The Design

  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.

  I swallowed slowly, already knowing what I needed to do.

  “Tell Brook that I felt sick and headed home. And make sure that Hannah gets a ride.”

  “Cammie,” he said, reaching out for my hand, but realizing his mistake a moment too soon. His hand fell limp back to his side. “Are you okay?”

  I glanced away from him, back down the dark street.

  I'll let you know when I know, Grayson.

  …

  I ended up going to my spot. It was the one place that calmed my anxiety. To get there, you had to take a private road that led around the perimeter fence of LAX. If you followed it for long enough, eventually you’d stumble upon a lonely, forgotten cemetery. It seemed like a random place for a graveyard, just off the highway on the side of an airport, but it must have been there long, long before air travel.

  I parked off the road and grabbed a flashlight from my glove compartment. The first time I’d been to the spot, a stoner from my high school had told me that he knew of a place to get high and watch airplanes take off. I’d followed him blindly that night, too naive to realize how dumb I was being, but I didn’t regret the mistake afterwards.

  The next time I went, I ditched the guy and the pot in favor of going alone. Just me and my flashlight.

  It was a forlorn spot, out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by blackness, but the planes always came right when I needed them. Sometimes I got lucky and I could see four or five landing or taking off a
ll within a few minutes of each other. I’d sit on a lonely grave, lean against a headstone and turn off my flashlight. Sitting there in the dark, I’d imagine it was me leaving on the airplanes. Each time I heard the low rumble of a takeoff, my heart would race and the earth would feel alive beneath me, shaking with the weight of the airliner.

  My favorite part of all was the moment when the belly of the plane was directly on top of me, when the howls of the engine were so loud that they silenced everything else.

  Chapter Ten

  The following week Alan forced me to stay late again on Monday and Tuesday. What a shocker. Why had I even found an apartment in the first place? I should have just shoved some clothes in my desk drawers, found a shower, hung a hammock from the ceiling, and stayed glued to my work 24/7. Alan would have loved that.

  I had a sneaking suspicion that he enjoyed making me stay late just for the hell of it. It’s not like the work couldn’t wait until the following day. The tasks Alan shoved on my desk everyday at 4:59 pm were menial at best. None of them took much of my attention, which left me with more than enough time to replay Hannah’s description of how Friday night had ended for her and Grayson over and over again until I thought my brain would explode. Oh, we didn’t go straight home after dinner. He drove the long way and we talked about everything, about nothing. We were just so comfortable around each other. You know what I mean? No. I didn’t know what she meant, but I knew she’d stolen that line from at least a dozen romantic comedies. I told him all about my goals for the next few years. He just understands me. Thanks so much for inviting me to dinner. Grayson and I would never have bonded otherwise. Oh, please tell me more about how you and Grayson bonded. I’d love to hear it. I know it's early, but I really think he might be "the one". Barf.

  My gut told me she was embellishing the entire experience, and my heart sincerely needed my gut to be right about something for once. Still, every time I saw Hannah near Grayson’s office, my hands started to grip my drafting pencil just a little tighter.