The Design (13 page)

“We are actually heading back in two weeks.” Her puppy dog eyes weren’t enough to cover up that shocker.

“Are you serious? For how long?”

Jason left the stove to join Brooklyn. He wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her in close.

“Not for too long, Cammie. It’s just that Brooklyn goes on tour in a few months and we have to have the album finalized before she leaves. Montana is the best place for us to focus on our music.”

Jason. Beautiful rock star Jason with broccoli in his hair. I couldn’t be mad at him.

My sister?
Now,
she
I could be mad at.

“How could you not have told me before now?”

She blanched. “We just finalized the details earlier this week. I know you have so much going on right now and I didn’t want to add anything to your plate before I knew what was happening.”

For a second I thought about arguing with her or maybe forcing her to stay with me in LA, but then I realized that I couldn’t truly be mad at her. I had this giant secret brewing behind the scenes. A secret that was MUCH worse than her going to write in Montana with her boyfriend.

Brooklyn had no clue that I wanted to go to Paris and if I had any hope of her continuing to speak to me after I hopped on that international flight, then I knew I needed to cut her some slack about heading to Montana.
Y’know, lead by example and all that.

“You know what? Fine, you can go,” I said before pointing to where I’d set her blouse down. “But, I’m keeping that shirt.”

Chapter Fifteen

It was impossible to concentrate at work on Monday. I’d had an entire weekend to recreate, dissect, downplay, and fantasize about what had happened between Grayson and me in the stairwell. I hadn’t spoken with him since that day, but happy hour was just a few short hours away and we’d definitely face each other then. I could hardly wait. I worked through lunch, ensuring that every single task Alan put on my desk would be completed by 4:59 pm at the latest. I didn’t have time to worry about Grayson’s whereabouts in the office if I hoped to leave work on time. I even caught the scent of his aftershave a few times but I resisted the temptation to turn around. Instead, I kept my face down and pressed on, finalizing sketches and handing them off to Alan with lightning speed.

As the office clock struck 4:50 pm, I initialed the final sketches Alan had requested for the day and smiled.
All done
. I straightened up my desk, packed up my things, and signed out of my computer. My excitement was starting to brim over and I knew that Peter could tell. He’d shot me curious glances all day, but I just shrugged them off, feigning random cheerfulness.
Was it a crime to love your job?

“All done?” Peter asked with a bemused smile.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Some of us know how to get our work done,” I joked.

Alan perked up and glanced over at my desk. I expected a “good job” or at least a nod in my direction. Instead, he raised his brow and reached for a crate beneath his desk.

“I’m glad you finished. These sketches you completed a few days ago are all off. The measurements you used weren’t correct. I need you to redo them and have them ready for me in the morning.”

He dropped the crate onto my desk with a thud and my mouth dropped.

No. No, he couldn’t possibly do that to me.

“You gave me the measurements I was supposed to use. I double checked each sketch,” I argued, reaching for the paper at the very top of the stack, more than sure of myself.

Alan rolled his eyes. “Yes, but the measurements changed. We just got word from the engineering team. So change it. The new stats are written on a post-it note in there.”

He motioned to the crate and then turned back to his work, leaving me to my own personal hell. I stared in disbelief at the sketches that would keep me at the office well past the end of happy hour. I should have known Alan would find some way to screw up my plans. After all, making me miserable was his number one goal in life.

“Can’t she do them tomorrow, Alan? We have that work happy hour at five,” Peter spoke up.

I shot him an appreciative smile.

“Happy hour? Are you kidding me, Peter? These sketches take precedence over getting drunk. You of all people should realize that.”

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, fighting with himself over whether to speak up or drop the subject all together. I decided to step in before he took the fall for me.

“It’s fine. I’ll get them done, Alan.”

And I would. I cared about this job and I cared about impressing Alan too much to worry about some happy hour.
So what if Hannah would get a chance to hangout with Grayson while I was tethered to my desk? So what if they would laugh and have a good time while I worked on dumb sketches that didn’t even matter?

