The Design (17 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Amount
saved for Paris
: $1382 (minus the $98.99 I spent at the small boutique I passed on the way to drinks. The mannequin in the window was wearing a pair of ankle boots I needed for Paris.
Needed
.).

Items I have
: #ankleboots.

Items I need
: An outfit to wear with my new awesome #ankleboots.

French phrases that I know
:
Mon père est Liam Neeson, alors ne me prend pas.

…which translates to “My dad is Liam Neeson, so don’t take me!” I figure it’s a pretty important phrase to have in my arsenal.

Brooklyn picked a swanky bar for our happy hour. I could practically feel my wallet shrinking as I walked through the frosted glass entryway. The bar was on the bottom floor of a high-end LA hotel and there were two separate sides. Normal people were filtered in on the left, and celebrities, moguls, and rock stars entered in on the right. I belonged on the left side without a doubt, but Jason and Brooklyn were far from normal. They weren’t even in the normal VIP section. She’d texted me to let me know that they were in some kind of secluded VIP area—even fancier and more badass than the normal one.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” a bouncer asked as I tried to enter the special VIP section. I’d had no problem making it past the first round of bouncers. I had that skinny model look going on, mostly because asshole Alan never left me enough time to eat actual meals (
and when I did manage to sneak away, I spent the time boning my boss in the driver’s seat of his swanky car
). I’d also unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse after leaving work just for some added incentive.

“Sure," I replied. “I’m here to see my sister, Brooklyn Heart.”

The bouncer scoffed and gestured to his buddy next to him like
“Get a load of this crazy fangirl.”

The bouncer pointed behind me, toward the exit. “Yeah,
okay
. You need to head back to the front. If it makes you feel any better, you made it farther than most."

I huffed and then redialed Brooklyn’s number for the thirtieth time.              

“Oh, weird, maybe she changed her number,” the other bouncer mimicked in a girlish tone, before punching his buddy playfully.

“That’s the funniest thing you could come up with?” I asked them with a harsh glare right before I hit redial
again
.

By some miracle, she finally answered.

“Are you here?!” Brooklyn asked.

“Yeah, butthead. Come let me in. These bouncers don’t believe that I’m VIP-worthy. They even think my 'Cameron Heart' driver's license is fake—I don't even know how to get a fake ID.”

“Assholes. Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

I hung up and crossed my arms, trying to come up with the best possible thing to say as soon as Brooklyn showed up. If it were the mid 90s, I would have thrown out a classic “Whasssuppp suckers!” but that didn’t feel cool enough for the current decade.

“Cammie!” Brooklyn sang as she pushed through the thick black curtain that concealed the VIP-VIP section from the rest of the club. She looked beautiful in a fitted sky blue dress and matching heels. Her long blonde hair swished back and forth as she walked closer and her lips were split into a giant smile aimed right at me. Every club-goer within a ten-foot radius completely freaked out when they caught a glimpse of her. Cell phones were whipped out and flashes started to blind me as they tried to snap a quick picture of her. Brooklyn was completely unfazed by the attention; I would have had a nervous meltdown.

“Boys,” Brooklyn began as she placed her hand on one of the bouncer’s shoulders. “This is my sister, Cammie. She shall pass, so quit giving her the Gandalf treatment.”

The bouncers looked back at me with wide, shocked expressions. As I walked past them, I settled for a self-righteous smile because I didn’t think “
That’s right, motherfuckers
,” would have gone over well. I mean, altogether the bouncers weighed the amount of a small army tank; there was no reason to taunt them.

As soon as I crossed through the red rope, Brooklyn wrapped me up in a massive hug.

"She shall pass? Since when do you watch Lord of the Rings?" I asked.

“Jason and I may have been procrastinating on our album all week.  Besides, Orlando Bloom is hot.  Speaking of looking good, Sis,” she said, holding me at arm’s length. “Is that a new work outfit?”

I laughed and glanced down at my fitted cream blouse and navy blue skirt. “You bought it for me. You should know.”

“I have such good taste,” she winked. “Let’s go wet your whistle.”

She pulled me after her, deep into the center of the VIP section. The lights were low and the music was seductive and dark, with heavy bass reverberating around the room. It felt like I was stepping into an underground lair, especially when I caught sight of one of the bartenders sporting bright neon pink hair.

A massive black bar with a mirrored tile backsplash spread out against an entire wall of the room. We’d just made it to the far edge to order a drink when I caught a whiff of what I swore was Grayson’s aftershave.
It had to be
.

I turned to scan the bar, trying to find him. I hadn’t seen him since he’d left for his meeting earlier and I wasn’t convinced that he’d actually show up for drinks. Yet, there he was, standing next to Jason and another man I didn’t recognize. The three men were all leaning against the bar, chatting and sipping their drinks.

Jason was facing away from me, but I could still see his leather jacket and worn jeans. Grayson was still in his tailored suit from earlier. Jason’s hair was ruffled and wild, but Grayson’s coal black hair was slicked back away from his face—ever the perfect businessman. They were so similar, yet polar opposites in many ways.

“Cammie!” Brooklyn said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. I assumed she’d been calling my name for the last few seconds while I’d been admiring the guys.

“Sorry. What’s up?”

She eyed me curiously. “What do you want to drink?”

“Just whatever you’re having,” I said before glancing back over her shoulder. The boys had spotted us at the bar and three pair of eyes locked on me as I glanced over. Jason waved animatedly. The blonde stranger next to him smiled, and Grayson held up his glass in a silent salute, a private smirk already there, waiting for me.

I loved seeing him outside of work, in a dark room with people too busy to care if he and I wandered off together. My mind worked overtime to create scenarios where we could sneak away from the group. Maybe I could ask him to mentor me on the project we were working on and then he could mentor me in the bar’s restroom.

