by R.S. Grey
“I picked out this dress for you.”
He didn’t look up at me, but his pen stopped moving and his eyes concentrated on the same spot on his desk.
“So next time you have a lunch date or a girl waiting for you at your apartment, just know that this is my way of begging you to give us both what we want.”
The second I finished speaking, Grayson held up his hand with his finger pointed straight at the door. His blue eyes were as sharp as ice. The lines of his jaw muscles shifted beneath his skin. He was pissed.
“Get out of my office, Cameron.”
He bit out each word like he was in physical pain. I swiveled around and pulled the door open, then let it fall shut after me with a heavy thud. The windows of his office shook in their frames and a few of the architects near the back wall glanced up at me with curious expressions. I ignored their stares and headed back toward my desk with annoyance clouding my vision.
“So nice of you to join us,” Alan said as soon as I took my seat. “You’re behind on your work, and since you’ve already been to the kitchen more times than I can count, I don’t think you need a lunch break.”
I bit down hard on my lower lip and kept my eyes pinned on my work.
“Actually Alan, I’ve already finished the work you assigned me this morning and I started on my tasks for this afternoon about an hour ago,” I said with a honey-dipped tone. “Is there something else you’d like me to start on?”
He could make me work through lunch—Grayson had a way of completely stealing my appetite anyway—but I was not going let Alan think I wasn’t taking this job seriously.
Later that afternoon, Beatrice dropped an employee handbook onto my desk with a meek smile. When I flipped it open, the dress code section was highlighted in bright yellow. Peter snickered from his desk, but thankfully Mark and Alan were too busy to notice.
Before I left that night—at 8:30 pm, thanks to Alan’s need to ruin my life—I dropped the handbook into a recycling bin and mentally ran through the pants in my wardrobe, trying to think of which one was the most fitted pair. If I had to suffer by looking at Grayson in his tailored suits, he deserved to suffer right along with me.
…
“Open up,” I said, hammering on Brooklyn’s condo door, desperately needing some semblance of normalcy in my life. I hadn’t eaten since 10:00 am since Alan had forced me to work through lunch, so I had plans to raid Brooklyn’s freezer and fill my stomach with Rocky Road ice cream. It’s healthy because of the nuts…
The door swung open to reveal a handsome-as-ever Jason Monroe. Damn. Sometimes I forgot how lucky my sister was. He wasn’t as handsome as Grayson in my opinion, but still, he was worthy of every bit of praise his fans bestowed upon him. I hadn’t seen him in a few days, but considering he was barefoot in my sister’s condo wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, it seemed like everything was going pretty well between them. Two hot rock stars sitting in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
“Cammie! Hey,” he said, holding the door wide open for me to step inside.
Jason always made a point to be extra nice to me. It probably had to do with the fact that I’d once sent him a poisoned grapefruit in a fruit basket because he’d broken my sister’s heart. It wasn’t one of my classier moments, but the truth is there wasn’t any actual poison, just chocolate laxatives. You don’t mess with my sister and expect to get away with it. Thankfully, he and Brooklyn worked out their problems, which left me with the awkward task of apologizing for “almost killing him”. I mean, c’mon. At the worst he would have had to trade his guitar for a roll of toilet paper for a few days. Big deal.
“Whattup J? Move aside, I’m on an ice cream mission,” I said, stepping past him and heading directly to the kitchen.
“Oh, no that’s okay! Good to see you too, sis,” Brooklyn called from the living room. I held up my hand in a lazy wave and then bent down to pull the freezer drawer open. GOLD. Gold, in the form of a pint sized container of Rocky Road, glistening in the freezer light like a diamond in the frost.
I pulled it out, retrieved a spoon, and headed toward the living room, kicking my shoes off as I went.
Brooklyn was sitting on the couch with her guitar resting on her lap. Jason’s guitar sat abandoned beside her. They must have been working on their album before I rudely barged in. Oh well, too late to leave now. I have a pint of ice cream to get through.
“Sing for me, mon petit fille,” I joked, pulling my feet up under my butt so that I could get into a comfortable position.
She raised a brow in my direction before Jason crossed in front of her, picking up his guitar to join her on the couch. Their fans would have killed to be in my position. I had a front row seat to an acoustic session with the two hottest rock stars in the industry. And all I cared about was ice cream.
It’d taken a while to get used to the fact that my sister was a pop star, but she’d been famous for a few years now. She had been a solo artist for years, but a few months back, her music label had slotted her for a Grammy performance with Jason Monroe—another notorious solo artist.
I knew from the start that they’d end up falling in love (I mean, seriously, their babies would look like stylish hipster angels, with combat boots instead of wings), but it took them a while to figure it out for themselves. Jason was quite the dick in the beginning, but my sister didn’t put up with him. Hmm, come to think of it, maybe she’d have some advice about how to deal with Grayson. Would Grayson come around like Jason had? All signs pointed to no.