So what?

That’s the mantra I kept repeating to myself as I watched Peter and the rest of the architects pack up for the day. Hannah and her table-mates chatted as they stood and collected their things. I caught a glimpse of her outfit before she left: a tight black dress she’d hidden beneath a loose jacket all day.

I sighed as I turned back to my work, spreading the sketches out in front of me so I could count how many more I had to go through.

“Want me to stay with you? We could hammer them out pretty quickly together,” Peter offered with a timid smile that told me he really hoped I would say no.

“Nah, you go on ahead. Have a beer for me,” I said with the biggest smile I could muster.

…

My phone buzzed on my desk just as I’d finished up the first half of the sketches.

Hannah
: OMG. Having so much fun! Where are you? We just did an office shot!

Before I could stop it, the image of Grayson taking a body shot off Hannah played out in my mind with HD clarity.

Was he there with her?
He wasn’t in his office but I hadn’t seen him leave either.

My phone buzzed again and I glanced down to see another text from Hannah. This time she’d attached a selfie of her holding up a shot to her mouth, ready to down it.

“Fuck,” I murmured under my breath.

I glanced back down to my pile of sketches. I had so much work left to do, but all I wanted to do was leave.

Alan’s phone rang, jarring my attention toward his desk. I hated the fact that he’d stayed late with me. If he wasn’t there, I’d have already left and just come back to the office at the butt crack of dawn to finish the sketches.

“What do you want, Suzie?” he barked into the phone.

Whelp, good to know he’s pleasant to everyone in his life.

“Are you kidding? You expect me to help you with the kids whenever it’s convenient for you?”

I stayed stock-still as he continued yelling at the person on the other end of the line.

“No,” he argued. “You claimed full custody so you could keep them from me. I’m not going to help you out now.”

Oh jeez. Alan was nothing but a shrewd asshole to me, but from what it sounded like, he was dealing with quite a lot at home. I should have known something was going on with him. No one is as rude as he was for no reason.

“Dammit, Suzie. Fine. I’m on my way.”

He slammed his phone back onto his desk and shoved his chair back.

I peered hesitantly up at him, confused about how to proceed.

“Do you, um, do you want me to finish up that stuff for you too?” I asked, pointing to the papers on his desk.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“No. It’s fine. Just head home.”

He sounded completely defeated and I hated it. It was easy to deal with asshole Alan. I could silently curse him in my head and move on with my life, but this sad, depressed version of Alan? It was unchartered territory.

“Okay, well. Goodnight,” I said, offering him a timid smile.

He ignored me, already en route to the elevators.

As soon as he was gone, I reached for my phone and shot Hannah a text.

Cammie
: I’m on my way! Save me a shot!

I stood up and slipped my nude heels back on, then pulled off my blazer. On the way down in the elevator, I touched up my makeup and let my hair down from a clip so that it framed my face and brushed against my bare back.

I couldn’t wait to see Grayson’s face when I walked into the bar.

…

Just as I’d suspected, Pat O’ Keefe’s was just a few blocks away from Cole Designs. Its location paired with their happy hour specials (which were long gone by the time I got there at 8:00 pm) drew in a young urbanite crowd. I was making my way along the bar when a group of rowdy men wearing football jerseys sitting atop bar stools threw their arms up and erupted in cheers. The largest guy of them all nearly knocked my head off while he was celebrating but I ducked out of way just in time.

“Oh shit!” the man said, spinning around to face me. His brows instantly rose in interest. “Ah! I’m sorry about that. Let me buy you a drink,” he said, reaching out for my hand. His friends all catcalled and it was clear that they were all three sheets to the wind. I smiled good-naturedly and kept right on walking. I’d already lost enough time with Grayson as it was.

