by R.S. Grey
“It was part of a costume! You should have thrown it away after you got home. Also, I figured that the text would have been large enough for your brain to inform you not to wear it to an important meeting with your bosses. Just saying.”
“Oh, Cameron, you are just so funny at 10:00 A.M. in the morning, but I have to go. I need to confirm that Grayson is meeting me for coffee in like fifteen minutes.”
There was a pregnant pause across the phone line before Cammie responded. “Grayson Cole?”
I laughed, “Is there any other Grayson that I’m friends with?”
She grunted, “I don’t know, there could be.”
I stared out the window as the streets flashed by. Luckily, Jerry no longer had to drive like a maniac since I was right on time for coffee. “Do you want me to come pick you up? Do you have a free period?”
“No!”
I pulled my phone away from my face to glance at the screen, wondering why her reaction was so strong.
“Why not? Do you have class?” I asked.
“Yes, I have my Advanced Design class in an hour.”
“Okay, well, I still think it’d be a good idea for you to meet up with Grayson soon and go over career opportunities. It’d be silly not to use him. I mean he owns his own architecture firm.”
I heard random street sounds on the other end of the phone line - cars rushing past and then the sound of a metal door opening and closing. Finally, Cammie replied, “I know. I just don’t think Grayson likes me very much and maybe I want to make it in this world on my own without relying on my big sister’s friend to get me a job.”
She had a point, even though I didn’t necessarily agree.
“Okay, well, I’ll bring it up to him during coffee and I’ll see what he says.”
“Oh, whatever. I have to go; I’m going to the studio before my class. I’m behind on this final project.”
“Love you,” I said.
“Love you, too.”
I looked down at my phone, thinking of Cammie in her college classes. Sometimes when she talked about her finals and her course work, I felt a pang of envy. I never went to college. It was never really an option for me. After our parents died when we were young, they’d left Cammie and me a small fortune. Most of it was tucked away in a trust, but after high school, I’d used some of it for voice lessons as well as a slew of dance classes. I’d worked my ass off, knowing I only had a few years to really make a name for myself before a newer, hotter singer would be vying for my same spot.
The hard work had paid off when an executive at Global Records had seen a video of me singing one of my original songs. My fate was sealed and college was pushed aside for good. I jumped straight into recording my first EP. I wrote every song and helped create most of the music to accompany the lyrics. I was so proud of that first album, mostly because I’d done it on my own. With the money I made from that record, plus all of my subsequent ones, I’d never needed to touch the money in my parent’s trust again. It was all there, waiting for Cammie to use it to follow her dream, just as I’d used it to follow mine.
When the car pulled up outside of the coffee shop, Grayson Cole was standing near the door, eyes focused on his phone in hand. I smiled, realizing some things never changed. He was a workaholic, always had been. His dark navy suit was tailored to perfection and his dark hair was styled well. He wasn’t the type to go out with a single hair out of place. The guy was a control freak to the max. Which probably had something to do with why he’d started his own architecture firm as soon as he’d become certified at twenty-six, turning it into a global firm by the time he celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday.
I thanked Jerry for the ride and gave him instructions to be back in about an hour. I doubted Grayson had any more time than that to spare for coffee on a workday.
“Excuse me, is that the oh-so-important Grayson Cole, of Cole Designs?” I joked as I stepped out of the car, pretending to be amazed at my friend.
He smirked and slid his phone back into his pocket. The light caught his brown hair, highlighting his sharp features that were too good-looking not to notice. “Good to know you haven’t let the fame take away your humor,” he said.
I laughed as he held the door open for me. “Cammie makes sure of that,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes ever so gently as he turned his attention to the chalkboard menu hanging on the wall over our heads. That reaction, on top of Cammie’s emphatic “no” to my invitation earlier, piqued my curiosity about the two of them.
“Hey, you’ve never had a problem with my sister, right?” I asked, trying to sound casual. The patrons in front of us stepped up to the counter and I heard the woman order what sounded like a Cinnamon Roll Mocha. Um, yes please. I’ll take a dozen of those.
“No. Of course not. Why do you ask?” he asked, continuing to peruse the chalkboard. He was using his business tone. He never used his business tone with me.
“Oh, it’s just that she graduates from college soon and it seems like it would make perfect sense for her to get her feet wet working for you, but neither one of you seems very keen on the idea.”
His dark brows tugged together and I studied the way his blue eyes purposely focused on the wall behind my head.
“I have no problem with it. I’m just not sure if she could meet the standards that I hold my employees accountable to.”
Oh God, why did he sound like a more polished version of Jason Monroe? What was it with guys underestimating my sister and me?
“She’s won like a billion architecture awards in her program. I don’t know what any of them mean, but she assures me that she’s one of the top students in her program,” I declared. My sister was smart and I knew she could hold her own at any firm in the city.
Grayson rubbed his clean jaw and I noticed the scent of a clean after-shave for the first time since joining him. I knew most of the women in the shop were purposely glancing in his direction while trying to be inconspicuous about it. The Grayson Cole curse.
“That might be true that she’s one of the top students. However, I usually hire the top student.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Give me a break, Grayson. She’s brilliant and if you took two seconds to look at her designs you’d know that.”
