The Design

  As I stood on that porch with him, I knew we were living in some kind of alternate universe. Nothing about the evening felt real, from the way we were dressed to the ease with which we were talking together, laughing and flipping through blueprints. Grayson’s guard was down for once and I couldn't help but yearn for just a few more moments, to reach out and pause the evening right there, just like that, forever.

  …

  The next morning I found myself at my desk twenty minutes early. I could hardly sleep thinking of my night with Grayson, how his hand had felt on my bare skin. I’d thrown off my blanket at 6:30 am, gone for a run (which ended up being a slow jog to the coffee and bagel stand at the end of my corner), showered, and gotten ready for work.

  I was anxious to see him, to prove to myself that the night wasn’t a fantasy, but rather a turning point in our relationship. Finally at 8:00 am, the elevator doors slid open and Grayson stepped out wearing a crisp navy suit. Each step he took in his shiny brown shoes resonated around the room. I smiled wide, excitement brimming over as I tried to think of what I would say to him first. I’d thought about the house design as I was getting ready that morning and I couldn’t wait to tell him a few of my ideas.

  I leaned back in my chair as he approached and smiled from ear to ear… but as he got closer, I realized he wasn’t slowing down. He wasn’t even going to glance down at me. He walked briskly by my desk and spoke directly to Beatrice.

  “Have Nicole join me for lunch today and hold all my calls until the afternoon.”

  I swiveled around to watch him step into his office and slam the door closed behind him. I stared at the wood, trying to comprehend how I could have been so off. My favorite pants and the extra coat of mascara I’d applied that morning were an absolute waste. Had I imagined the night before? Where was the guy that had joked about chopping my arm off?

  When Nicole strolled in at lunch time looking like the cat that ate the canary, I ripped my phone out of my purse and shot a text to Brooklyn.

  Cammie: Do you have anyone you can set me up with?

  Brooklyn: Sure, let me get my rolodex out. Any preference on age or occupation?

  Cammie: I'd prefer them to have an age and occupation.

  Brooklyn: Alright, that rules out Larry, the two-toothed hobo on the Q train.

  Cammie: Your jokes are not appreciated right now.

  Brooklyn: Sheesh, alright, let’s get you laiddddddddd.

  Cammie: Also, no prostitutes.

  Brooklyn: Dont worry, we already ruled out Larry.

  Cammie: ghdkuygl.

  Brooklyn: I’m not even sure there are any guys in LA that meet your unreasonable standards.

  Cammie: Grayson brought Nicole in for a lunch booty call today.

  Brooklyn: That’s it. I’m unfriending him on Facebook.

  Cammie: Wait, what does his relationship status say on there?

  I hated that I wanted to know, but I did.

  Brooklyn: Single.

  Cammie: Good. Now find a non-homeless person to set me up with.

  Brooklyn: On it.

  Chapter Twelve

  My annoyance with Grayson kept growing as the next few days passed and he continued to ignore my presence. I’d work up some courage, make up my mind to storm into his office and tell him off, and then I’d remember that I was a normal person that didn’t do things like that to her boss.

  On Monday, I strolled into the conference room for a mandatory department meeting and scanned for a seat. The only open chair was beside Grayson, at the very front of the room. I was shocked to see that Hannah hadn’t already claimed it, but then I remembered she and Alan had left a few minutes earlier so that she could shadow him at a job site.

  Whatever, I could sit by him. I’m an adult.

  I slid into the open chair and dropped my legal pad onto the table with an audible plop. We didn’t even acknowledge each other, and then the meeting began a few minutes later. I scribbled down notes on my legal pad, trying to ignore every time Grayson shifted in his seat or the fact that he was wearing that damned spiced aftershave, as per usual. I wanted to hate that scent, but I couldn’t.

  Midway through the meeting, when the monotonous drone of the HR representative was too much to bear, I wrote a question for Grayson on the legal pad.

  “Why are you ignoring me?”

  I tilted the pad so that it encroached on his space and when he cleared his throat, I knew he’d read it. He reached forward and pushed the pad away with a flick of his hand.

  I bit down on my bottom lip in anger and then tried again, this time opting for a more declarative approach.

  I crossed out “ignoring me” and replaced it with “an asshole”. Then I underlined the new question five times so that’d he’d definitely see it and know how much I meant it.

  Without a thought, he reached for the pad and ripped the top page off, crumpling it in his hand. The noise cut through the conference room, interrupting the HR representative so that his sentence about ethics in the workplace was cut short.

  “Are we almost done here?” Grayson snapped with a dark tone.

  Everyone shifted in their chairs, trying to become invisible so that Grayson’s wrath wouldn’t become directed toward them. I grunted under my breath and shifted away from him.

  “Sure, uh, we can finish this up another time,” the HR representative stuttered, closing his binder as quietly and quickly as possible.

  “Great. Let’s get back to work,” Grayson said shoving his chair back so hard that it hit the wall.

  I gathered my stuff and turned toward the door, keeping my eyes focused on the back of the associate architect walking in front of me. I was the second to last person out of the room thanks to my placement at the front of the conference table, but just as I was about to step out, Grayson reached around me and slammed the door shut.

