The Design (7 page)

Hannah
: Are you going to be home soon? I just ordered pizza.

Cammie
: No, eat it without me. Alan is making me stay late. :(

Hannah
: Okay. Whatever. Ask Grayson if he’s single!

I deleted her second text immediately.
Whoops, slippery fingers, I guess
.

“I don’t think we’re paying you to text,” Alan said from behind me, scaring the crap out of me.

I nearly tossed my phone at him in an attempt to protect myself.

He rolled his eyes and took his seat beside me once again. I was going to explain that I was just asking my sister for food, like any normal human would, when Alan’s office phone rang. The shrill sound ricocheted around the quiet office.

He picked it up after the second ring with a sharp, “Hello.”

I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but I prayed it wasn’t a client needing something done tonight.
How late could he actually make me stay?

“No. No—we were just leaving.” Alan spoke with an edge of fear laced in his voice.

My pencil paused mid-line.

“We wouldn’t have stayed later—”

His sentence was cut off and then the sound of dead air replaced the low murmurs from the other end. Alan stood, his chair scraping against the cement floors.

“It’s time to go. Grab your things so I can lock up.”

He was pissed, more so than he’d been all day.

I grabbed my things and then Alan and I rode the elevator down to the ground floor in silence. The whole time, I imagined what Grayson was doing with the woman he’d been on the phone with when he’d left.
Was it the same woman he’d been with in his office during lunch or was I competing against multiple women?

I needed to step up my game. Maybe Brooklyn had a pushup bra I could steal. Yeah, that was a good idea.

Step one: blind him with my boobs.

Chapter Seven

I was pouring myself a cup of orange juice Wednesday morning when Hannah stepped into our kitchen. We’d ended up finding a place to rent just a few blocks over from the Sterling Bank Building. It was small, with ‘70s style shag carpet and appliances that hadn’t been used since the Dark Ages, but we could walk to work and the neighborhood was full of hip bars and coffee shops. I just had to survive the potential asbestos in the walls for three months and then I’d be eating crepes in Paris.

“Morning,” I said, tipping my cup to her in a little salute before taking a long sip. We’d lived together for a few days but I’d hardly seen her around the apartment; it seemed we weren’t on similar schedules. I functioned as a normal human being, while she functioned like some sort of bat.

She grunted and made her way to our coffeemaker. I watched her pour a cup, then she spun around to face me, and her mouth dropped.

“That dress is kind of provocative for work, don’t you think?” Hannah asked as her gaze dragged down my outfit.

I glanced down. Sure, the dress was an inch or two shorter than I normally would have picked, but was it really that bad? I’d taken a selfie earlier in my bedroom mirror and sent it to Brooklyn. She’d replied within five seconds with, “That dress was made for you!” Surely Brooklyn would have told me if it was too risqué for work.

“Do you think I should change?” I asked, glancing back up and noticing Hannah’s disheveled appearance for the first time. She’d gone out on the town after finishing her pizza the night before and I’d heard her stroll in a little after 3:00 am. The bags under her eyes were showing the effects of her lack of sleep. Still, I was envious of her social life. I’d been too tired after work to do anything but watch Bravo.
Okay, who am I kidding? Even if I wasn't tired, I would have stayed in and watched Bravo. I do have priorities, and they involve reality TV.

She shrugged. “It’s fine. Whatever, let’s go.”

I frowned and finished off my orange juice, feeling half as confident in my appearance as I had before she’d stepped into the kitchen. I’d put the dress on that morning for Grayson, in a childish attempt to win his attention for the day. He wouldn’t confess his love for me because I was wearing a short dress, but maybe he’d let his gaze linger on me for a moment longer than usual. That’s all I needed: a chink in the armor.

…

“Cameron, may I speak with you for a moment?” Grayson asked as I strolled in front of his door on my way to use the bathroom.

I paused mid-stride and turned toward his office. He was staring pointedly at the hem of my dress and then he dragged his gaze down my bare legs.

“Come in and shut the door.”

My stomach flip-flopped at the request.
Oh my god, yes. That was easy. He’s going to ask for my maidenly hand in marriage
. I swallowed once, feeling anticipation kick my heart into overdrive.

I’d been hoping for a longing gaze, but an invitation to step into his office with the door closed was much, much better.

