Somewhere In Between (Madison Square Book 1)

by Samatha Harris

  I grabbed the bottle and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, leading her back into the living room. “See, I told you we could be friends.”

  Chapter 4

  Alex (Now)

  Monday morning, I woke up to the sound of my alarm, the fog horn. Just one more thread in a string of bad ring tone decisions. I showered quickly, then blow dried my hair in an attempt to tame the frizz. I put on just enough makeup to look presentable and dressed quickly in my vintage cigarette pants, a polka dot blouse, and some comfy ballet flats.

  I never go overboard for work. The job requires professional attire, but as an interior designer, I spend most of my days in musty carpet stores and construction sites covered in drywall dust. Usually, by the end of the day, I end up looking like I just went through a desert.

  I ran through today’s projects in my head and mapped out my schedule for the morning on the walk to work. After college, I landed my dream job with Madeline Grant Interiors. I met Madeline when she was a guest lecturer for my Introduction to Sustainable Design class. She told us that interior design required a gift that couldn’t be taught. That day, she became my personal god, and when I found out she was looking for an associate designer to join her firm, I camped outside her office for three days until she finally agreed to review my portfolio. She said if I was half as talented as I was persistent, then I had the job. She flipped through three pages and told me I was hired.

  I could already tell that this week was going to be hell, but I was excited to present my proposal for the Ashburn Hotel to Madeline. She asked me and another designer to do a storyboard for the Ashburn Hotel lobby. We were supposed to present them to her today. The best idea would be pitched to the client.

  She provided us with a color story and samples for the direction she was going in to ensure that the lobby was consistent with the overall look of the hotel, but she gave us a lot of freedom and encouraged us to think outside the box. Basically, may the best woman win, and I fully intended to.

  My competition, if you could even call her that, was Gwen Stevens. My hatred for Gwen ran deep. Just the sound of her name made me cringe. It was painfully obvious to everyone in the office that she got her position because of daddy’s money and connections rather than actual talent. She followed her lack of actual skill with a bitchy attitude and a complete disregard for the people around her. Her Botoxed, overly made-up face seemed to be fixed in a permanent sneer when Madeline wasn’t looking, earning her the nickname Bitchface.

  I got to the office a bit earlier than usual so I could have some extra time to prepare for the presentation. I rounded the corner to my desk, set my bag down, and turned on my laptop.

  “Coffee?”

  I looked up to see Wiley thrusting a large cup toward me. Wiley was a textile designer working for the firm. We were famous for our exclusive prints and textiles, largely thanks to Wiley. She was unique, to say the least, bohemian, and artsy. She wore her dark brown hair in dreadlocks and her fingers were always stained with ink or paint.

  “Thanks.” I smiled and took the cup from her long fingers that were already tinted green. In my hurry to get to the office, I left without making my coffee, a sure sign I was losing my mind. Wiley had just saved my life.

  She rested a hip on the side of my desk, holding on to her own cup. “So, what’s new?”

  I leaned back in my desk chair with my coffee and smiled up at her. “Not much. Just got invited to the Rags & Riches gala on Friday.” I shrugged and waited for her excitement to bubble to the surface.

  “What? Madeline finally invited you? That’s amazing!” she cried, her eyes widening.

  I set my coffee down on my desk. “No, Gwen is still going. The cow has her lips surgically attached to Madeline’s ass.” Madeline was invited every year to the gala, and I prayed for the chance to go as her guest. Unfortunately for me, that honor always went to Gwen, since her father, Senator Lawrence Stevens, was a member of the arts council who sponsored the event.

  Wiley’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

  “Drew got an invite. I’m his plus one,” I said, answering the question on her face.

  “Oh, Gwen is not going to like that.” Her face turned sour.

  “I’m not going to like what?”

