried to get back to work. The entire time Nicole was behind his closed door, my ears picked up on any subtle noises around the office. I swore I heard her moaning, but no one else stirred so I figured I was imagining it.

Twenty minutes later, as I walked back from the break room with a cup of microwaved soup, the door to Grayson’s office opened and Nicole stepped out. Her blonde hair was more tousled than when she’d first walked in. Her red lipstick was smeared beneath her bottom lip and she tried her best to walk casually en route to the elevators, but it was clear what had happened. My stomach rolled with anger and jealousy.
Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him
.

Any appetite I’d had a moment before was now replaced with the need to vomit. I dropped my cup of soup into the trash bin near my desk, knowing that if I held onto it for another second, I’d hurl the entire thing at his door.

“Everything okay?” Peter asked, eyeing my poor soup now splashed along the inside of my trashcan.

“Peachy!” I answered with a fake smile before turning to Alan. “Alan. I finished my work from this morning. Do you have anything else I can work on?”

Chapter Nine

I didn’t see Grayson in the office again the rest of the week, and my confidence in his attraction to me was starting to wane. Every day, he arrived before I did and either left after I was long gone or while I was otherwise occupied. Who knows. Either way, I was two shots shy of storming into his office just to confirm he was still alive.

On Friday evening, I stood in front of my closet, incredibly annoyed that Grayson had chosen to avoid me since our little fight at the job site. Knowing him, he’d probably try to bail on dinner as well. After all, it was a dinner celebrating my new position at his company—a position he undoubtedly regretted giving me.

I sighed as I sifted through my cocktail dresses, hoping one would jump out at me and scream, “WEAR ME! I WILL MAKE GRAYSON BEG ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES.” Oddly enough, I was left on my own. I guess my clothes weren’t feeling particularly chatty that evening.

A gentle knock on my bedroom door distracted me from my dress hunt and I turned to find Hannah standing there with a cup of yogurt in her hand. She peeled off the foil lid and licked it clean as I waved her into my room.

“Heading out?” she asked, eyeing my hair. I’d just finished swooping it into a low knot at the base of my neck.

“Yeah, just a dinner. What about you?” I asked, turning back to my closet. Hannah and I were still working out our boundaries with one another. Living with her was kind of like living alone. She usually got home late after hanging out with friends and I usually got home late from working. In the mornings, we had our walk to work, but she usually liked to check in with her mom then, so really, I was living with a ghost.

That's not to say that I hadn't learned anything about her. I knew that she preferred the thermostat set at freezing temperatures, she had a rule about dishes (namely that she didn’t do them), and she preferred to blast rave music at 6:00 am while she was getting ready for the day.

It wasn’t all bad: she’d left out some chocolate cake the other day and I’d stolen a bite so small that I’d convinced myself she wouldn’t be able to tell.
Hey, sometimes you gotta take what you can get.

“Oh, you're off to dinner? Fun. I don’t have any plans tonight. Well, not unless you count binge watching some episodes of Law and Order.”

I frowned at the dresses hanging in front of me. I wanted the dinner to be just Jason, Brooklyn, Grayson, and me, but I also didn’t want to leave Hannah alone by herself. We weren’t really friends, but this would be a good opportunity to get to know her better.

“Why don’t you come with us? It’ll be fun,” I said with a smile. “It’s actually going to be a small group, and Grayson is going.”

“Our boss, Grayson?” she asked with raised brows.

I nodded. “He and my sister are old friends.”

Her brows raised even more. “Your sister the pop star? Oh my god, will Jason Monroe be there too?”

I forgot how weird it was for other people to hang out with my family. To 99.9% of Americans, Brooklyn Heart and Jason Monroe were the new “it” couple in Hollywood, the stars they saw splashed across magazine covers in disgustingly cutesy poses when they checked out at the grocery store.

“Yes, Jason will be there too,” I answered, trying to downplay the whole situation. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Oh my god! Let me just get dressed really quick.”

…

Two hours later, as I watched Hannah put her hand on Grayson’s shoulder for the third time since our appetizers had arrived, I deeply, deeply regretted inviting her.
Why did I have to care? I should have let her watch SVU reruns until her eyes popped out.
Because of my need to be friendly and polite, I’d all but set myself up to be the fifth wheel in heels.

