The Design (18 page)

The group laughed good-naturedly and I thought for a second that the situation might work out… and then Stuart decided to ruin the moment. He turned toward me and stepped closer so that we were cut off from the rest of the group.

Oh no he didn’t.

“So tell me about yourself, Cammie,” he said with a gentle smile.

Was I supposed to list off my horoscope or something?

“Oh, um, well,” I kept on mumbling as I tried to peer around him and catch Grayson’s eye.

Stuart moved with me and blocked my path, obviously aware of what I was doing.

“Have you always lived in LA?” he asked, filling in the silence for me.

I sighed and took a sip of my drink. If he wanted to talk, I’d talk to him. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice. I answered Stuart with bland details as he asked me question after question. All the while, I also tried to hear what Jason was talking about with Grayson.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” Jason asked.

ACCOUNTANT, PLEASE BE QUIET SO I CAN HEAR GRAYSON’S REPLY.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve just been—” I heard the first part of Grayson’s answer before Stuart’s voice cut in.             

“I’ve just always had a knack for numbers,” Stuart said. “Ever since I was a kid. I remember doing the 'million dollar' project in school and using it to buy a fictional laundromat. I was the only one to spend the money on a business that would make money in return!”

Oh my god, so he's not just a boring adult, he's been boring since he was a kid.

I leaned closer to where Jason and Grayson were chatting, trying to hear their conversation.

“Did you hear about the match-up for Sunday’s game?” Grayson asked.

No.
Noooooooo
. I’d missed his answer.
C’mon!

“That’s so great, Stuart,” Brooklyn said, cutting in before I made a complete fool of myself. “Cammie always had a knack for drawing. When she was little she’d carry around a sketchpad with her everywhere,” Brooklyn said, basically carrying the conversation for me.

“How neat. I always wish that I could draw, but I never learned how,” Stuart said, trying to catch my gaze. "Even my stick figures are terrible!"

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I didn’t want to talk to Stuart and who knew when I’d get another chance to be in a bar with Grayson. I excused myself for a bathroom break then sought out the first bartender I could find.

“Can I do the thing where I send a drink to a guy and you give him a napkin that has a sexy message on it?”

The bartender scanned me once, feet to chest.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he said, taking a step closer.

I held up my hand. “Jeez, alright. My eyes are up here.”

He chuckled and pulled out a pad of paper. “Who do you want me to send a drink to?”

I pointed Grayson out for him and he nodded.

“And what drink?”

Oh damn, I’d forgotten to check what Grayson was drinking. Did it matter?

“Is there some kind of sexy drink you usually send?”

His laughed. “None that a guy would drink.”

I groaned. “Whatever, just give him a drink with this note. I don’t care what it is.” I took a pen out of my purse and jotted down the sexiest thing I could think of. Three simple words that hinted at so much more.

Come find me.

Chapter Twenty

I stood in a dark hallway of the bar waiting for Grayson. Black and gold filigreed paper masked the walls. Ornate gold light fixtures hung from the ceiling and five doors dotted the hallway, each leading into small private bathrooms. I blocked the last door at the end of the hallway. People trailed in and out of the other rooms, seemingly unconcerned with my presence. I watched two girls stumble out from behind a closed door, giggling and supporting one another as best as possible. One of them fell against the wall, her blonde hair spilling down around her face as her friend tried to keep her from slipping down onto the black marbled floor.

I was watching them when Grayson turned the corner and came into view at the end of the dark hallway. Dark sleek hair. Sharp, defined jaw. Straight nose, strong brows, and a predatory look aimed right at me.

I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my skirt and then slid them up, crossing and uncrossing them for lack of a better pose. The lounge’s seductive music seemed to pick up, the beat of a kick drum matching each of Grayson’s steps as he approached me.

His narrowed eyes proved he was more than prepared to take me up on the challenge I’d penned for him. When he was a few feet away he pulled his hands out of his pockets and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

He passed by the drunk girls without so much as a side glance and then his gaze met mine. As he stepped closer, I realized the full extent of what I’d begun by sending him that note.

“Skipping out on your blind date already?” Grayson asked. At once he wrapped a hand around my neck and used his other to turn the door handle behind me so that we fell back into the small bathroom. “That's not very ladylike.”

We stumbled, entwined together. I closed the door behind us and he locked it.

Click
.

The audible confirmation of what we were about to do.

He walked me back to the edge of the black sink and I glanced around the room. For a bathroom, it was covertly sexy. It’s like they
wanted
couples to sneak away into them. The black marble floor and decorative wallpaper continued into the room, but the lighting was even dimmer, casting a romantic yellow haze over the two of us.