  I cringed and leaned over to look past Wiley to confirm it was her. Sure enough, there Gwen stood in all of her perfectly coiffed and surgically enhanced glory. Gwen sauntered over to her desk across from mine in her skin-tight pencil skirt and plunging V-neck sweater showing off the assets daddy bought for her eighteenth birthday. She stomped across the floor in her silver-tipped Prada heels so hard, I was shocked the thin stiletto didn’t snap.

  I rolled my eyes and turned back to my computer. Wiley pushed off my desk and, with a sympathetic smile, she quickly shuffled back to her office in the basement.

  Before Gwen could unleash her wrath on me, Madeline swept in to the room in her usual cloud of Chanel. “Good morning, ladies,” she sang with a bright smile.

  Madeline was amazing, sharp as a tack and unbelievably talented. She had a classic elegance that commanded respect. I so wanted to be her when I grew up. She glided past us and into her office, shaking out of her cream blazer. Gwen practically sprinted to retrieve it from her before I could even reply to Madeline’s good morning. Kiss ass.

  “Good morning, Ms. Grant,” Gwen and I said simultaneously, glaring at each other when Madeline’s back was turned.

  “Ladies, are we ready to present your proposals for the Ashland?”

  “Of course, Ms. Grant. Ready when you are,” Gwen replied with way too much enthusiasm.

  “Fabulous. We will meet in the conference room at one. Are there any messages?”

  I quickly jumped in, knowing Gwen hadn’t had a chance to check Madeline’s e-mails. “Your dress for the gala is ready to be picked up. Mr. Donovan asked to see samples of the stained glass for the window by the front staircase, so I sent him the sketches and color options.” I looked at my message pad, doing my best to stay professional while inwardly rolling my eyes. “And Senator Stevens is looking forward to seeing you Friday evening.”

  “Daddy is so thoughtful.” Gwen beamed.

  To her credit, Madeline ignored the comment completely. “Thank you, Ms. McCabe,” she said, taking the message slips I offered. Then she dismissed us with a wave of her hand.

  Gwen stomped her way back to her desk. I swear, for someone who paid a lot of money to a personal trainer and more likely a plastic surgeon, you would think she could walk without sounding like a herd of stampeding elephants.

  “So sorry you won’t be joining us Friday, Alex. It really is a shame you will miss the gala, again.” She smirked.

  “Actually, I will be attending this year. I was invited by a friend.” I tried and failed not to sound smug. She stopped typing and gaped at me like my hair had suddenly burst into flames.

  Alex: 1, Bitchface: 0

  “Lucky you.” She sneered at me, pursing her overly plump lips.

  Ping, ping. I picked up my phone.

  Drew: What’s for dinner?

  Alex: Got me, what’s in your fridge? Duck Sauce and Batteries?

  Drew: No, smartass. What are YOU making me for dinner?

  I smiled.

  Alex: Quesadillas?

  Drew: I’ll bring Jose!

  I smiled to myself, thinking about the first night we spent with Jose.

  When one o’clock came around, I was stuck on a conference call with a wallpaper wholesaler. Gwen beat me to the conference room and already had her boards and samples set up on the table. She grinned at me like she’d already won. I took a seat as Madeline breezed through the door.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s see what you got.”

  She took her seat at the table, signaling for Gwen to begin. I looked at her presentation boards. She went with what I assumed was a Moroccan theme with a gold leaf wall paper and deep purple drapes pooling on the floor. The whole concept was Arabia meets Moulin Rouge. Al
l it needed was Ewan McGregor and an elephant in the corner.

  Nope, I was wrong, she had the elephant.

  I glanced at Madeline. Her elbow was resting on the table, fingers pressed to her pursed lips, her face blank and completely unreadable as she listened. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking as Gwen yammered on and on.

  “Thank you, Ms. Stevens,” she said. “Ms. McCabe, I believe you are up.”

  I took my place at the front of the room. “The Ashburn Family started their global empire with just a few fishing boats in the Florida Keys. As generations have passed, they have branched out, but I thought that a nod to their Southern coastal roots would be something they would love.”