Yeah, that sounded pretty good.

“Here ya go,” Brooklyn said, holding out a small colorful drink for me. An orange slice was perched on the rim and when I took a sip to test it out, my tongue practically danced with excitement.

“This is amazing!” I said, clinking my glass with hers.

She laughed and started to head toward the guys. “It is, but it has a ton of alcohol in it, so be careful.”

We wove through the young Hollywood crowd with our drinks and I tried to stay as close to Brooklyn as possible. In the two minutes it took us to reach the guys, I saw three movie stars, two famous singers, and a notorious heiress who’d leaked her own sex tape not three weeks before. They all looked like they’d been partying for hours and it was hardly 6:00 pm.
The life of the rich and famous.

“Cammie’s here!” Brooklyn called out as we joined the group.

“Finally!” Jason cheered, holding out his drink so that he and I could do a little cheers.

“Whattup, J-money,” I quipped.

“Not much C-money,” Jason joked back.

Brooklyn made a show of rolling her eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “Can’t you guys go back to hating each other? The rapper names need to go.”

I winked at Jason. “She’s just jellin'.”

Grayson laughed and stepped forward, reaching a hand out as if to formally shake mine.

“Good to see you, Cameron,” he said with a wicked grin.

I took his hand and narrowed my eyes, trying to keep up with our act. Our hands bobbed up and down for much longer than necessary, but his hand was strong and I didn’t feel like pulling away.

“Seriously?! He still calls you Cameron? God Gray, you sound like a high school principal,” Brooklyn complained as she tried to pry apart our hands.

Great, now I'll have enough fantasy scenarios to last a lifetime.

“Maybe your sister likes how I act around her, Brooklyn,” Grayson quipped with enough hidden meaning to make me blush.

“Alright enough, you two,” I said, letting go of Grayson’s hand and glancing toward the fifth person in our group: the blonde man.

“Oh, sorry for that embarrassing introduction. I’m Cammie,” I said with a polite smile.

Jason reached a hand around the blonde guy’s shoulders and tugged him closer.              

“Duh, why didn’t we introduce you guys first? You’re the reason we’re here in the first place!”

“Oh my gosh!” Brooklyn said. “We’re terrible at this.”

I frowned, confused.
Terrible at what?

“Cammie, this is Stuart, my accountant,” Jason continued. “We invited him today so that you guys could meet.”

Oh, Jesus.

Combined, Brooklyn and Jason had the subtlety of a screeching banshee. They basically sounded like they were my pimps. I smiled awkwardly at Stuart and shook his hand quickly, realizing that I’d majorly messed up. I’d completely forgotten about asking Brooklyn to set me up with someone. I guess I thought she’d never actually get around to it.

Welp, she
had
gotten around to it and now I was in for the most awkward happy hour of my life. It almost sounded like the punch line of a bad joke: so my sister, her rockstar boyfriend, the boss I’m secretly sleeping with, and an accountant walk into a bar...

Oy vey
. Fortunately, Stuart seemed equally annoyed with the way Jason had introduced him. He stepped forward and straightened his shoulders, trying to smooth out the awkward transition. All in all, he was pretty good looking. He had clean cut blonde hair, a strong jaw, and cute, black-framed glasses.             

“As Jason said, I’m his accountant,” Stuart said with a proud smile as he assessed me, much the same way I’d just done to him.

Wow, an accountant. Be still my quivering loins…

“Cool. So you like numbers?” I asked, trying to make polite conversation.

Stuart smiled and adjusted his glasses, but before he could reply, Grayson cut in, “So Stu, do y—”

“Uh, I actually prefer Stuart,” he replied.

“Stuart.” Grayson punctuated the end of his name with a touch of annoyance. “Do you think you can handle a girl like Cammie?” He asked the question with an innocent smile as he tipped his drink in my direction. Both of his dimples were on display, which meant that poor Stuart basically didn’t even exist to me anymore.

“Grayson! Jeez, cool it.  Nobody likes a cranky fifth wheel,” Brooklyn chimed in.

I suppressed a snort and Grayson held up his hands in protest. “It was a joke. I just happen to know firsthand that Cammie can be quite feisty when she wants to be.”

At once, Brooklyn, Stuart, and I replied.

“What?!” I asked.

“And how would you know?” Brooklyn glared.

Stuart smiled. “I’m sure I can manage.”

Jason cut the tension by passing us a round of shots, which I pretended to take, but instead placed on the table behind me. I needed to have all of my cylinders firing during this hangout if I hoped to make it through. Having Stuart, Grayson, and Brooklyn in one room was a recipe for disaster.

“So Grayson, how do you know Cammie?” Stuart said, inching toward me in a clearly territorial move. His hand fell against the table behind me, so he wasn’t exactly touching me, but the message was loud and clear.

“She’s a friend,” Grayson answered, taking a slow sip of his drink while his eyes locked with mine.
A friend?
I quirked an eyebrow and smiled, knowing he’d be able to tell what I was thinking.

“Also Cammie works at Grayson’s architecture firm,” Brooklyn clarified with a peculiar glare in Grayson’s direction.

He grinned. “That too.”

“Oh, really? I’d imagine it’s pretty awkward seeing your boss out at a bar,” Stuart said, turning to me for backup.

Grayson’s blue gaze focused on me. “Interesting. What about you, Cammie? Do you feel awkward with me here?”

I was going to slowly and torturously murder him later. Like kill him using finger nail clippers so that it took one hundred hours. He deserved it. Also, sorry for the imagery, that’s disgusting.

I shrugged. “I’ve been to worse happy hours.”