The Design(19)

“I’m leaving now,” he said. “I’ll have my car pick you up at your apartment. Don’t bother dressing up, we aren’t leaving my place tonight.”

His words were acid and I had to fight the urge to throw my pencil at the back of his head. There’s no way that Grayson was that open with his relationships. He was putting on a show for me. Right? He wanted me to know he was unavailable. Extremely unavailable. Little did he know, I didn’t want him to be easy and available. I wanted prey.

“You have another twenty of those bathrooms to draft before you leave tonight,” Alan reminded me, effectively emptying a bucket of ice water over my head. I inwardly groaned. Alan really knew how to ruin a moment with his drab orders and terrible breath.

Soon, Alan and I were the only two employees left in the office and I knew that in any other situation, I’d have thought he’d asked me to stay late so he could hit on me or something. Maybe another man would have, but not Alan. I had a feeling he was asexual. Like a cactus. Although, to be honest, I was so hungry that if he’d told me I could go home if I let him touch my boob or something, I’d have whipped it out. I was really hungry and I have great boobs, so whatever. But this wasn’t a soap opera and he was probably not a sex offender, so I had to keep working.

At 7:30 pm, determined to stick it out as long as Alan wanted me to, I texted Brooklyn pleading for some sort of dinner. Alan was in the bathroom, so I figured I had a few minutes to beg for food. Besides, I was in danger of keeling over if I didn’t get something to eat soon.



Cammie: SOS. Please send food. Dick boss is making me stay late.

Brooklyn: Grayson is making you stay this late on your first day? I’m calling him.

Cammie: NO! It’s this middle management guy. I’m trying to prove that I can handle the workload.

Brooklyn: Nomz on the way.

Cammie: THANK YOU! Also, nobody says nomz anymore.



After I sent her a final text, I saw that Hannah had texted me a few minutes earlier as well.



Hannah: Are you going to be home soon? I just ordered pizza.

Cammie: No, eat it without me. Alan is making me stay late. :(

Hannah: Okay. Whatever. Ask Grayson if he’s single!



I deleted her second text immediately. Whoops, slippery fingers, I guess.

“I don’t think we’re paying you to text,” Alan said from behind me, scaring the crap out of me.

I nearly tossed my phone at him in an attempt to protect myself.

He rolled his eyes and took his seat beside me once again. I was going to explain that I was just asking my sister for food, like any normal human would, when Alan’s office phone rang. The shrill sound ricocheted around the quiet office.

He picked it up after the second ring with a sharp, “Hello.”

I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but I prayed it wasn’t a client needing something done tonight. How late could he actually make me stay?

“No. No—we were just leaving.” Alan spoke with an edge of fear laced in his voice.

My pencil paused mid-line.

“We wouldn’t have stayed later—”

His sentence was cut off and then the sound of dead air replaced the low murmurs from the other end. Alan stood, his chair scraping against the cement floors.

“It’s time to go. Grab your things so I can lock up.”

He was pissed, more so than he’d been all day.

I grabbed my things and then Alan and I rode the elevator down to the ground floor in silence. The whole time, I imagined what Grayson was doing with the woman he’d been on the phone with when he’d left. Was it the same woman he’d been with in his office during lunch or was I competing against multiple women?

I needed to step up my game. Maybe Brooklyn had a pushup bra I could steal. Yeah, that was a good idea.

Step one: blind him with my boobs.





Chapter Seven





I was pouring myself a cup of orange juice Wednesday morning when Hannah stepped into our kitchen. We’d ended up finding a place to rent just a few blocks over from the Sterling Bank Building. It was small, with ‘70s style shag carpet and appliances that hadn’t been used since the Dark Ages, but we could walk to work and the neighborhood was full of hip bars and coffee shops. I just had to survive the potential asbestos in the walls for three months and then I’d be eating crepes in Paris.

“Morning,” I said, tipping my cup to her in a little salute before taking a long sip. We’d lived together for a few days but I’d hardly seen her around the apartment; it seemed we weren’t on similar schedules. I functioned as a normal human being, while she functioned like some sort of bat.

She grunted and made her way to our coffeemaker. I watched her pour a cup, then she spun around to face me, and her mouth dropped.

“That dress is kind of provocative for work, don’t you think?” Hannah asked as her gaze dragged down my outfit.

I glanced down. Sure, the dress was an inch or two shorter than I normally would have picked, but was it really that bad? I’d taken a selfie earlier in my bedroom mirror and sent it to Brooklyn. She’d replied within five seconds with, “That dress was made for you!” Surely Brooklyn would have told me if it was too risqué for work.

“Do you think I should change?” I asked, glancing back up and noticing Hannah’s disheveled appearance for the first time. She’d gone out on the town after finishing her pizza the night before and I’d heard her stroll in a little after 3:00 am. The bags under her eyes were showing the effects of her lack of sleep. Still, I was envious of her social life. I’d been too tired after work to do anything but watch Bravo. Okay, who am I kidding? Even if I wasn't tired, I would have stayed in and watched Bravo. I do have priorities, and they involve reality TV.