The Design(22)
“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 terrible, 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.