We were right up against the sink when Grayson spun me around to face the mirror. I was sandwiched between the countertop and Grayson, and when I glanced up into the antique mirror, I caught sight of us together for the first time. Grayson was right: I didn't seem very ladylike. My dark brown hair fell around my shoulders. My blouse was pulled tight over my chest, revealing a sliver of my pink lacy bra. My eyeliner and mascara had smudged around my eyes, giving me a mysterious, dangerous glow.
My darker side was showing
.

Grayson’s height made it so the top of my head fell just beneath his chin.

“Do you realize how much of a tease you are? Walking around my office in outfits like this everyday?”

I managed to shake my head no, mesmerized by his words.

“Every time I see you, I want to spread your legs just like this.”

His left dress shoe hit my designer heel and then he kicked it out so that my knees buckled. His hand reached out to hold me up as I secured my footing with my feet spread much wider than they’d been just a second before.

I shot him an annoyed glance and he squeezed my hip as reassurance. The smirk he wore proved he enjoyed sweeping my feet out from under me, literally and figuratively.

“They’ll be able to hear us in the hallway,” he said, pushing my pencil skirt up around my hips.

I bit my lip and gripped the counter even tighter. I watched my knuckles turn white as he shimmied my panties down past my hips. I had to pull my feet back together so that the lace could slide down, but the second they were gone I moved back to how he’d placed me a moment before. The low groan he emitted told me I’d done the right thing.

A new, seductive song kicked on in the lounge as he unbuckled his belt.

I swallowed slowly, nerves starting to get the better of me as his palm slid up the back of my thigh. He left goose bumps as his touch trailed higher and I tried my hardest to watch it all happen in the mirror. It was hard, though, to confront your deepest desires head on. I’d never done anything like this with anyone, let alone with someone like Grayson.

“Can you see my hand in the mirror, Cammie?” he asked as he touched the center of my thighs.

The mirror cut off just a few inches above my hips so I pressed up onto my tiptoes and nodded.

I could see it all.

“Keeping watching,” he said as he brushed a finger over my skin.

My knees threatened to buckle.

The music grew louder.

My moans matched his.

I squeezed my eyes closed and he told me to open them, to watch.

My stomach pressed against cold marble.

His hands dug into my hips as he held me in place.

Someone rapped on the bathroom door, and we completely ignored them.

He pressed into me in one quick thrust and I nearly lost my footing.

He held onto me tighter, keeping me in place.

We moved with the music. My heart matched the beat.

I pushed my hips back to meet his and his eyes rolled closed.

When I cried out some time later, Grayson bit down on my earlobe and whispered, “I found you just like your note asked… but now I think I’ll keep you here all for myself.”

…

“Are you kidding me right now?! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!?” Brooklyn yelled.

I took a step back, holding my hands up in defense. If I hadn’t been two drinks in, I would have been looking for some kind of escape route. Alas, I had to face Brooklyn’s fury head on.

“You need to calm down. It is not that big of a deal,” I said—obviously the
best
thing to say to an angry person.

We’d gone back to Brooklyn’s apartment after happy hour. Jason had stepped out a few minutes earlier to get us ice cream, per my request, and some more wine, per Brooklyn’s request. We didn’t have long to talk before he returned, but she’d asked me where I’d gone in the middle of happy hour and I’d decided to tell her the truth.

Now I was regretting it.

“Not a big deal! Not a big deal? You’re sleeping with Grayson Cole. Grayson! In the middle of a bar bathroom.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you don’t stop yelling, I’m locking you in the bathroom until you calm down.”

She paced around the center of her kitchen island, oscillating between calm and crazy. Every few seconds she’d reach for something on the counter—a knife, an empty bottle of wine, some chocolate—then stop mid-grab, realizing that none of those things would help our situation.
Unless, of course, she wanted to stab me.
Which would really put a damper on our sistership.

I met her halfway around her fifth lap of the kitchen island and gripped her shoulders so she couldn’t move.

“Okay.” I said, trying to meet her eye. “Okay. I’m really, really sorry. I really regret having sex with Grayson and will try and purge all of the sexy images from my mind.” By the end of my heartfelt apology, I had a dopy smile on my face.

She pointed at that smile and groaned. “You’re not sorry! Jeez, Cammie. That’s so reckless… and fine, yes, it’s actually quite hot, so I can’t really get mad at you about that, but still! I’m mad at you for ditching Stuart like that.”

"C'mon, did you hear him? His childhood dream was to own a laundromat for Christ's sake," I moaned.

“It doesn't matter, Cammie. You should have told me to cancel on Stuart or something.”

