Restoring Jordan (6 page)

“Get me some coffee. One cream, half a packet of Equal.” My mouth drops open. It’s not as if Vera has ever been civil to me, but to treat me like a damn waitress in a room full of people has my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I hurry toward the side bar at the end of the room, wanting nothing more than to be done with this humiliating errand, but as I approach the side bar there’s a hand on my elbow. Looking over my shoulder, I see Jordan. He leans to my ear as my breath hitches in my throat.

“Go stand by Bridget.” I watch his eyes as he pulls back from me. They are serious but warm. He’s embarrassed for me. I round the table toward Bridget’s side as Vera watches after me with openmouthed hatred etched across her face, but my eyes pass quickly from hers as they return to Jordan. He fills a coffee mug with coffee, grabs a handful, yes a handful, of creamer packets and sugar packets before returning to Vera. He sets the cup in front of her and literally dumps the packets on the table, dropping a few directly into her cup and sloshing her coffee on the table. He doesn’t say a word as he returns to his seat, but his eyes find mine and hold my gaze. He’s expressionless but refuses to look away. I’m likewise unable to look away from him. Mr. Foster breaks the spell when he speaks, and it’s as my eyes pass to Foster I catch the look of abject hatred planted on Vera’s face, but this expression isn’t for Jordan, which would of course make sense; rather it’s for me.

Foster starts the meeting as Bridget whispers a commentary in my ear. The meeting is a roundtable discussion by the principals as they review their lineup of projects and what support they’ll need from management and staff. Lower-level employees really aren’t expected to be there, and it’s clear the only reason I was included was so Vera could make a fool of me. Jordan heads up the restoration department of Foster’s, and when it’s his turn to speak he runs down his list of ongoing projects. When he gets to a historic building restoration that is in progress and will ultimately end up being high-priced condos, it’s time for the other principals and managers to discuss the necessary workforce required for the project. Vera reports directly to the only principal on the interior design side of the firm, and it’s her job to assign interiors support, but when she starts speaking Jordan cuts her off quickly.

“I’ll be working with Adeline on the interiors.” Vera’s mouth drops open, as does mine; Jordan’s eyes find mine, and the entire room suddenly goes quiet … but not for long.

“She’s just an intern. You can’t pull her into a
real
project.” You guessed it, Vera McBitch.

“Watch me.” Jordan, of course. “This is a great project for an intern. The condos will be custom per buyer, and I’ll need a model unit as well as the common spaces. The scope should fit perfectly into the remainder of Adeline’s semester.”

“But you don’t work with interns.” Now it’s Foster who is speaking, but unlike Vera he is smiling quizzically and curiously at Jordan. I haven’t yet closed my mouth, and like an idiot I’m just starring back and forth from one to the other, but at Foster’s comment, Jordan’s gaze returns to me.

“Well there’s a first time for everything.” His eyes are serious, and his expression is intimidating, but the look on Vera’s face is priceless, and as terrifying as the prospect of reporting directly to Jordan is, it’s worth the terror for this small victory. I have to clench my jaw to keep the smirk from pulling my lips. The rest of the meeting is a blur, and I don’t catch a single bit of the conversation. Jordan has returned his attention to the meeting as well, and it’s only occasional glances I catch in my direction from him.

As Bridget and I move to the door at the end of my first executive-level meeting, Jordan again catches up and places a hand on my elbow, stopping me, and while his eyes are on mine, he speaks to Bridget.

“Please make sure Adeline finds her way to my office at two this afternoon. We’ll need to start hashing out a schedule.” His hand leaves my arm, and he exits without another word.

The entire way back to my minicube, Bridget talks a mile a minute. She’s shocked, as apparently everyone else in the room was as well, that Jordan brought me onto his project; she’s blown away by his obvious jabs at Vera, and though she doesn’t directly say it, her expression questions mine in curiosity about Jordan and his attention to me. I say nothing at all in response to the eye inquiry, but my curiosity is peaked as well. I guess when I told him to leave me alone, he had other things in mind, and while this brings a threat, there’s a longing and excitement as well. He’s blunt, confident, and without a shred of weakness, but his every action in that room was for my benefit in some way or another.