“I’ve seen all of her designs,” he answered in a clipped tone before gently pushing me toward the front of the line so we could order.
A hippie barista with dreadlocks asked for our order before I was able to expand on that very interesting point. Did he always take an interest in architecture student work? By the time we’d moved down to the end of the bar and I’d taken pictures with two very sweet fans, I was too distracted to ask.
We found a booth in the far corner so that we’d have some semblance of privacy. At first, I used to care that paparazzi constantly thought that Grayson and I were dating. In the beginning they’d photograph us together anytime we stepped out in public, but now they’d come to understand that we were just friends, that we’d always just been friends. I didn’t see Grayson like that, even though every other warm-blooded female did.
“So how is work going?” Grayson asked, taking a sip of his coffee. I watched him unbutton his suit jacket to get situated, revealing a crisp, white button-down shirt.
“It’s going well. I have that tour coming up later this year, but just this morning my record label dropped a little bomb on me.”
His brow quirked up in interest, but he didn’t feel the need to ask me for details. He knew I’d offer him more than enough information on the subject.
“Have you heard of Jason Monroe?” I asked, secretly praying that he hadn’t.
With a little smirk, he replied, “Of course. Everyone has.”
I rolled my eyes. Not everyone. Everyone has heard of the Beatles and Elvis. Jason Monroe was not Elvis. “Well, yours truly will be forced to write a duet with him to perform at The Grammys next month.”
His smirk fell slightly. “Very interesting. What did Mon
roe think of this?”
“Monroe?” I laughed, choosing to push his buttons. “What, are you on a nickname basis with him?”
Grayson’s blue eyes narrowed on me and I was reminded for the one-thousandth time that he was not someone who liked to be teased. Even when we were younger, he was the serious, brooding type. Oh, hmm, maybe he and Monroe would be best friends after all. They could sit in a circle and moan about the woes of manhood. Then they could give each other massages and… wait, that didn’t sound so bad. Maybe I’d like to watch that actually.
“Sounds like it’ll be a good challenge for you,” Grayson suggested, pulling me out of my daydream of him rubbing baby oil on Jason Monroe. Yeah, I know I said I didn’t see Grayson like that, but he probably knew his way around a bottle of massage oil as well as the next guy.
“He was a little hesitant about the set-up,” I replied, not wanting to admit the truth. He’d essentially scoffed at the idea of working with me. Let’s get real.
“We’ll see, I guess.”
He took another long sip of his coffee before setting it back on the table and fidgeting with the lid. His gaze focused on his hands as if he were performing heart surgery.
“So has your sister had any interviews with firms for post-grad?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.
I smirked at the fact that Grayson seemed to care about my sister even if he tried hard not to. The two of them were going to get along one day if it was the last thing I did. No, wait, if there was ever going to be “the last thing I did” I would want it to be something a little juicer, like sex with Jason Monroe. Whoa. What? I snapped my gaze up to Grayson to see if he’d somehow heard my internal ramblings.
“So has she?” he asked again, reminding me of his question.
“Not that I know of,“ I answered him just as his phone started vibrating under the table.
He cursed under his breath when he saw who was calling. With an apologetic nod, he answered the call and replied in clipped, sharp sentences.
“We’ve gone over the Jenson Project budget ten times and if they want marble in the master bath, they’re delusional at this point. No. Tell Jon to give me a call. No. If we go over, it’ll be coming out of your pocket. Jenson approved the cheaper stone two weeks ago.”
I took the opportunity to study him in parts: his sharp cheekbones, his straight nose that led down to his strong jaw. His dark hair reminded me of Jason’s, but that’s where the similarities between them ended. Grayson Cole was a businessman with enough confidence to make the President shake in his boots, while Jason was a rough-around-the-edges musician with a killer smile and forgotten facial hair.
If I ever had a type, it was Jason Monroe.
Clearly, Jason had obviously taken root in my head. I just needed to replace him with something else. Maybe that Brazilian model was still camped out in my condo, eating my food and watching my TV. Only problem: he hadn’t given me an orgasm. No. That wouldn’t do. I definitely needed a good ol’ orgasm so that I could push Jason out of my head.
Grayson ended his call and shoved his phone into his suit pocket. I could tell by the remorseful glance he was aiming at me that he was going to have to cut our hangout short.
“I’m sorry to do this, but I have to go check on a project.”
I waved my hand and smiled. “No worries. I’ve gotta run anyway.”
“It was good seeing you, Brook,” he said, wrapping me in a quick side hug before taking a step back. As if wrestling with himself, he stood staring toward the door for a moment before turning back to me. “And have Cameron call me. I might have something for her.”
Cameron.
Grayson was all business. No one called my sister by her full name, and the way he said it made it sound as if it pained him to offer. Was it seriously so much to ask him to help her out? If he had a brother that wanted to be a pop star, I wouldn’t have hesitated to help. Although the image of a man like Grayson trying to slip into one of my spandex costumes was too hilarious to imagine.
“I’ll tell her,” I said as he slipped on a pair of aviators and stepped out into the bright LA sun.