I took another bite of ice cream as Jason began to strum on his guitar. I settled in, ready to relax after a long day, but then my phone vibrated in my pocket. Seriously? I reached to check it and saw Hannah’s name flash across the screen. She’d gone out with the other new hires after work. The three of them had walked toward the elevators at 5:05 pm, their laughter impossible to ignore as Alan informed me that I’d be staying late yet again.
I was slightly jealous that they were already bonding, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. Alan was my boss for the time being and I wanted to stay as much on his good side as humanly possible. By the time I left work, the last thing I wanted to do was meet my coworkers at a grungy bar downtown. My feet hurt and my brain hurt. I just wanted to sit on a couch and listen to good music.
I pressed ignore on her call and then watched Brooklyn and Jason play together. They were reworking lyrics they’d just written. Every now and then Brooklyn would tweak a phrase and Jason would scribble it down, adding his own flair. I knew I was taking it for granted, getting to see the two of them collaborating, but to me, it was just a normal night with my sister.
“I’m thinking about quitting my job in architecture to become a pop star like you guys,” I said when they set their guitars down to take a break sometime later.
“I’m not a pop star,” Jason argued, just as Brooklyn spoke up.
“Cammie, you’d hate it. Besides, you sing like a cat that just swallowed peanut butter.”
“Yeah, well, anything would be better than the job I have now. My manager sucks. I just got off work like five minutes ago.”
“Are you serious?” Brooklyn asked as she twisted around to check the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen.
“Want me to come beat him up for you?” Jason asked with a wink.
“Yes,” I said without a hint of remorse. I would love for Jason to beat up Alan. Maybe while he was there he could knock some sense into Grayson too.
Brooklyn set her guitar down and cracked her knuckles. “That’s it! I’m dropping by to have a little chat with your manager,” she said with a tone that I knew she reserved for serious ass-kickings. Oh jeez.
I dropped my spoon into my ice cream, cringing. “No. Please don’t.”
Brooklyn shook her head. “Too late. No one takes advantage of mon petit dejune.”
A part of me wanted to tell Brooklyn that she had just called me “her little breakfast”, but another part of me wanted to warn Alan. He might be terr
ible, but hell hath no fury like my pop star sister scorned.
Chapter Eight
Amount saved for Paris: $312
Items I have: a new travel toothbrush I stole from Brooklyn’s bathroom
Items I need: everything else
French phrases that I know: S’il vous plait, donnez-moi ce croissant…which I think translates into “Please give me that croissant, if you know what’s good for you.”
I pulled up in front of the construction site Thursday morning to find nothing more than a concrete foundation and the rough exoskeleton of a future home. From the driver’s side window of my car I could spot debris and tools littering the ground. With a sigh, I reached for my worn work boots in the back seat. I knew better than to walk on a construction site in heels. A nail in your foot is not cute. Unfortunately, neither are work boots with slacks. Grayson, eat your heart out.
Once my boots were laced up, I checked my phone and confirmed I was at the right address. The sound of crunching gravel caught my attention and I looked up to see a dark gray Tesla turn onto the street from the opposite direction. Like a fish moving through water, the car slid into a parking spot in front of the house and the door popped open to reveal Grayson in dark jeans, a Henley, and work boots. Welp, my ovaries just exploded.
He shielded the sun from his eyes and stared up at the house for a moment, probably confirming progress on the build. I sat watching him until he turned and saw me sitting in my car—my twelve-year-old Toyota Corolla, i.e. sex on wheels. Not exactly up to par with his car, but I didn’t need anything fancy. I’d be leaving the country in three months and I’d sell the car right along with anything else that could fund a day or two abroad.
“Let’s go,” he hollered when I didn’t immediately move to join him.
I rolled my eyes and hopped out of my car, steeling myself for the early morning chill. It didn't come—the morning was muggy and humid. I stripped off my blazer and slung it over my arm as I walked to join him.
He skipped a formal greeting and headed straight into the house; apparently I was expected to trail after him like a dutiful pupil. He immediately started pointing out various aspects of the building, like the support beams and their placement. I knew I was expected to remember them, but I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet and the chances of me retaining any of the information were slim to none. Now, the way Grayson’s butt looked in his Levi’s? I’d easily pass a test on that. I could point out and name every section of his derriere.
Usually I would have jumped at the idea of getting a private tour of a build like this, but I was too distracted by Grayson, too busy trying to come up with some way to talk to him.
He pulled me farther into the heart of the house and continued to point out the features of the home. He described how the client had asked for a modern open floor plan. I marveled at the height of the first floor. Grayson had designed sky-high ceilings paired with massive windows to allow for ample amounts of natural light. I knew it’d be a spectacular house once it was finished.
“So, did you have a good night last night?” I asked as we entered what would become the master bedroom.
He paused to glance at me over his shoulder. “I don’t think that pertains to the job site, Cameron.” His eyes warned me to drop it.
I smiled, already prepared for him to answer like that. “You’re right. Let’s just stick to nuts and bolts like robots. Beep boop.”
Grayson sighed and turned to keep walking. “It was fine,” he admitted.
I smiled, though he couldn’t see it.