By two o’clock, I’m wired and nervous. When Bridget stops by my cubicle, I jump a foot and yelp in surprise. As I follow her through the maze of hallways toward the other building of Foster’s, my mouth goes dry and my breathing becomes shallow. She leads me to the open second floor and around to the back wall of the building, stopping outside an office. She knocks and enters, and it’s with great force I will my feet to move forward. Once within, I look slowly around, not wanting to meet his eyes. His office is large and nice. The back wall is original brick with an overlarge arched window that runs from the floor, peaking at the high ceiling above. His desk is simple and vintage. His drafting table is as vintage as his desk, and the office shows the same appreciation for old architecture as his home does. The color on the walls is warm tan, and the artwork is framed drafts of some of Chicago’s most notable features; I’m guessing the drafts are originals, and I would also guess this man has no patience or interest in knockoffs.

As Bridget is dismissed, I finally look to him, and as the door is closed behind Bridget, Jordan indicates the chair in front of his desk.

“So I see you’re getting along well with Vera.” He’s studying me.

“You’re one to talk.” I return the mild note of sarcasm, and at my words a small smile takes over his beautiful lips. He may intimidate, but he also sets my body on fire, and one look at his lips leaves me craving him. He was rude, offensive, and above all else, thoughtless and hurtful last week, but he wasn’t any of those things today, and I’m finding it far easier than it should be to set aside the hurt from last week. I have no choice really. If I hope to get out of this place with my GPA intact and my dignity as well, I have no choice but to figure out how to work with this man.

The meeting is quick as Jordan outlines the timeline we’ll be working on. The structure and layout of the condos is, for the most part, already complete in order to maintain as much of the original brick and windows as possible, but spatial planning and interior design will take up the majority of the project work. And as he reviews the different elements of the project in order of most time intensive to least, I comment.

“I thought you didn’t have time for micromanaging interns.” I regret the comment immediately, but as I look to his amused expression I calm in an instant.

“Perhaps I like the idea of micromanaging you.” With that, he dismisses me for the day with plans to visit the site the following morning.

Bringing Adeline onto my project was likely the stupidest choice I’ve ever made, and yet I’m more than ready to spend some one on one time with her. When she rejected me after our lunch, I was cursing myself for being such a prick, and I’d found no way to bridge the gap I’d created until our meeting. Vera disrespecting Adeline turned my blood to lava and gave me all the excuse I needed to take her away from Vera and put her firmly in my presence.

Inappropriate as my actions were, I at least now had a chance to fix the embarrassment I’d caused her during our lunch, or better stated, after our lunch when I lashed out. Even as I was reaching to her breast where I’d caught sight of the still attached size sticker, I could see her eyes widening and her breath hitching. She didn’t pull away. She wanted my touch, and while my body was responding as well and wanted nothing more than to stroke my finger over her nipple, my irritation from lunch and the challenge she’d given me pushed me to humiliate her. I regretted it instantly but didn’t realize until we’d arrived back at Foster’s just what pain I’d caused her, and now I’ve been obsessing about it for the past week.

When we arrive at the old warehouse that will become the trendiest new building in Lincoln Park and will be Adeline’s first project, we are met by Mark Lear. He is the developer who commissioned Foster’s for this particular restoration. His company, Trigg Enterprises, appreciates restoration rather than renovation with properties such as this, and I’ve always appreciated Mark’s enthusiasm for old architecture, but as soon as he looks to Adeline and then fails to look away from her, I suddenly hate him. For whatever reason, I’m jealous. All I want is to take her hand, pull her into my arms, kiss her sweet little mouth, whatever I need to do, quite frankly, to make it known to Mark she is off-limits. His gaze moves over her body in much the same way mine does, and as he studies her bottom, clothed in gray pinstripes that contour to the roundness of her cheeks, I want to punch him. When he pries her for personal information, I want to tell him to butt out, but I listen, hating him in my head.