As I made my way farther into the bar, I finally spotted Peter’s wild red hair near a row of dartboards in the back. He was in a sea of architects from our firm. Thirty to forty people were crammed together. Drinks were sloshing and laughter drowned out the rock music playing in the background. My blouse—sans blazer—warranted a few lingering gazes as I stepped up to the group, but I brushed it off.
They’re shoulders people, everyone has them.

“CAMMIE!” Hannah yelled over the crowd.

I turned to find her with the other new hires, Christoph and Nathan, who I’d hardly managed to speak to since starting the job. When I joined the group they both squinted as if trying to place me.
Oh my god, they didn’t even remember me.

“Cammie,” I said, holding my hand to my chest, reminding them of my name. They both visibly relaxed when I saved them from awkwardly having to pretend to know me.

“Let’s take a shot,” Hannah said, reaching out for my hand so she could drag me closer to the bar.

A shot sounded like a terrible idea, but I didn’t want to be a party pooper, especially since it was a miracle that I was at happy hour to begin with. I let Hannah drag me through the crowd and I trailed after her, all the while spinning my head to find Grayson. He was there somewhere. He said he would be. I wanted to ask Hannah about it, but saying his name to her seemed like a bad omen. Especially since she’d lied—or “
embellished”—
the fact that he’d invited her here.

“Dude, you missed all the action. Some guy from the accounting department took seven shots in a row and then threw up everywhere.”

Wow. Sounds wonderful.

“Huh, that’s crazy,” I said, unable to hide the boredom in my voice.

“Yeah. And turns out Grayson is a no-show. So lame!”

I snapped my head back to her. “What? I thought you said he invited you?” I asked with a gentle tone. It was as close as I was going to get to calling her out on her lie. I mean, I did still have to live with the girl, after all.

She shrugged off my question and turned to slap her hand down onto the bar.

“Bartender! We’ve been waiting forever!” she snapped.

I cringed and shot an apologetic smile to everyone casting us annoyed glances.

“Bartender!” she yelled again.

I took a step away from her so that people wouldn’t associate us as friends, but she didn’t even notice.

“You want a straight whiskey shot or something else? We can get one of those buttery nipple things?” she asked, slurring her words more and more by the second.

I glanced around the bar to confirm Grayson’s absence, but she was right. He wasn’t there.

“You know what? I don’t feel that great. Why don’t you keep hanging out with the other guys? I’m going to head back to the apartment.”

“What? BOOOOO. You suck,” she said, reaching out to push me. She probably meant it to be a light, playful move, but I lost my footing and bumped into the waiter walking behind me, spilling one of his cocktails in the process. Red liquid spilled over the edge of his tray and soaked the front of his white shirt.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed before turning back to Hannah to see if she saw the damage she’d just caused.

No. She was already bending over the bar, stealing another shot and flirting with the bartender.

I rolled my eyes, apologized to the server again, left the bartender a hefty tip, and then walked out of the bar.

Grayson wasn’t at happy hour. I hadn’t talked to him all day and I was now officially experiencing withdrawal symptoms: shaking (probably due to the fact that I had no blazer on and it was chilly outside), fatigue (sure, maybe I was tired because I woke up early), and irritability (probably owing that to drunk Hannah more than anything).

As I walked home, I imagined the various reasons why Grayson had skipped the happy hour. Maybe he was busy with a client or doing something else for work… or maybe he was back with Nicole?

Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

I couldn’t help but imagine the entire scene in full detail. She had probably arrived at his apartment wearing some kind of skimpy outfit and then forced him to let her in. She’d probably found a way to convince him to let her stay and then they’d had raucous makeup sex all over his what-I-assume-to-be-badass apartment.

I stabbed my keycard into my apartment building and pulled the door open. The metal handle hit the concrete wall with a dull thud, but I didn’t care. The concrete was the least of my worries.

I’d gone to happy hour for Grayson—just like I’d done so many things for Grayson over the last few weeks—and he hadn’t even been there.

Why wasn’t he there?

“Cammie?”