As soon as we arrived, I knew the evening would be a disaster. The fancy French restaurant placed our group at the best table in the house: a secluded corner with low ambient lighting.
But what good did that do me if I wasn’t even sitting beside Grayson?
When we’d arrived at the table and chosen seats, Grayson scooted in beside Jason and then Hannah claimed the chair next to him so fast that I was left wondering if she had some kind of superhuman speed.
No, really
. I’d stood next to the table for a second, watching the four of them take their seats, cozy as fucking bugs in a rug. I’ll spare you the terrible details, but for the first thirty minutes of dinner, I had to listen to Hannah monopolizing Grayson’s every breath with her stories from college, her stories about growing up, and her favorite things about working at his firm.

Wow, keep telling him it’s a coincidence that you both love hazelnut creamer in your coffee. There's hazelnut, and there’s vanilla.  By that logic, you're also soulmates with smelly Gary from finance.

I peered at Hannah from beneath my lashes just as she subtly hiked her skirt up another inch on her thighs. Grayson was chatting with Jason about investments or something equally as boring, and Hannah was using the opportunity to her advantage.
Why oh why had I invited her?

“So Grayson, have you ever been down to South America?” Hannah asked, cutting off his conversation with Jason. “Because I went down there with my college’s architecture club. Our original mission was to build a school, but instead the kids taught us that you don’t need four walls and a dingy old desk, you can learn from anywhere.”

“Wait, so did you end up building the school for them?” Brooklyn asked.

Hannah shot her a glare. “No. We lost time because it rained the first day, so everyone decided to spend our last four days touring the ruins down there instead. Anyway, Grayson, the ruins are even better in real life. You absolutely have to take a trip there.”

Grayson nodded good-naturedly and I turned back to my food, ill-equipped to deal with the awkwardness of the dinner.

“Cammie, did you enjoy your first week of work?” Jason asked from across the table. Usually, I would have taken a moment to admire him. After all, he was People’s Sexiest Man To Ever Be Born… or whatever. But tonight, I wasn’t in the mood. Not while Hannah was practically licking her lips, preparing to sink her teeth into Grayson.

“Yeah, it was uh... fine,” I said, spinning my ravioli around with my fork. I’d barely managed two bites. Every time I saw Hannah turn her attention to Grayson or—God forbid—emit another one of her giggles, blind-rage replaced my hunger.
If I casually stabbed her hand with my fork so that she’d have to be rushed to the hospital, would that scream “desperate”?
I wasn’t sure, so I just filed the idea away in the “maybe” pile.

“Wow, is it that bad working for me, Cammie?” Grayson asked, directing words at me for the first time all night. The fact that he’d used “Cammie” instead of “Cameron” in front of my sister only served to piss me off even more.

“It’s not like I’m really working for you. You’re locked away in your office all day. I’m left with Alan and his sparkling personality.” I practically shivered just saying his name aloud.

“I’ll keep a better eye on him,” he promised just as Hannah put her hand on his forearm to steal his attention once again. My fork twitched in my hand.

“Grayson!” Hannah all but shouted. “I meant to tell you, I absolutely love the mentor program. I have Alan as a supervisor and he’s actually a really great teacher. He showed me the blueprints for the…” At that point her voice completely faded into Charlie Brown-esque “womp womp womp”. I turned to see if I could find solace with Brooklyn and Jason, but they were whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears—or so I assumed—so I was left on my own, rocking the fifth wheel spot like I was born for the role.
Enough
. I dropped my fork onto my plate and pushed my chair out from the table.

“I’m going to go get some air,” I said to no one in particular. Brooklyn moved to follow me but I shot her a look to stay put.

A good, solid suck of LA smog was just what I needed. I needed to shake things up. I hated the person I was becoming: this insecure, shell of a girl. I’d been confident in college, outspoken and happy. I didn’t care about what other people thought. Now I couldn’t even make it through a dinner without coming undone. I couldn’t eat. One minute I’d be fine, and the next, Grayson would make me so angry that I felt completely out of control.
It was all Grayson’s fault.

