The Design (3 page)

When the stapler was empty (and no longer in danger of going off in one of my eyes), Kelly went back to packing her things and Beatrice turned to me with a bright smile.
She clearly had practice in dealing with crazy.

“Hello. I’m Beatrice, Grayson’s personal assistant. Interviews haven’t started yet so you can take a seat with the other applicants and then we’ll begin shortly.”

She was attempting to salvage the situation as best as possible, but her smile was tight and I knew she was mentally cursing her job.

I found an empty spot on the ground near the front door and sat, while the applicants did their best to size me up inconspicuously. I could practically hear their thoughts.
Is that blood?
Yes.
Is that sweat or a design on her dress?
It’s sweat, you judgmental cows.

They were exactly the type of people I’d been expecting: Ivy League prodigies with a creative flair. There were two other girls in a sea of men, one sitting directly beside me on a chair and another one on the other side of the room who kept giving me death stares whenever we made eye contact.
I guess she didn’t believe in the whole “you go girl!” mantra
. Most everyone seemed to be about my age or a few years older. A boy across from me had on a tweed jacket and thick black glasses, and he was flipping through flash cards at lightning speed.

What was he even memorizing at that point?

Now that I was at least in the correct office, I finally had a moment to piece together my appearance. I tried to wipe off most of the blood with tissues from a side table and then I combed through my hair with my fingers, but it was almost too far gone by that point

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” said the girl next to me, interrupting the layer of silence that had covered the waiting room before that, save for the stray curse word uttered by Kelly every now and again.

I peered over to take in the girl beside me. Her smile said,
“I’m not your enemy”
but her power suit said,
“Or am I?”
I decided to test the waters with a friendly smile of my own.

“You wouldn’t believe that I started this morning off thinking everything would go just as I had planned,” I said.

The girl laughed. “It rarely does.” Then she reached her hand out toward me. “I’m Hannah by the way.”

I liked that name. Mean girls didn’t have names like Hannah.

I returned her handshake. “I’m Cameron, but everyone calls me Cammie.”

“Nice. Are you a recent grad?” she asked, eyeing the leather of my pad folio like it would belch out all of my secrets.

“Yeah. First interview. You?”

She grunted and leaned back against her chair, glancing up toward the ceiling as if recalling distant memories. “Nah, I’ve been out of school for about three years. My firm had layoffs a few months back so I’ve been looking for a job ever since.”

Great. She was older than me and had more work experience. Not to mention, she was gorgeous. Her blonde hair fell straight past her shoulders, her tan skin glowed, and the smoky eye effect she’d done with her makeup looked killer. I glanced down at my chipped nail polish and my red dress that had once made me feel sophisticated, but now just made me look like a sweaty Twizzler.

“Was your old firm in LA as well?” I asked.

“Nope. If this interview works out, I’ll need to find a place to stay. I’ve been crashing on a friend’s couch while I look for a job.”

I smiled. “Same here. Well, I’m from LA, but I have to move out of my dorm in a week. I either have to find a roommate or crash with my sister.”

Hannah peered over at me from the corner of her eye. “Well, good luck. Hopefully we’ll both be starting here soon.”

A few minutes later, Hannah’s name was called from the front of the waiting room and we both looked up to see Beatrice standing behind the desk, gesturing for Hannah to stand up.

“You’ll be our first candidate,” Beatrice said.

With a final “here goes nothing” smile, Hannah stood and walked toward the front desk while Kelly simultaneously picked up her full cardboard box from the desk. Her personal items shuffled around inside the box, announcing her departure to the quiet waiting room.

When she passed me, she stopped and glanced down.

“Here,” she said, starting to rustle through her box. “If you end up working here you’ll need this.”

She pulled out a small object and tossed it onto my lap before proceeding to the elevator. I looked down to find a small blue stress ball with the words “Grayson Cole” written across the latex in black Sharpie.

I smiled and picked it up, wishing there was a picture of his beautifully annoying face on it. Maybe if I did land a job, I’d modify it.