  We were alone.

  “Do you have any idea how unprofessional you’re acting right now?” he asked behind me, his breath hot on my neck.

  I didn’t turn around.

  “Everyone can hear you,” I countered, my eyes focused on the solid wood door.

  “You seem to be confused about how things will be with us, so I’ll clarify it for you. I don’t date employees. When I’m at work, I’m focused on my work. You are nothing more than an employee.”

  I ran my tongue along my bottom lip, trying to calm my anger. It didn’t work. Nothing would work. I took a step back so that my heel sunk into the toe of his shoe. He didn’t even flinch. One more step brought me against his chest, our hips perfectly aligned. His belt buckle dug into my skin through the fabric of my dress and I reached back to grip the top of his thigh through his suit pants.

  Neither one of us moved, but I could see the tendons shifting in his hand as he leaned into the closed door and closer into me. Maybe he didn’t realize he was doing it or maybe… maybe he actually wanted to be closer to me.

  I took a breath, slid my hand an inch higher on his thigh, and aimed for the truth.

  “For whatever reason, you think you’re doing the right thing by pushing me away. Maybe you’re scared,” I said.

  He pulled away from me and laughed under his breath like my statement was ludicrous. The sound made my anger brew over, out of my control. I was insane if I thought I could change Grayson. I had been about to tell him that he was wrong, and that I didn’t want him to stay away anymore. After he laughed, I decided to change gears.

  “Or maybe you really are just an asshole,” I said, shoving my elbow back into his ribcage as hard as I could so that he expelled an audible humph. He dropped his hand and hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

  I twisted the door handle, pulled open the door, and left him there, feeling good that for once his physical pain was on par with how I was feeling.

  …

  On Tuesday evening, after the last person had left for the day, I slipped off my heels and pulled on my pink fuzzy socks. Alan had given me another two hours of work to com
plete, but I was going to do it on my own terms. It wasn’t as good as getting to leave at a decent hour, but at least the socks were comfortable.

  I headed into the kitchen and flipped half of the lights on, knowing I’d need a bit of caffeine to get me through the next few hours. While I waited for the coffeemaker to boot up, I ran through my mental checklist of things I should’ve told Grayson the day before in the conference room. He thought I was being unprofessional? He was having booty calls over lunch for God’s sake. Talk about unprofessional. He thought it was funny when I tried to have an honest conversation? The next time he spoke to me, I’d show him just how funny I could be.

  I slammed the lid of the coffeemaker down a bit too hard and then crossed my arms, waiting for it to brew.

  “Cammie?” a voice called from the hallway. I turned toward the kitchen door just in time to see Grayson appear in the doorway, pausing with a solemn expression when he saw me standing there, brewing coffee. I’d thought everyone had already left for the night, but apparently I’d been wrong.

  His suit jacket was gone and he’d pulled his tie loose around his neck. He looked younger than normal with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his hair slightly ruffled.

  “What do you want, Grayson?” I asked, skipping over the pleasantries all together. He’d thought I was confused about us? I’d show him just how crystal clear the situation was to me now.

  “Why are you still here? You weren’t—I mean, you aren’t waiting for me are you?” he asked, gently rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Oh, fuck off.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you serious?”

  The coffee sputtered out into my mug and then the machine cut off behind me. I turned and grabbed the steaming mug, wondering if it would be worth it to throw it on him. Nah, then I’d have to make a whole new cup.

  “I just wasn’t sur—”

  I cut off his disgustingly charming voice.

  “No, contrary to what you may like to think, I’m not stalking you. Alan asked me to stay late again.”

  Grayson took a hesitant step into the kitchen and ran his hands through his hair. He’d done a lot of that over the last few minutes, fidgeting with his hair and clothes. When he’d first stepped into the office earlier that morning, his hair was perfectly styled; now it was moving toward bedhead territory. I pictured his head on my pillow before I could help it. The sensation that followed wasn’t pleasant.

  “Does he do any work himself these days or does he just shove it all onto you?” he asked, seemingly concerned.

  I shrugged. Alan kept himself busy all day, but I never paid attention to what he was actually doing.

  “Who knows? I just keep my head down and do my work.”

  “Well, you should head home,” Grayson said, taking another step toward me. I stared down at his pale blue shirt, at the contrast between his tan skin and the rolled sleeves.

  “I’m not done,” I countered. Grayson might be the CEO of the company, but Alan was the one I had to answer to every day. I doubted Grayson would come to my rescue in the morning when Alan tore into me for leaving before I’d finished all of my work.

  “Cammie, I’m telling you to leave,” Grayson said, closing the gap between us and taking the mug from my hand. He stared straight at me as he tipped the mug over and poured the steaming coffee down the kitchen sink.

  Well then.

  His confidence made me smirk. It was just like Grayson to assume that he could pour my coffee out like that.

  He took my smirk as a white flag, unfolding his arms and running his hands through his hair once again. The man was going to bald prematurely if he kept it up.

  “Y’know, my rib still hurts from yesterday,” he said with a cheeky smile.