“I didn’t know you were even going to bring him! And don’t worry about him, he has that Clark Kent look. He’ll be fine. But dear god, he needs to get a new job. I’ve never met a sexy accountant. No one wants a guy to balance their budgets.”

The door opened at that moment and a smiling, naive Jason walked in holding two paper grocery bags.

“Cammie, they were out of that gelato stuff that you like, so I grabbed a bunch of other stuff,” he explained, dropping the bags onto the counter and rifling through the contents. He pulled out a pint of ice cream and held it up for my examination.

“Oh, that looks awes—”

“Cammie doesn’t deserve ice cream. She DEFINITELY doesn’t deserve Triple Chocolate Fudge ice cream,” Brooklyn interrupted with a snotty glance.

Jason frowned, slowly dropping the pint onto the counter.

“Brooklyn doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I replied. “She forgets that I'm an adult, and as such, I can stick my spoon in any pint of ice cream that I wish.”

I flipped my sister off—because that’s what adults do—and then walked out of her apartment with the ice cream in hand. It was one of the finest exits I’ve ever pulled off, and there was a bonus: I had a pint of ice cream to eat as I walked home.

It was a fifteen minute walk—ten if I was really stepping on it—so I dipped into the Chinese restaurant next to Brooklyn’s condo, stole some chopsticks, and ate my ice cream as best as I could using a sort of “flick it into my mouth and hope my aim is right” technique.

As if I wasn’t juggling enough things with my hands already, I dialed Grayson’s number when I was halfway home.

He answered right away.

“How’s Brooklyn’s?” he asked, skipping right past the formal hello.

“I’m not at her place. I’m walking back to mine,” I said, flicking some ice cream toward my mouth and missing by a long shot. I turned behind me to see where it landed, only to find a trail of melting ice cream on the sidewalk.
Whoopsies
.

“You’re walking home? It’s eleven at night.”

“Don’t worry, I have ice cream and chopsticks,” I said, only half joking.

He groaned and I could visualize him doing that thing where he tugged his hair as if exasperated by my existence in general.

“Could you come pick me up and take me to your place?” I asked, digging my chopsticks into the melting slush.

I could hear rustling clothes in the background, the buckling of a belt, and then keys sliding off of a table.

“Where are you?” he asked.

I rattled off the cross streets and then hung up so I could eat my ice cream in peace.

Brooklyn’s condo was in a very ritzy part of Los Angeles, so I wasn’t worried about sitting alone on a stoop at night, but when Grayson pulled up—looking like Batman in his dark gray sports car I might add—he didn’t seem to agree with me.

He hopped out of the car, leaving the engine quietly purring, and walked around to meet me. He had on a pair of worn jeans and a white undershirt. I’d never seen him so dressed down and one of my chopsticks drooped midway to my mouth when he stepped closer.
Hello, Grayson Cole.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” I smiled up at him.

He ignored me, taking in my appearance and the chopsticks in my hands.

“I shouldn’t have let you go home with Brooklyn,” he said, reaching for the chopsticks and ice cream so that he could toss them into a garbage bin near by. I didn’t argue; I’d already downed most of the pint and my stomach was starting to protest the random contents I’d consumed in the past twelve hours.

He turned to help me back up, secured my hands in his, and led me to the car. I could have walked by myself, I wasn’t drunk or anything, but it felt good to have him there to support me nonetheless.

I was chatty during the drive, anxious to see where he lived and giddy that I would get to rifle through his things, maybe even learn a thing or two about him that he hadn't yet revealed to me. (I was betting he had a weird CD collection. Closet One Direction fan, maybe?) But, if I’d been paying attention to his route, I would have realized that he wasn’t directing us to his place, he was taking me back to mine.

My apartment building was deserted when we pulled up. Grayson killed the engine and I sat for a moment, studying the entrance as I grasped for an appropriate thing to say. I’d asked him to take me to his place and he’d driven me back home.
Wasn’t that a bad thing?
It definitely felt like a rejection.

“Thanks for picking me up,” I said, turning toward him for a brief moment before reaching for the door handle—which I could now operate on my own, thank you very much.

“Next time call me
before
you start walking around alone at night,” he said, reaching to slide his hand beneath my hair and up around my neck. The warmth of his palm sent shivers down my spine and I paused for a moment, wanting to stay in his presence for another few seconds.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he said, before reaching over and offering me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

I thought of how contradictory Grayson could be as I took the elevator to my apartment. He’d bend me over the sink in a bar bathroom, but then he’d kiss me so gently, like a porcelain doll he was scared to drop. The two things seemed mutually exclusive to me.