“My night was fine too,” I volunteered. “Thanks for asking. I went to a strip club and then I robbed a bank with a bunch of strippers. We didn’t take much, since y’know strippers don’t tend to have many pockets.”
Grayson laughed and shook his head.
“Has anyone told you that you’re insufferable?” he asked, continuing to walk ahead of me.
Sure, he said insufferable, but what he really meant was irresistible.
After that, he insisted on continuing to talk about the house and I actually listened this time. The design was too amazing to ignore and I loved hearing Grayson walk me through the process with him. It was like getting a glimpse into his creative genius.
I’d assumed we were alone on the job site until we made it to the backdoor of the house and came upon a group of construction workers out on the grass, taking their time getting started for the day. A lanky man who didn’t look a day over eighteen was using a circular saw to cut planks of wood into even segments. The rest of the crew was unwrapping breakfast tacos and chatting animatedly until they spotted Grayson walking through the backdoor. They immediately straightened up and paused their conversations, waiting for him to speak. Grayson was both the architect and the general contractor on the project, which gave him nearly full control—a fact that I’m sure made him very, very happy.
I stood to the side as he went over the day’s work with them. They were expected to have the kitchen framed by the end of the day so that the siding and roofing process could begin the following day. A few of the guys peered over at me as Grayson spoke, most likely curious about my role. I kept my eyes on Grayson, trying not to let their gazes intimidate me.
When Grayson finished up his instructions, he turned and motioned for me to lead the way back through the empty house.
“Sorry for that. It was probably a little boring,” he said, peering over at me as we walked.
I smiled and shook my head. “Nah, it’s what I love. Don’t worry about it.”
He nodded.
“So what exactly did you do last night?” I asked, trying one last time to engage him in a real conversation.
His blue eyes slid to me for a moment and he shook his head. “What’s your angle here, Cameron?”
I laughed, holding up my hands in innocence. “Not everything has to be angles and safety factors, Grayson. Can’t an employee make small talk with her boss?”
Grayson grunted. “Sure. Except you aren’t curious about what I did last night, you’re curious about who I did last night.”
I turned to inspect the kitchen, or what would serve as the future kitchen, so he wouldn’t see me blush. My face burned with embarrassment.
“And if I am?” I ventured, still diverting my gaze.
“You’re being childish by asking these questions. You think I didn’t mean what I said the other day in my office, about us never happening. You’re playing a game.”
Of course I didn’t believe him.
“That doesn’t make me childish. That makes me willful,” I said, turning to glance at him, residual blush still stinging my cheeks. “And if you remember, this is work, not play.”
“I didn’t bring you here to have this conversation,” he argued, moving ahead so that I had to walk fast to keep up.
I should have dropped the conversation. I’d already pissed him off, but we were back on the street, seconds away from splitting off to our cars and heading in opposite directions. Any chance of having a private conversation with him would be over once we left.
“Do you ever think of me when you’re with them? The other women in your life?” I asked, pausing on the grass.
The second the words slipped out, I wanted to reach for them, pull them back in one syllable at a time and replace the question with some vague goodbye. I’d never been as bold as I’d been in the last few days. I usually went after what I wanted, but there was a difference between being confident and being certifiably insane. It’s like I wanted him to squirm, to feel uncomfortable in my presence. I needed to jar him out from behind whatever wall he was building for himself.
Something about Grayson pulled out every bit of confidence I had. Maybe it was the fact that I knew he found me attractive or maybe it was the fact that I was leaving soon. Either way, it felt like I had nothing to lose.
He stopped walking mid-step, and glared back at me. We stayed like that for a few seconds, his blue eyes warning me away as best as they cou
ld. I stayed rooted to my spot, clenching my fists and waiting for his response.
“No,” he said with a sharp shake of his head. “When I was with Nicole last night… in my bed… with her legs wrapped around my neck, I never once thought of you.”
I wanted to rear back and punch his stupidly gorgeous face. His demeanor practically begged me to, but instead, I swept up every bit of confidence left inside of me and walked up to him until I was just an inch or two away from his chest. The rounded toes of our work boots pressed together and I jabbed my finger into the center of his ribcage, hard.
“You’re such a liar, Grayson,” I declared as the tension multiplied around us.
“You know what else I am?” he asked, leaning an inch closer. I stared at his lips as he spoke. “Your boss.”
I clenched my jaw, narrowed my eyes on him for another second, and then turned away. He stayed perfectly silent as I walked away from him, heading back toward my car with emotions boiling over inside of me. My heart knocked against my ribcage as I realized there’d be consequences for the game I was playing. He was my boss, and he had major pull in this city. If I pushed him too hard, too fast, my career could be over, but something told me he was enjoying the game just as much as I was.
After all, he didn’t have to hire me, he didn’t have to be my mentor, most of all, he didn’t have to divulge the fact that he found me attractive during my interview. He could have kept that his little secret.
…
Grayson’s lover, Nicole, made an appearance in the office for another lunch-time romp later that day. As her size zero frame floated through the main room, I mentally called Grayson every nasty name under the sun. He’d called her on purpose. He wanted me to back down. He greatly underestimated me.