Once the heavy door fell closed, Grayson tossed his pen onto some papers and stood, rounding his desk and oozing authority with every step. He crossed his arms and rolled his shoulders back so that his posture was pin straight. I found myself copying him, trying to increase my height in an attempt to match his. I really wished he wasn’t wearing a black suit. I could have handled anything better than that black suit.

“Are you familiar with this office’s dress code, Ms. Heart?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

I laughed, just once, before I pressed my lips closed. If he wanted to be formal, we could be formal. The cold air conditioning vent I was standing beneath blew chilled air over my bare arms and legs and goose bumps blossomed across my skin. I told myself it was from the temperature and not from Grayson’s watchful eyes.

He was still waiting for my reply.

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you refresh my memory?” I said with a suggestive tone.

He uncrossed his arms and reached back to press the intercom button. “Beatrice could you see to it that Ms. Heart gets a new employee handbook. Preferably one with the dress code section printed in bold.”

I laughed again, surprised that he’d go through the trouble to alert Beatrice of the situation.

“Right away, sir,” Beatrice answered before Grayson lifted his finger from the intercom button, returning the room to silence.

“What time do we leave for the construction site?” I asked.

He shook his head and moved back to his seat, overly eager to put distance between us.

“We aren’t going today. Not while you’re dressed like that. Wear pants tomorrow and arrive thirty minutes early. We’ll go before everyone arrives.”

I narrowed my eyes. He was acting like I was wearing lingerie. The dress was a
tad
too short, but this was LA: normal dress code rules didn’t apply. Just that morning I’d seen a woman walking her Chihuahua in a bikini top, leggings, and Uggs.
I mean, c’mon
.

When I remained standing on the same patch of distressed concrete, Grayson reclined back in his chair.

“You have work to do,” he said, clearly indicating that I should see myself out. “Unless, of course, you’d like to stay late again.”

He was dismissing me as quickly as he’d beckoned me. I was hoping for some kind of real conversation, but he’d done nothing but make me feel like an unruly teenager. I turned back toward the door, scrambling for some sort of parting comment. Just as my hand touched the door handle, I smiled slowly, realizing that I had just as much power as he did. I just had to know how to use it. I turned my head and shot him a devious smirk.

“I picked out this dress for you.”

He didn’t look up at me, but his pen stopped moving and his eyes concentrated on the same spot on his desk.

“So next time you have a lunch date or a girl waiting for you at your apartment, just know that this is my way of begging you to give us both what we want.”

The second I finished speaking, Grayson held up his hand with his finger pointed straight at the door. His blue eyes were as sharp as ice. The lines of his jaw muscles shifted beneath his skin. He was
pissed
.

“Get out of my office, Cameron.”

He bit out each word like he was in physical pain. I swiveled around and pulled the door open, then let it fall shut after me with a heavy thud. The windows of his office shook in their frames and a few of the architects near the back wall glanced up at me with curious expressions. I ignored their stares and headed back toward my desk with annoyance clouding my vision.

“So nice of you to join us,” Alan said as soon as I took my seat. “You’re behind on your work, and since you’ve already been to the kitchen more times than I can count, I don’t think you need a lunch break.”

I bit down hard on my lower lip and kept my eyes pinned on my work.

“Actually Alan, I’ve already finished the work you assigned me this morning and I started on my tasks for this afternoon about an hour ago,” I said with a honey-dipped tone. “Is there something else you’d like me to start on?”

He could make me work through lunch—Grayson had a way of completely stealing my appetite anyway—but I was
not
going let Alan think I wasn’t taking this job seriously.

Later that afternoon, Beatrice dropped an employee handbook onto my desk with a meek smile. When I flipped it open, the dress code section was highlighted in bright yellow. Peter snickered from his desk, but thankfully Mark and Alan were too busy to notice.

Before I left that night—at 8:30 pm, thanks to Alan’s need to ruin my life—I dropped the handbook into a recycling bin and mentally ran through the pants in my wardrobe, trying to think of which one was the most fitted pair. If I had to suffer by looking at Grayson in his tailored suits, he deserved to suffer right along with me.