  I placed my boards on the easel in front of the room. The boards showed slow moving fans and plantation shutters, potted ferns framing the reception desk, and cool slate tiles with thatched rugs, all of which could be done for under the advised budget.

  When I was finished, I studied Madeline’s face for her reaction, but her stoic expression remained. She got to her feet and paced back and forth. Then she examined each budget proposal again and felt the fabric samples. She spent what felt like hours considering the options. Finally, she came to a stop at the head of the table.

  “You both did a fantastic job, but I believe, for this project, Ms. McCabe’s plan is the best approach.” She smiled at me. “Ms. McCabe, you can present to the board next week.”

  With that, Madeline swept out of the room, not noticing Gwen glaring in my direction. I just smiled and collected my materials.

  “Guess she’s not a Nicole Kidman fan,” I said as I headed for the door. I heard Gwen’s growl of frustration as I made my way down the hall.

  Alex: 2, Bitchface: 0. I was on a roll.

  ***

  I was chopping up the chicken when I heard a knock on the door. It opened a crack and Drew stuck his hand, the one with the bottle of tequila in it, through the opening. I grabbed the bottle from him as he pushed the door open, brandishing a bag of limes in his other hand.

  “Sadly, they were out of Margarita mix.” He paused, feigning disappointment. “So, shots it is!” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I’m sure they were out.” I giggled, taking the limes from him into the kitchen to finish dinner. I dumped the chicken and onions in the frying pan. “Tonight is a bit of a celebration.”

  “For what?”

  “Guess who is presenting her proposal to the board of the Ashland Hotel next week?”

  “Bitchface?”

  I threw a piece of green pepper at him. He dove and caught it in his mouth, raising his arms in victory as he chewed.

  “Funny. No, seriously. Madeline loved my ideas. She gave me the go ahead to present to the board.”

  “Wow! Congrats, Red. That’s great! This will be your first big solo project, huh?” He reached around me to pluck another pepper from the cutting board.

  “Kind of. I’ve flown solo before, but on bathrooms and kitchen renovations. Never on something this huge.”

  “Well then, let us drink to your success.”

  Drew took the bottle off the counter. He reached up to get the glasses from the cabinet. The hem of his shirt pulled up, exposing a strip of his perfectly tanned, muscular stomach and that perfect V-shape pointing right down to his…

  What was up with me? Since when do I ogle Drew? I’m not blind. He’s obviously gorgeous. His dark hair is messy in that sexy, just-got-out-of-bed kind of way. His eyes are deep blue and change from dark to light depending on his mood. His shoulders are broad and muscular from playing football all through high school and most of college. He still plays twice a month in Grover Park. I guess I just never took the time to notice him.

  Well, okay, I noticed. I definitely noticed. I can’t help how my body reacts to him, my skin flushing and heart speeding up, teeth trapping my bottom lip, but that was just a biological reaction to someone I found attractive. At least that’s what I told myself.

  Drew is still the player he was in college, though. Besides, he’d said it before; I’m not his type. I’m not exactly sure what his type is. The girls I’d seen him with showed a pretty wide range. There were so many it was impossible for me to keep their names straight, so I gave them nicknames like Bleach Bunny and Baby Voice. Over the years, there were blondes, brunettes, and a few with hair colors not found in nature. All of them had one thing in common, all boobs and no brains. Since he seemed happy, I would put forth the effort to talk to Bubbles and Hooters when he brought them around, even though it made me want to drill a hole into my skull.

  “Alex.” Drew waved his hand in front of my face.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “You okay?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  I turned back to the stove, trying to hide the deep shade of red consuming my face. I pushed the attraction way, way down, like I always did. Drew was my best friend. Nothing was going to happen between us. He loved me like his little sister. We’ve always been like family. In fact, he’s the only family I have.

  If something ever happened between us, it would complicate things way too much. Some lines were better left uncrossed. Drew was the center of my world, which sounded a little weird, but it was true. Drew was there for me when I had no one. He brought me back to life. I wasn’t going to risk losing him just to get laid, even though it had been a while.

