by R.S. Grey
“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.
“Oh, hey,” Hannah said from her spot on the couch when I pushed through the apartment door. She was wearing pajamas and flipping through channels on the TV with a bored expression.
“Hey,” I said with a slight nod. The awkward tension was palpable as I made my way past her.
“Fun night?” she asked.
I paused mid-step, realizing how suggestive her curt tone was. There was so much meaning wrapped in that question and when I turned to look back at her, she was wearing a small “gotcha” smirk.
Had she seen Grayson’s car outside?
“Yup. Great night,” I replied as I opened my bedroom door and then closed and locked it behind me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooklyn: Your birthday is tomorrow. Your birthday is tomorrow. You are the best little sister ever because your birthday is tomorrow. Faalllalalala.
Cammie: Wow. Was that supposed to be a song? I thought you were a Grammy award winning singer-songwriter?
Brooklyn: I’ll admit, it’s not my best work. BUT I’M SO EXCITED. What do you want to do? Spa day? Dinner? A little party? It’s a shame you have to work.
Cammie: Most people have to work on Tuesdays, Brook.
I mulled over the possibilities she’d listed, but none of her suggestions sounded fun. We’d just done happy hour the week before and I was too stir crazy to sit through a spa day. If anything, I needed to lock myself in my room and concentrate on my secret proposal for the design competition. The deadline was fast-approaching, but I knew Brooklyn would never let me get away with that.
Brooklyn: Well that’s boring.
Cammie: Tell me about it. What if we just go to dinner this weekend? Just you and me? I’m pretty busy this week.
Brooklyn: Boo. I leave for Montana on Sunday!
My chest tightened at the realization that she’d be leaving so soon, but then I reminded myself that her departure was a good thing. This is what I wanted. Some distance was healthy. After all, it’s the whole reason I was going to Paris.
Cammie: So it will be a little farewell dinner combined with my birthday. See you Saturday!
I hadn’t told Brooklyn about Paris yet and it was probably a good thing she’d be a few states away when she found out because she wasn’t going to take the news well. Maybe I’d call her once I’d already landed in Paris—y’know the whole “beg for forgiveness rather than ask for permission” method.
…
Around lunchtime on Monday, while most of the office was off grabbing food, I tapped on Grayson’s office door.
“Come in,” he called.
“Are you free for a few minutes?” I asked as I held onto the door, hovering between stepping into his office and staying on the other side of the door, the safe side.
He smiled up at me and dropped his drafting pencil onto his desk.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I quipped, stepping in and closing the door behind me.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, glancing at the clock on the wall next to me. “Should I order lunch?”
I shook my head. “I had a late breakfast.”
I took a seat on one of the chairs in front of his desk. A week ago, the seating arrangement would have made me nervous, like I was on the chopping block, but a lot had changed in the last seven days.
“I never asked—are you going to see Stu again?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with charm.
I scrunched my nose. “Who?”
Grayson barked out a laugh, tipping back in his desk chair.
“Are you serious?”<
br />
I cracked a small smile. “Only slightly. “
He smirked. “Do you want to come by my place after work tonight? Maybe grab some takeout?”
He was basically asking me if I wanted to see the Holy Grail. Normally, there was no way I’d turn down the offer… but I had to really focus on my competition proposal if I wanted to have something decent to turn in the following week. I’d forced myself to work on it all weekend, but I was nowhere near being done.
To delay having to turn down his offer, I stood and walked around the desk. He sat still, eyeing me with curiosity as I slid my hands down over his chest. His suit was crisp, but the fabric was thin enough for me to feel the muscles that lay hidden beneath. When his breathing picked up, I finally replied.
“I can’t. I have to get some work done.”
He craned his head back to place a kiss beneath my neck. “You mean the work that I’m paying you to do?”
I laughed.
“Mmhmm,” I murmured half-heartedly as he continued to kiss along my neck.
“That’s taken care of. You are now officially free after work. Here’s the address.” He reached forward out of my grasp to jot down his address on a small post-it note.
I took it from him, but I knew I wouldn’t be stopping by.
“Sorry, but this work is unrelated to you, so I’ll just see you tomorrow morning,” I said, walking around his desk and waving the post-it note in the air with pride.
“I'm not used to being told no, Heart,” he said as I reached the door.
I turned the handle without looking back. There’s no way I would have been able to turn him down with those stern baby blues boring into me. I reminded myself that I’d have plenty of time to spend with Grayson in between finishing up my competition submission and leaving for Paris.
There it was.
That punch to the gut that seemed to accompany my departure to Paris in the recent days. It was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore and I knew exactly where it was stemming from: the closer Grayson and I became, the more Paris seemed like a bad idea.
But I couldn’t let myself stray from the original plan. Paris was happening.
I needed it to happen.
…
True to my word, I went home after work and locked myself in my room. I spread out my favorite architecture textbooks from college, my sketchpad, my straight edge, three drafting pencils, and my computer with AutoCAD pulled up so that I could start taking my designs from paper to computer.
I’d done projects like the park proposal when I was still in college. The difference was I’d had an entire semester to work on those projects. For this, I had one week left.
I skipped dinner and tried to ignore Hannah’s incessant knocking on my bedroom door.
“What are you doing in there?” she asked.
“Nothing. I don’t feel well.”
“What do you have? A sore throat? Fever? You'd better not get me sick,” she demanded.
Aw, what a thoughtful roommate I had.
She wanted to know what I was doing in my room but it’s not like I could invite her in. I was breaking at least three company rules by submitting my own proposal behind Alan’s back, and I didn’t trust Hannah as far as I could throw her. So, I feigned sickness and waited until I saw her shadow move from beneath the door before I continued working.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday—uhh, Cara— Colleen—Cameron...”