I toed a rock with my shoe and crossed my arms like a melodramatic teen.

What was I doing wasting my time on Grayson? Why did I feel the need to conquer him? To win him over?
Because really, that’s what I was after. If I wanted something serious from him, I’d play it cool and take a step back. No. It was about the thrill of the hunt.
But why?
I didn’t need the added stress. I just needed three months worth of paychecks so I could get the hell away from LA and find some nice Frenchman to stick between my legs.

Just the idea of leaving LA started to calm me down. I’d start in Paris, of course. I’d yet to see the Eiffel Tower in person and if I was going to jaunt around the world, experiencing life to the fullest, that’s where I needed to begin. Maybe I’d stay there for a week or two, eating my fill of croissants and sleeping my way through as many Frenchmen as I dared to try out.
How do you say “Get into my pants” in French?
I’d have to learn. (Or y’know… I could always just default to good ol' body language.)

“Cammie?” a voice spoke from behind me, jarring me from my thoughts. I closed my eyes as I registered the fact that it was Grayson’s voice.

He’d followed me out.

I folded my arms even tighter before speaking.

“What can I do for you, Grayson?” I asked, not bothering to turn to look at him. A few minutes ago, I would have been ecstatic that he had cared enough to come out and talk to me, but in that moment, I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t feel any of my confidence. I didn’t feel flirty or desirable. I wanted to hit pause on the game.

“I was just wondering what you needed a breather from?” he asked.

You. You. You.

I kept my eyes on the road.

“Nothing.” That word held so much power: the power to deny someone your true feelings in a moment of vulnerability. I watched a car drive down the street and tried to concentrate on its movements rather than my feelings. But then Grayson spoke again.

“Cammie.”

He said my name like he was begging me to do something. I liked the sound of my name on his lips and when he touched my shoulder so that he could turn me to face him, I didn’t resist.

Fine, if he wanted the truth, I’d give it to him.

“Everything. I needed a breather from everything,” I answered, keeping my gaze on his navy tie. His ties always laid so perfectly down the center of his shirt, as if they were glued in place. Maybe that’s why I wanted Grayson. He was perfect, he had his life together, he was driven and committed—and I was none of those things. At any given moment, I had the desire to fly, to skip out on the rest of dinner and roam the city alone for the remainder of the night.

“Well I can’t fix
everything
,” he said with a little smile, trying to cheer me up. “Can you be more specific?”

His words were a simple joke, but they reminded me of an argument I’d had with Brooklyn after our parents had just passed away.

I refused to speak to Brooklyn about our parents, refused to see a shrink, refused to go to group therapy. I was practicing the art of avoidance and it was starting to slip into every facet of my life. Brooklyn was doing her best, trying to give me space to heal, but one Saturday night in high school I’d strolled through the front door two hours late, with fresh bruising across my chin. I was drunk from shit vodka that had burned my throat going down and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her.

“Cammie, what do you think you’re doing?” she’d yelled as I walked toward my room, ignoring her along the way.

“Oh don't try to be a mom, Brooklyn. Fuck off.” Saying those words burned even more than the vodka had. That was a first for us. There’s always a first with sisters. The first time you really overstep that line of trust. I remember she flinched at my words, genuinely hurt and taken aback by my cruelty.

“I can’t fix everything for us,” she whispered. “You can’t do this to yourself. You have to get help.”

I’d paused and reached up to feel the bruising on my face. I couldn’t even remember the incident that had caused it in the first place, but I figured it was probably just drunken clumsiness. Brooklyn stepped up behind me and wrapped her arms around me, so tight and secure around my stomach that it almost hurt.

We stayed like that until I couldn’t deny my feelings anymore. I was forced to acknowledge the overwhelming grief that had been locked away deep down inside of me for months. She was forcing me to feel it.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as hot tears burned a path down my cheeks.

We stayed in the hallway, her chest pressed to my back, and I cried, long and hard. Long enough to realize I had to change.

“Cammie,” Grayson said, pulling my attention away from my memories and fast-forwarding my life back to the present.