…

I sat in that waiting room for three hours. As each applicant’s name was called, they stood and made their way through the double doors behind the front desk, one by one, until I was the only one left. It was excruciating to have to sit there, even after I’d finally landed a coveted seat. (
My ass had gone numb from sitting on the ground, or maybe from the blood loss from my knees. Whatever.)

To pass the time, I alternated between checking my phone and squeezing the stress ball. In the end, I sat there with my arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering for the hundredth time that morning, just how cruel Grayson would be that day. Surely he intended on actually interviewing me; it couldn’t all be some cruel joke.

“Ms. Heart,” Beatrice spoke.

I looked up in time to watch the blonde guy with glasses—I’d dubbed him Flashcards—make his way through the waiting room with tears streaming down his face.
Oh, jeez. Grayson made him cry?

“You’ll be our final applicant,” Beatrice said with a bright smile, seemingly unconcerned by the blubbering young man passing by her.

My walk to join her at the door seemed far less dramatic than it should have. In hindsight, a violin should have been playing a sad song to accurately portray the tone of the moment:
dead man walking.

“Don’t worry, Grayson always likes to save the best for last,” Beatrice assured me.

Chapter Three

I highly doubted that Grayson was saving me for last because he I thought I was the best applicant. There were many possibilities for why I was last:

1. He wanted me to sit and sweat, torturing me slowly.  (In which case, joke’s on him, because it took about 3 hours for me to
stop
sweating from my sprint up the stairs.)

2. He wanted to have ample amount of time to criticize my resume and everything listed on it.

3. He’d actually forgotten I was even there for an interview.

Beatrice held the door open for me as I walked through, and then I got my first glimpse at the company Grayson had built from the ground up. The office was shaped like a giant square with four arms branching off at each corner. The main room itself was the biggest space in the office. It housed the architects, dividing them into small teams of four or five. It was a collaborative work environment with
zero
privacy.

Each arm that branched off from the main room housed a different department: in-house engineers, accounting, interiors, and the company’s conference room. Industrial signs hung artfully from the ceilings, directing guests to the various departments. There were three offices on the back wall of the main room, across from the front reception area, each reserved for the company’s executives. Grayson’s sat in the very center, nearly twice as big as the two offices surrounding it.

I walked toward his open door, letting Beatrice take the lead as I hung back and tried to get a feel for the work environment. The open floor plan allowed for collaboration, and most of the employees had their heads together as they worked through design problems. A few of them looked up and nodded at me, but most of them stayed busy, drafting and designing.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting—maybe more of a prison-like atmosphere, especially after the scene Kelly had pulled in the waiting room. Most everyone looked happy though. That is to say, no one was flashing me signs inscribed with “
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here
.”

I smiled at the thought just as Beatrice and I arrived outside Grayson’s doorway. Beatrice stepped to the side, and I inhaled a sharp breath. I had a clear view of Grayson sitting behind his large black desk with his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. His hands worked furiously, jotting down notes while listening to whoever was speaking to him on the phone.

“Just wait here,” Beatrice whispered. “He should be done soon.” I nodded and she touched my arm gently before taking a seat at her desk a few feet away from his door. Within a moment, she was on a call and I was left to stand there idle as I watched the subject of most of my college-aged fantasies.

He didn’t notice me right away—not while he was working—so I stood there admiring him. He was in a traditional black suit, fitted across his shoulders and arms. He’d paired it with a crisp white shirt and a sleek black tie. The soft light from the window hit his cheekbones, accentuating their sharp contours and putting special emphasis on his exquisitely defined jaw. He reached to rub his fingers along his chin, and his eyes narrowed on the sheet of paper on his desk. I wondered what he was studying. So much so, that I dared to take a step closer.

Bad move
.

He dropped the drafting pencil and after one excruciatingly long second, his eyes slid up to me. They were so sharp and blue that they pinned me to my spot, and I was caught between taking another step closer and fleeing for my life. Neither of us moved. I felt like I was stuck in the center of a tightrope, hanging over a canyon with nowhere to go but down.