To their credit, my coworkers did their best to add my name at the end of the song. I’d only worked with them a few short weeks and there were quite a few architects to keep track of at the firm. Thankfully, Peter all but yelled my name so that people would catch on.
“...Happy birthday to you!” they finished before I leaned over the tray of cupcakes and blew out the few candles I’d seen Beatrice scrounge around for in the break room earlier that morning. My coworkers did their best to wait a respectful time—all of thirty seconds—before taking a cupcake and fleeing the break room like their lives depended on it. I didn’t blame them. Getting a break from the desk was nice, but having to make small talk with coworkers quickly negated the benefits of free cake.
I watched them all trail out and frowned as I realized Grayson still hadn’t shown his face. He was in his office working away, completely ignoring my birthday.
“Happy birthday, Cammie,” Beatrice said, leaning against the counter beside me.
I mustered a small smile. “Thanks for getting me cupcakes. Vanilla is my favorite.”
She nodded and finished chewing a bite. Pink sprinkles dotted the edge of her mouth but she licked them up before I could mention it.
“You're welcome,” she said with a smile.
I scanned the room, surprised by how little I knew about my coworkers. If I wasn’t planning on leaving the company soon, maybe I would have made more of an effort to make a name for myself at Cole Designs, but it felt like there was no point in making friends if I’d just be leaving them behind in a few weeks.
So what was I doing with Grayson?
“He doesn’t ever show up to these things,” Beatrice said, pulling me out of my reverie.
I furrowed my brows. “Who?”
She turned toward me, dropping her voice so that it wasn’t overheard. “Grayson. He never comes to these things. It would have looked suspicious if he’d come.”
I studied her expression for another moment, trying to extract more information, but she was already taking another bite of cupcake, apparently finished giving me secret intel about my not-boyfriend-maybe-hookup-buddy-and-also-kind-of-a-friend. Clearly, we were still working on our Facebook status.
He doesn’t show up to these things? So what? When Beatrice had announced to everyone via mass email that we’d be having a small party for me in the break room during lunch, I’d expected Grayson to show up. I’d purposely gotten up from my desk slowly so that I could walk with him to the break room, but his door never opened.
The party was starting to die down, so I put my hand on Beatrice’s arm, thanked her one more time, and then slid two cupcakes onto a Styrofoam plate to take back to my desk.
Unfortunately, my path was blocked by Hannah on the way out of the break room.
“Good to see that you’re feeling better, Cammie,” she said, eyeing my two cupcakes. “Is that dessert for two, or are you just feeling extra hungry?” she asked with clear disdain.
I smiled and tipped my head. “Starving. Excuse me,” I said, brushing past her so that my shoulder bumped into hers—accidentally, I swear.
Grayson’s door was cracked open when I walked back into the main office. I scanned around the room. Alan and Mark were at lunch. Peter and the rest of the young associates were still enjoying cupcakes and trying to extend their break for as long as possible. Everyone else was wrapped up in their work or chatting with their coworkers. I decided my path was as clear as possible.
I didn’t bother knocking. His door was open, which I took as clear sign to enter.
“You missed my birthday,” I said as I stepped into Grayson’s office.
He was standing up, pacing back and forth while holding his cell phone up to his ear. When I spoke, he turned toward me and glanced mournfully at the cupcakes on my plate.
He mouthed “sorry” as he crossed the room and closed the door behind me.
“Hey Mitch. Could I call you back in ten? Something’s come up.”
Mitch must have agreed because Grayson hung up and then reached for the cupcakes in my hand.
“You missed my birthday party in the kitchen,” I repeated.
He dropped the plate of cupcakes onto a small bar cart near the door and scooped me up.
“But you brought me a cupcake,” he said bending to steal a quick kiss.
I shook my head. “Wrong. Those are both for me.”
He laughed and leaned back to inspect my expression.
“Let me take you out tonight
to make up for it,” he said, hope brimming in his gaze. I could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to come up with the exact right place to take me.
I squeezed his biceps reassuringly and stepped out of his grasp. I should have turned him down since my design submission wasn’t even close to be being complete, but it was my birthday and everyone deserves to take a break on their birthday.
“Fine. Let’s go somewhere, but I already know of the perfect place. Pick me up around 8:00 pm and bring some snacks,” I said with a wink before taking both of my cupcakes back to my desk.
Like I’d bring him a cupcake…
I was still mulling over the absurd thought when I noticed that my desk drawer was cracked open a few inches. An open desk drawer isn’t usually suspicious, but I remembered tidying up my desk just before lunch and I’d closed all of my drawers.
I set my cupcakes on my desk, glanced over my shoulder, and then pulled the drawer open all the way.
Inside, resting on a stack of pencils, there was a small card tied to a crystal paperweight in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. It was an exact replica of the real tower: someone had taken the time to painstakingly carve out every detail. Even in the shadows of my drawer, the crystal twinkled and I knew it’d be even more gorgeous in the light of day.
I flipped over the small card tied at the base of the tower to read what it said.
“Happy Birthday, Cameron. You deserve to have the real Eiffel Tower, but this will have to do for now. The French Government didn’t seem interested in selling me the real thing. Love, G.”
…
“And this is perfectly legal? To wander around back here at night?” Grayson asked as we pulled up to my spot at the cemetery behind LAX.
“Is anything perfectly legal?” I asked, turning to glance back at him after I’d opened my door.
He hadn’t made a move to get out.
“Going to sit there all night, Cole? Scared of ghosts?” I quipped, trying to get him to meet my eye.