  He reached around me, stealing a piece of chicken from the pan, and I swatted at him with my spatula. He just laughed, leaning back against the counter. I had to reach around him to get a knife and he didn’t try to move out of the way. He just smiled down at me, watching me struggle to reach around his hard, sculpted body.

  I started cutting up the limes, dividing them into wedges in an attempt to focus my attention on anything but how good he looked in that shirt. Man, my hormones were on overdrive tonight. I needed a drink.

  After grabbing the salt from the stove, I licked my wrist and salted it before handing the salt to Drew. He took the shaker, his fingers briefly brushing mine, licked his wrist, and sprinkled on the salt. His eyes never left mine during the entire process. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn he was flirting.

  I handed him a lime as he poured me a shot and handed me the glass. We locked eyes and clinked glasses, then licked the salt off of our own wrists and downed the shot. My body warmed as the tequila spread through my system. Drew held his lime out for me and I did the same, taking the lime he offered between my teeth.

  When I met his eyes again, there was something different there. I just couldn’t place it. He took hold of my hand, guiding the lime I held to his lips, his tongue flicking out to wet them before taking the bitter fruit between his teeth. I couldn’t help but stare at his mouth as he sucked the juice from the lime wedge.

  I blinked and took the lime out of my mouth. Pulling my hand from his grasp, I turned toward the stove to finish dinner. When my back was safely to him, I exhaled, letting out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

  When I finished the quesadillas, I handed him his plate and a bottle of water, which he tucked under his arm. He grabbed the tequila with his free hand and headed for the living room. I followed behind with the salt, a plate of limes, and our glasses, then returned to the kitchen for my food and some napkins, taking a moment alone to calm my nerves.

  He flipped on the TV, searching through the movie channels. When I came back into the living room and sat on the couch next to him, he had settled on a movie.

  “Fight Club again,” I said, setting my plate in my lap, I scooped salsa onto my fork.

  “Of course. Tyler Durden is a badass,” he replied. He took a big bite of his quesadilla, cheese stretching out from his mouth as he tore through the tortilla with his teeth. I laughed and handed him a napkin. He was such a mess.

  “You always say that. Tyler Durden is a hallucination brought on by insomnia.”

  He looked at me, cocking his head to the side like he couldn’
t possibly understand why I didn’t want to watch Fight Club again for the millionth time. It was like this every movie night. We never agree on what to watch. We usually argue until one of us caves. Guess my turn to cave was tonight.

  “Fine, we will make this interesting,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Every time Tyler flashes, we take a shot.”

  “Deal,” I said as Tyler flashed behind the copier. I’m never one to back down from a challenge.

  Grinning, Drew poured me a shot and handed it to me with the salt. We repeated the process: lick, salt, lick, shot, and then lime.

  I finished off my food and set my plate on the table in front of us. Drew looked at me as I sat back on the couch. “You have some salsa on your…”

  He swiped his thumb over my lip and brought it to his mouth, sucking his thumb clean. I just stared at the side of his head, but he kept watching the movie, laughing at something on the screen I couldn’t hear. What the hell was that? I must be drunker than I thought.

  “Oh, here we go,” he said, handing me another shot and the salt. I took it and shook my head, pushing past the salsa thing. I licked my wrist and salted it. He reached over and grabbed my wrist, bringing it to his lips. He licked the salt off with one flat swipe of his tongue, then took the shot and bit into the lime.

  I froze, staring at his fingers still wrapped around my arm. Now, we have been known to be overly affectionate from time to time, but this was taking things to a whole new level. I was sure that I had to be imagining things. After all, tequila did strange things to me.

  Seeing my shocked expression, he laughed. “What?” he said, like it was no big deal that he just licked me. I mean, up until now we were just going through the typical tequila shot ritual and licking salt from our own wrists, but he was changing the game and it felt more intimate then I was used to. I met his eyes, mine narrowing as I tried to figure out his end game.