…

“Open up,” I said, hammering on Brooklyn’s condo door, desperately needing some semblance of normalcy in my life. I hadn’t eaten since 10:00 am since Alan had forced me to work through lunch, so I had plans to raid Brooklyn’s freezer and fill my stomach with Rocky Road ice cream.
It’s healthy because of the nuts…

The door swung open to reveal a handsome-as-ever Jason Monroe.
Damn
. Sometimes I forgot how lucky my sister was. He wasn’t as handsome as Grayson in my opinion, but still, he was worthy of every bit of praise his fans bestowed upon him. I hadn’t seen him in a few days, but considering he was barefoot in my sister’s condo wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, it seemed like everything was going pretty well between them.
Two hot rock stars sitting in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

“Cammie! Hey,” he said, holding the door wide open for me to step inside.

Jason always made a point to be extra nice to me. It probably had to do with the fact that I’d once sent him a poisoned grapefruit in a fruit basket because he’d broken my sister’s heart. It wasn’t one of my classier moments, but the truth is there wasn’t any
actual
poison, just chocolate laxatives. You don’t mess with my sister and expect to get away with it. Thankfully, he and Brooklyn worked out their problems, which left me with the awkward task of apologizing for “almost killing him”. I mean, c’mon. At the
worst
he would have had to trade his guitar for a roll of toilet paper for a few days. Big deal.

“Whattup J? Move aside, I’m on an ice cream mission,” I said, stepping past him and heading directly to the kitchen.

“Oh, no that’s okay! Good to see you too, sis,” Brooklyn called from the living room. I held up my hand in a lazy wave and then bent down to pull the freezer drawer open. GOLD. Gold, in the form of a pint sized container of Rocky Road, glistening in the freezer light like a diamond in the frost.

I pulled it out, retrieved a spoon, and headed toward the living room, kicking my shoes off as I went.

Brooklyn was sitting on the couch with her guitar resting on her lap. Jason’s guitar sat abandoned beside her. They must have been working on their album before I rudely barged in.
Oh well, too late to leave now
.
I have a pint of ice cream to get through
.

“Sing for me, mon petit fille,” I joked, pulling my feet up under my butt so that I could get into a comfortable position.

She raised a brow in my direction before Jason crossed in front of her, picking up his guitar to join her on the couch. Their fans would have killed to be in my position. I had a front row seat to an acoustic session with the two hottest rock stars in the industry.
And all I cared about was ice cream
.

It’d taken a while to get used to the fact that my sister was a pop star, but she’d been famous for a few years now. She had been a solo artist for years, but a few months back, her music label had slotted her for a Grammy performance with Jason Monroe—another notorious solo artist.

I knew from the start that they’d end up falling in love (
I mean, seriously, their babies would look like stylish hipster angels, with combat boots instead of wings
), but it took them a while to figure it out for themselves. Jason was quite the dick in the beginning, but my sister didn’t put up with him.
Hmm, come to think of it, maybe she’d have some advice about how to deal with Grayson.
Would Grayson come around like Jason had?
All signs pointed to no
.

I took another bite of ice cream as Jason began to strum on his guitar. I settled in, ready to relax after a long day, but then my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Seriously
? I reached to check it and saw Hannah’s name flash across the screen. She’d gone out with the other new hires after work. The three of them had walked toward the elevators at 5:05 pm, their laughter impossible to ignore as Alan informed me that I’d be staying late yet again.

I was slightly jealous that they were already bonding, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. Alan was my boss for the time being and I wanted to stay as much on his good side as humanly possible. By the time I left work, the last thing I wanted to do was meet my coworkers at a grungy bar downtown. My feet hurt and my brain hurt. I just wanted to sit on a couch and listen to good music.

I pressed ignore on her call and then watched Brooklyn and Jason play together. They were reworking lyrics they’d just written. Every now and then Brooklyn would tweak a phrase and Jason would scribble it down, adding his own flair. I knew I was taking it for granted, getting to see the two of them collaborating, but to me, it was just a normal night with my sister.

“I’m thinking about quitting my job in architecture to become a pop star like you guys,” I said when they set their guitars down to take a break sometime later.

“I’m not a pop star,” Jason argued, just as Brooklyn spoke up.

“Cammie, you’d hate it. Besides, you sing like a cat that just swallowed peanut butter.”