Admittedly, I find out far more about her than I’ve managed on my own; Mark has no qualms with prying, whereas I’ve been reluctant to ask anything lest she realize just how interested I am to know about her. She’s from a small town in Iowa. She grew up out in the country on an acreage—not a farm. Her parents still live there, and she visits often. Her mother is an avid self-made decorator, and her father is retired from law enforcement. She’s an only child. The more I hear of her and the more my mental picture of who she is emerges, the more I want. It doesn’t really matter of course. She’s as off-limits for me as I want her to be for Mark, but it still hits like a punch to acknowledge this fact.

I want her. I don’t understand why, but I want her more than I’ve wanted anyone in an incredibly long time—since my ex-wife left me, I suppose. We were only married two years before she announced at dinner one night she was in love with another man. I’m not sure I even blamed her. I was young. I was driven. I was working the pace of a madman. She was neglected, and my neglect is what drove her away. After her, it was easier to just keep things casual, and now it’s seven years later, and the first sign of life is beating through my heart. I don’t know Adeline, but I crave her anyway. She’s far too young, she’s far too innocent for an asshole like me, but I want her to belong to me, I want to protect her and fight for her, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out why.

She’s beautiful. Her curves are subtle and very womanly. She is nothing like the sophisticates I’m constantly surrounded by, and for some reason this draws me to her more. I believed her when she proclaimed her intelligence at lunch in desperation to gain a foothold with me. She’s intelligent; she wouldn’t have made it to Foster’s otherwise, but beyond that I see it in her. She’s feisty, but reserved. She’s unsure of herself, but proud as well, and she leaves me wanting to boost her and propel her forward in her life. I have no doubt she doesn’t need my help to succeed, but I want to be a part of her success anyway, and as my gaze trails after her as she walks with Mark, my body shivers in need to be close to her.

When we reach one of the condos under construction with the construction company we contract for our restorations, we stop in what will be the kitchen. This is her show now, and I stand back watching. She’s nibbling on her lower lip as she looks around. Her sketchpad is in her hand, and I’m rolling out the blueprints on a nearby workbench as she continues to inspect the space. When she approaches the workbench and starts looking over the drafts I’ve brought, she makes notes and writes dimensions and measurements. I can smell her subtle scent, and I want to touch her. Mark is still watching her like a hungry dog, but I’m zoned in on just her now. She knows her way around blueprints, and within moments she has the rudimentary shape of the room sketched out. It’s up to her to design the most functional and aesthetic layout of cabinetry and appliances, and it’s up to me to make it happen from a logistics standpoint. I’ve defined the room, she just has to fit her design within my shape; it’s such a perfect team effort and not one I usually appreciate so much as I do in this moment.

Watching her is intoxicating, and I nearly forget Mark is still present until his unwelcome voice interrupts the silence. He’s excusing himself to check on the progress of the construction, and as he leaves us in peace at last her eyes find mine watching her hungrily. She stills in an instant at the expression on my face. I’m making her nervous, and she has no idea my expression isn’t harsh in a bad way, but rather harsh in a sexually dominating fantasy sort of way. I force a gentle smile on my lips that are begging for her mouth, and as she returns to her work I continue to watch her.

Fifteen minutes later, she has a layout sketched. It’s good and exactly what I hoped to see, and I’m now excited to get her to the samples room to see where she takes her layout. We move on to the two bathrooms to tackle the layout there as well, and when we finally return to the workbench and the blueprints she starts reviewing her measurements. As I approach the bench, I stand beside her and breathe in her scent deeply. She’s wearing the same perfume I’ve come to recognize, and I study her hands as she continues to work. They’re small and delicate, her fingernails short, clean, and unpainted. She wears only one ring on the thumb of her left hand, and it looks antique. Those very hands caressed my body into a frenzy only two weeks ago, and I still remember her touch so clearly. She was hesitant but trying so hard to hide her fear. Her first grasp on my cock nearly had me begging to fuck her, and as her palm stroked up my length and her eyes studied my body, I felt more ecstasy than women with a hundred times her experience have shown me.

As Mark rejoins us, I chastise him in my head once again for interrupting us. He asks us to lunch, and I decline before Adeline has a chance to respond, but once we’re back on the road I take us to a nearby quiet hole-in-the-wall café. She smirks as I help her from the car, and I comment drily, “Shut up. I changed my mind.”