I watched him head to his fancy-pants sports car and then I went back to our booth so I could text Jerry to come pick me up early. When I pulled my phone out of my purse I saw I had a voice mail waiting for me from a blocked number. Interesting.
I pressed play and held the phone up to my ear just as Jason’s deep voice crooned over the airwaves. He wasn’t even singing and still the guy sounded like he was trying to serenade me.
That is, until I actually listened to what he was saying.
That motherfucker.
Chapter Four
“Brooklyn, this is Jason Monroe. We obviously have some things to discuss, so I’ll leave you the number for my assistant and you can coordinate it all with her. After you stormed out of the meeting, I spoke with Mr. Daniels about a potential Plan B. There is no plan B. We’ll have to work together, so give Sandy a call at 555-9010.”
The line cut off after that. No goodbye, no sorry about our rough start. Also, he’d blocked his number so that I couldn’t even call him back to tell him how rude he’d been. I was left with Sandy, his assistant.
After I’d shot a quick text to Jerry, I dialed Sandy’s number and told myself that whatever anger I felt toward Jason should not be taken out on her. If she had to work with him all day every day, she probably hated him as much as I did. Maybe I’d offer her a new job.
“Hello, this is Sandy speaking.”
“Oh, hi, Sandy. This is Brooklyn Heart.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she screeched so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear for fear that she was going to rupture my ear drums.
An awkward, “umm,” and a laugh were the only things I could muster in reply.
“Oh God, I’m sorry about that. You’d think I’d get used to talking to celebrities, but you’re Brooklyn Heart. Wow. This is insane.”
I smiled at her excitement. At least Jason Monroe’s assistant liked me.
“Alright,” she said, taking an audible breath. “I’m fine now.” Two more deep breaths and then she finally continued. “I assume you’re calling to coordinate things with Jason concerning the duet.”
I was about to reply when I saw Jerry and the town car pull up out front of the coffee shop.
“Yes, actually,” I said to Sandy as I exited the coffee shop with my head down, pulling my bun out so that I could use my curtain of blonde hair to shield me from the lurking cameras. There was a rustling of paper through the phone line and then Sandy spoke up again.
“Okay, well you’ll leave here in a week’s time. You’ll be at the ranch for a few weeks, or however long it takes you two to finalize the song—”
I cut her off. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about? What ranch?”
Sandy cleared her throat. “Oh,” she paused, clearly confused about why we weren’t on the same page. “I thought Jason discussed this with you. Didn’t you guys speak after the meeting?” When I stayed silent, she continued. “Jason doesn’t write in LA. Whenever he’s creating new projects, he goes home to his ranch in Montana.”
“Ohhkaayy,” I dragged out, trying to clear things up in my head. “Sandy, could you give me Jason’s number please? I think it’s better if I speak with him about all of this first.”
She hesitated for a few seconds before answering, “Well, usually he doesn’t like me giving out his number to anyone.”
Of course. I wondered if Jason even put his own pants on in the morning.
“Well, Sandy, this can be the one exception,” I said with a sweet tone. I knew I was putting her in a bad position, but her boss kind of sucked-ass anyway.
It took a bit more sweet-talking, and tickets to my next concert, but eventually she gave me the number. I would have called Jason right away, but I had a meeting with a perfume company to customize my signature scent and then directly after that I had a dress fitting with Givenchy. Finally around 6:00
P.M., I headed back to my condo so that I could make the call to Jason in the privacy of my four walls.
When I walked into my building, the sweet concierge from that morning waved me over with a small gesture. She was a young girl, no more than twenty-five, with a simple, tight bun pulled back at the base of her neck. When she spoke, her eyes darted around the room as if she wanted to ensure that we weren’t being overheard.
“Ms. Heart, the situation from earlier was taken care of,” she said with a whisper. “The gentleman left shortly after you and we gifted him a fruit basket on his way out.”
Oh good, apparently when you have sex with Brooklyn Heart, you leave with a fruit basket. What a lovely experience.
“Thank you so much,” I said, trying hard not to cringe at how embarrassing the entire situation was before heading toward the elevator. This is why I don’t have sex. It’s not worth the trouble. I’ve never had to buy my vibrator a fruit basket.
As soon as I arrived inside my condo, I pressed my back to the door and scanned my living room. It was gorgeous, all whites and creams with plush furniture and bright light-blue wallpaper. I knew I wouldn’t be in that condo forever, but it’d been home for the past three years and in a world that was constantly bustling around me, it felt good to have my little sanctuary.
“Whattup, sis,” Cammie called from the kitchen, slamming the refrigerator door.
Well kind of a sanctuary.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had that design class?” I asked, dropping my purse on the front-entry table and kicking my shoes off.
When I got closer, I realized Cammie had a plate piled high with hummus, pita chips, carrots, and celery. It was enough food to feed five people.
“Yeah, that was like four hours ago,” she answered.
Oh, right.
Cammie lived in the dorms on campus, but whenever she could get away, she stayed at my condo— which lately had been more often than not. I knew she was feeling the pressure of transitioning from student to full-time employee in the coming months. She probably wanted to be somewhere that felt constant whenever she could. Also, she really enjoyed stealing my food.