He spoke into the phone with a deep, authoritative tone while keeping his gaze on me.

“Mitch, I’ll have to call you back in a moment. I’ve got one last interview.”

He didn’t wait for Mitch to reply. He dropped his phone onto his desk and indicated for me to enter with a flick of his hand. To him, I was an animal he could beckon forward.

I stared down at my feet and rolled my eyes.

“Take a seat, Cameron.”

God, I hated the way he said my whole name, dragging it out into something formal and ugly. I’d never felt like Cameron; I was Cammie.

He sighed.

“Do you always take this long to process simple instructions?” he asked, obviously annoyed that I hadn’t moved yet.

I stared into his soulless eyes. “You know I’m not intimidated by you.”

What a lie
.

The left side of his mouth hitched up, defining a dimple that was usually hidden behind layers of resolve and pompousness. Dimples weren’t meant for CEOs, even young handsome ones.

“Perhaps we should fix that, Ms. Heart. Shut the door.”

The dimple was gone again, replaced with a stern scowl. I huffed and turned to pull the door from its resting place when my eyes locked with Beatrice. My cheeks flushed at the realization that she’d heard my immature outburst, but then she offered me a little thumbs up.

Hmm, maybe I wasn’t the only one in the office who wanted to put Grayson Cole in his place
.

Once the heavy door was closed, I turned and made my way to one of two matching chairs in front of Grayson’s desk. They were mid-century modern in design, which meant they were highly impractical for actual use in an office. The metal was too thin to rest my arms on, so I folded my hands in my lap and stared down at the papers on his desk. Familiar symbols jumped out at me and I knew he was working on a residential project—an impressive one at that.

“Should I be concerned about your appearance?” he asked as his eyes fell to my skinned knees and then back to my face. I guess that was as close as he was going to get to
“Oh, Cammie, are you okay? Please let me tend to your wounds, my love.”

I shook my head and brushed his concerns aside. The bruising and dried blood were the least of my concerns at that moment.

“Well then, I think we should just cut right to the chase,” he began. “I’ve taken a look at your resume and I’ve seen your projects. You’re a good designer, much better than most of the people that have come into my office today.”

I flicked my gaze up to his face to see if he was being serious. The three lines marring his forehead indicated that he was telling the truth, even if it was a bit painful for him to admit.

“I don’t feel like wasting time with the standard interview questions. I’ve known you for a few years and I think I have a good grasp on what your strengths are, and your weaknesses.”

I had to bite my tongue to resist arguing with him. He didn’t know a thing about me, and he was delusional if he thought he did.

When I didn’t offer a rebuttal, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

“Out of all of your studies, which building has stood out as your favorite? And don’t limit yourself to just Los Angeles.”

I was taken aback by his question, but I didn’t have to think long. I’d known the answer for years.

“The Eiffel Tower,” I answered with a confident nod.

He arched a dark brow. “Really, Ms. Heart? That answer is almost as trite as listing Frank Lloyd Wright as your favorite architect.”

I sat up an inch higher in my chair and narrowed my eyes. “Are you finished, or did you even want to hear my justification?”

The dimple was back and I fidgeted in my seat to keep from staring at it.

“Go ahead,” he answered, genuinely curious. “As long as it has nothing to do with it being a symbol of love.”

I adjusted my pad folio on my lap and smiled. I loved telling the story. I’d researched the Eiffel Tower endlessly, completely enamored by its rich history.

“During its construction, the Eiffel Tower was considered a colossal waste of money, resources, and space. Most of the French creatives at the time—artists, writers, painters—they all protested its creation. They saw it as a disgusting eyesore of bolted sheet metal.”

Grayson nodded, undoubtedly familiar with this part of the story.

“It was never intended to stay past the 1889 Centennial celebrations. It was meant to be demolished shortly after, but when people had a chance to visit it once it was completed, they were taken aback by its immense beauty. Right away, they knew M. Eiffel had created one of the world’s greatest structures, and today, it’s the world’s most visited monument—I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

His brows rose in interest.