  “Good. I hope you think of me every time you take a breath.” My words were supposed to sound like a threat, but they came out softer, like a plea. I cringed at how desperate I sounded.

  Grayson leaned back against the kitchen counter, the dim lighting casting half of his defined features into shadows.

  “Oh, I do.” He smiled. “But most of the time I think of how much easier my life would be if I fired you.”

  The way his gaze fell down my neck - toward the patch of skin exposed at the base of my collarbone made me take a slow, calming breath.

  We’re all alone.

  No one would see us.

  “And what about the other times? What do you think of then?” I asked with an arched brow. I felt untouchable in the dim kitchen, with the hum of the coffeemaker and the silence that surrounded it.

  “Things that a boss should never think of concerning his employee,” he said as he studied my lips.

  Truth. Real honesty for once. Too bad he still wasn’t prepared to act on it.

  “Ah, well. I’m sure Nicole is getting restless waiting for you. Tell me, is it fun sleeping with women you don’t like? Maybe I’ll have to try it out myself… see what all the hype is about.”

  I stepped to move around him but he reached for my arm and tugged me back so that I was pinned against the counter. My mouth hung open as I tried to keep up. He took a step toward me so that his dress shoes hit my socks. I watched his mouth as his lips parted and his breath slid in and out. Every breath he took made his chest rise and touch mine.

  I begged him to kiss me in my head. I wished it with all of my might.

  My gaze flickered up to his eyes, but he was still staring at my mouth.

  “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” he asked, reaching for my hips and gripping them, hard.

  “You mean ‘why can’t I just leave you alone’,” I clarified.

  He nodded.

  “Because I can’t. I won’t. And I don't think you want to be left alone.”

  His fingers dug into my side as he bent down, eye level with me.

  “You aren’t someone to play around with,” he said.

  I smiled, feeling lightheaded from his touch and the scent of his aftershave. “Ah, that's where you're wrong. All work and no play makes me... restless.”

  I was teetering on the brink of complete self-esteem annihilation. If he turned away from me then, I wouldn’t recover. There are only so many times you can throw yourself at a burning star before you learn that sometimes stars are better left untouched, far away in the sky.

  His lips hit my neck, and I closed my eyes.

  “Remember that you asked for this,” he said, pushing me up onto the counter so that we were eye level once again. As I opened my eyes, our gazes locked, and he didn’t wait another second before leaning in and taking a kiss. Our lips crashed together, my eyes fluttered closed, and his hands held my chin on either side, pinning me in place.

  It was hopeless.

  Trying to catch hold of the frenzied moment was hopeless. I caught snapshots of it, like a dream that escapes you as soon as you blink your eyes awake. His hands gripping my neck. My legs wrapping around his torso. Our hips pressing together. My fingers dragging down his chest until I found his belt loops and pulled him even closer.

  His lips.

  His lips stole the show.

  I felt like I was tipping over the edge of the kitchen counter. Falling, falling, falling farther away from something I could control and falling further into Grayson.

  “Don’t stop,” I begged in the quiet kitchen.

  As soon as the words were spoken, he pulled back.

  The kiss was broken.

  In a flash, he stepped away so that I could see his eyes. They were dark, dilated, and wild. He’d been affected just as much as I had. My neck ached from where he’d gripped it too tightly. My lips stung from his kiss. He’d been rough, but I’d liked it.

  I held on to the edge of the counter and inhaled sharply, trying to regain my bearings. It helped to focus on the kitchen floor and my pink fuzzy socks falling in and out of view.

  That kiss…

  That kiss was everything.

  After a moment, I let go of the counter, wanting to wrap my arms around Grayson again and
keep him close. But when I glanced up, he was already halfway out of the kitchen, already on his way to being gone. His dress shoes smacked the floor with clear intent. When he passed the threshold, he didn’t look back. He slammed his hand against the doorframe and left me sitting there all alone.

  I’d begged him to kiss me, just once.

  At that moment, I learned to be careful what I wished for.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amount saved for Paris: $723 (minus the $12.50 I spent at Walgreens for the supplies to make a voodoo doll. Now I just needed to find a DIY guide online.)

  Items I have: Keds for walking around the museums and parks.

  Items I need: red lipstick and a blue striped top… to fit in with Parisian women.

  French phrases that I know: Grayson Cole est une salle de bain géante…which roughly translates to “Grayson Cole is a giant bathroom.” (I realize that this isn’t a very good insult, but I thought I’d multitask and start memorizing words that will actually help me in Paris.)

  I arrived to work early Wednesday morning after having tossed and turned for eight sleepless hours. Grayson had given me permission to leave work the night before (I mean, he went so far as to pour out my coffee), but I hated having Alan’s work hanging over my head. I cared about this job. I wanted to prove myself to Alan so that he’d stop giving me crappy assignments. I was a good designer and I just needed to show him that.

  I could tell that Grayson was already in his office by the time I set my things down on top of my desk. A thin shaft of light spilled out from beneath his door and I could barely make out the faint sound of his typing. I wanted him to come out and face me, but he never did.

  I knew he’d felt something during the kiss. Why else would he have been so angry afterward? No one storms out after a mediocre kiss, I knew that much.