The Design(28)

I tried to speak up about my ideas.

“What about a small changing area near the splash pads, so that parents could put their children in swimsuits?”

“That’d be an eyesore,” he replied.

“What if we commissioned a mural for the back of the amphitheater stage so that we could showcase some LA artists?”

“No. Graffiti shouldn’t be encouraged,” he argued.

“What if we design modular booths that can provide options for local prostitutes and drug dealers?”…just kidding. I wasn’t brave enough to test Alan’s patience with that suggestion.

After being shot down at every turn, I finally just sat quietly in my chair, sketching loose designs and pretending to listen to Alan’s crappy ideas.

I was perfecting the crosshatching on an amphitheater sketch when a hand hit the back of my chair.

“How are the designs coming along?” Grayson spoke from behind me, practically scaring me out of my skin. I jumped up off my seat and covered my notepad for fear that he’d realize I wasn’t paying attention to the meeting. Then I turned back to look up at him and caught a whiff of his spiced aftershave. His hand was still on my chair and his small smile told me he’d already seen my designs. I blushed and tried to close my notepad as discreetly as possible.

“Great. The park design will have a clean aesthetic,” Alan offered with a buttery tone and a smile that showcased his yellowed canine teeth. Why the hell does a park need a “clean” aesthetic? It needed to be welcoming and functional.

“Alright. I look forward to seeing some of the mock-ups. And Alan, make sure you’re getting input from everyone,” Grayson said before pushing off the back of my chair and heading toward his office. His aftershave lingered in the air for a few seconds and I discreetly glanced over my shoulder to watch him walking away. That day he was in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and deep red tie. The whole ensemble was admirably smooth.

“That’s enough for today,” Alan snapped. “We’ll pick this back up again on Friday morning.”

I wondered if it was hard for Alan to take orders from someone half his age and twice as successful.

…



Later that afternoon, I was watching Grayson walk back from the kitchen when he turned and started to head toward my desk. Oh shit, he saw me staring. LOOK BUSY, DUFUS. Every part of my body froze as our eyes locked, and then at once my heart started pounding and my lungs filled with air.

“Cammie,” he spoke when he was a foot from my desk. “We need to head over to that residential project this afternoon. You can drive separately and meet me there at four o’clock. Sharp.”

“Oh, um, okay.”

Apparently my answer wasn’t convincing enough because he didn’t move to leave right away.

“Do you remember where it is?” he asked, bending forward to take the pencil out of my hand so that he could jot down the address on a post-it note. Our fingers touched only briefly, but it was enough for me to lose all speech capabilities.

“There’s the address in case you need it,” he said before heading back to his office. “Oh, and you might want to change your clothes,” he said, casting me one last glance over this shoulder. “You’ll be getting dirty.”

Oh my dear god. I now needed to change my panties too. Thank you, Mr. Bossman.

Obviously, after that little chat my concentration was shot to hell for the rest of the day. Finally, 3:30 rolled around and I told Alan I was leaving for the day. He’d heard Grayson instruct me to meet him at the site, but even still, the look on his face was absolutely priceless. He mumbled under his breath, but he didn’t argue as I gathered my stuff and waltzed out of the office, feeling fortunate to get to leave the office when the sun was still up. Whattup, Vitamin D.

Once I was free from Alan’s overbearing gaze, I grabbed my phone and texted Brooklyn.



Cammie: About to head to a job site with Grayson. Wish me luck.

Brooklyn: I hope you get to meet so many hot construction workers.

Cammie: Aww, thanks sister. I’ll be sure to hook-up with as many construction workers as possible.

Brooklyn: That’s my girl.

Cammie: Alan made me sharpen all of his drafting pencils today because apparently you need a master’s degree to operate a pencil sharpener.

Brooklyn: He is such a tool. Why don’t you tell Grayson about him?

Cammie: I don’t know. Maybe I will eventually… I just want to prove Alan wrong. I love seeing his face every time I turn in the work he overloaded me with a day early.

Brooklyn: Well, I’m prepared to make good on that threat to poison him. You just say the word.

Cammie: Let’s lay off the poison threats. Jeez. We’ll both end up in jail.

Brooklyn: That’d be fun. We could wear orange jumpsuits and I could entertain the prisoners like Johnny Cash did.

Cammie: You sing teeny pop ballads…

Brooklyn: Name one prisoner who wouldn’t enjoy a good pop song…

Cammie: I don’t know any prisoners…

Brooklyn: Exactly. #youlose

I raced home to throw on a fitted tee and some worn jeans before meeting Grayson at the residential project. I couldn’t contain the excitement brimming over as I drove across town. I’d been thinking about the house a lot over the last few days and I was anxious to see how much the build had progressed since I’d last been there.