“It’s my favorite monument because it serves as a reminder that sometimes it’s the architect’s job to see things before others can. We’re meant to be the visionaries for the communities around us.”

Grayson stayed quiet, contemplating my answer for a minute or two before he nodded and leaned forward in his chair.

“You should get this job, Cameron.” He stared down at his hands on his desk as he spoke. “You’re talented and driven. The only reason I wouldn’t give you the position is because it would be a conflict of interest.”

I frowned. “A conflict of interest?”

He sighed and adjusted his already perfect tie. It was almost as if he were nervous.
Almost
. “Despite my best efforts to rid myself of it, I’ve always felt an attraction to you, Cameron. I’ve ignored that desire mainly because you’re too young for me. Now, it’s more inappropriate than ever.”

My mouth hung open. He couldn’t have possibly said those words. My brain must have been processing his speech wrong. Right?
RIGHT?!

“Excuse me. I’m sorry.
What?”

He shook his head. “I don’t intend on acting on those
feelings
.” He said the word like it was disgusting. “So there’s no point in discussing it. I don’t have relationships with employees and I won’t be having a relationship with you,” he said, leaning his elbows onto his desk and effectively cutting off any further discussion. “The job is yours if you want it.”

Only Grayson Cole could confidently admit his attraction to someone one moment and then completely move on to work.

I thought about asking him to clarify.
How long had he felt an attraction for me?
Was it in the past or present?
Was he confusing me with someone else?
It seemed unfathomable that a man like him had even noticed me. And for good reason: let’s not forget that he’d completely ignored me up until a few days ago for Christ’s sake.

“Cameron?” he asked, clearly irritated with my silence.

Regardless of my desire to press the subject of his feelings, I needed this job. Everything else could wait.

“So, you’re hiring me?” I asked.

He narrowed his brows as he considered my question. “It would seem so.”

“Yes. Okay,” I spoke, surprised by the confidence in my voice. “I accept.”

He nodded and stood up, clearly indicating that our ninety-second interview was over.

“You’ll start in Kelly’s old position.”

It took me a moment to comprehend his statement. Kelly had been the office’s receptionist. She wasn’t an architect.
Hell, she probably didn’t even have a college degree. I mean, she stole a stapler… how stable could she be?

“Kelly’s position?” I asked, annoyed at how small I felt as he stood over me. I stood from my chair to even the playing field, but he was still a good deal taller than me, despite my high heels.

“There’s no better way to learn the company,” he countered. “You’ll get a feel for how we operate and how we treat our clients.”

I leaned forward over the desk so that he’d hear me loud and clear. “I have a master’s degree in architecture, Grayson. Hire a monkey to answer your damn phones.”

His brows arched in shock at my little outburst and his gaze held mine for three long seconds. Then finally, his hand reached to press the intercom button on his office phone. “Beatrice, hire a temp for Kelly’s position and have her here by this afternoon.”

I smiled, proud of myself for standing up against him.

“Yes sir,” Beatrice spoke through the intercom before Grayson removed his finger from the button, silencing his office once again.

“Go find Kate in HR. She’ll give you a new employee packet.”

“Thank you, Grayson,” I said with a bright smile.

I couldn’t believe it.
I was hired
. What my actual position would be? I couldn’t tell. At that point, I was just glad I wouldn’t be forced to answer phones for nine hours a day.

I gathered my things and checked to make sure nothing had fallen out of my pad folio onto his floor. He stayed behind his desk as I walked toward the door, skipping over the customary handshake. I yearned for him to say something, to go back to describing his feelings about me. I knew that once I left his office, I’d never hear him speak of it again. I’d probably convince myself that I’d made the whole thing up in a week’s time.

“And Cameron,” he spoke, forcing me to pause as my hand hit the doorknob. I turned my head to look back at him, hope brimming through every pore. “It’s not Grayson. It’s Mr. Cole. I’m not your friend while you’re here.”