The Design(4)

I slipped over to the side of the restaurant and gave my friend Darren a call. He was a guy from my high school, someone known for walking the line between right, wrong, and Class C misdemeanor. With his holier-than-thou attitude and his ever-present pair of combat boots, even I couldn’t stand the idea of being around him for very long, but he would work just fine for one evening of fun.

When Darren arrived, he stood at the entrance of the restaurant wearing a Ramone’s t-shirt and a bored expression. He didn’t even bother stepping inside. It wasn’t his style. He waited for me at the door as I hugged Brooklyn goodbye. She begged me to stay and whispered that she was worried about me leaving with Darren. I pulled out of her grasp as a sinking feeling started to take hold inside of my gut. You’re better than this. Stay. Don’t do something reckless. There was no point in doubting my decision; my conscience was fighting a losing battle. At that point in my life, I wasn’t worried about anyone but myself. I didn’t care that it was my sister’s birthday. I needed out.

I felt Grayson’s gaze on me as I walked away. Just before Darren took my hand and pulled me through the front door, I turned back and locked eyes with him.

His gaze was cold and hard. There was a darkness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. His jaw was locked tight and his brows were knit together. He shook his head once, and then turned away from me—back to the blonde staring up at him with doe eyes.

Annoyed, I stormed out of the restaurant’s front doors, ripped off my heels, and sped off with Darren to a college party down in the Valley. I can’t recall if I even slept in my own bed that night.

After that night, a few years passed before I saw Grayson again. I’d done my best to forget the part of my life when I’d been completely obsessed with him. Instead, I focused on my goal: becoming a licensed architect. I was in the second year of my architecture program and I was already in love with the field.

Then, one day, I glanced up from writing “Guest Lecture Series - #3” in my spiral notebook and saw him standing at the front of my college lecture hall.

I didn’t believe it was him at first. He looked different than he had before: all grown up in a navy blue suit, complete with linked cuffs and shined shoes. His rich brown hair had grown out a little on top, but it was styled back, highlighting his strong bone structure. His red tie fell perfectly down the center of his broad chest and his hands were clenched into fists by his sides as his eyes locked with mine. Oh, it was him all right. He’d given me that same exact stare the last time I’d seen him.

I did my best to pay attention during his lecture. The class was absolutely silent as he spoke. The girls all leaned in to hear each syllable he uttered, while the guys tried to dissect how he was able to captivate a room with zero effort at all.

After weighing the pros and cons, I’d worked up the courage to talk to him after class. It’d been a few years since I’d last seen him and I felt like I’d grown up a lot in that time. I wasn’t Brooklyn’s little sister. I was Cammie Heart, architecture student. (I mean, I’d traded my sports bras in for the real thing, and I knew how to style my hair properly. How could he resist me?)

So, after the lecture I joined the line behind the other students—all conspicuously female—who wanted to have a chance to speak with him. I craned my ears to hear him speak to each one of them. He was quick, but polite. He offered them real advice and encouraged them to apply for summer internships at his firm.

The line continued to move until I was one person away from getting to talk to him. I knew he saw me standing in line behind the girl he was chatting with, but just before they finished talking, he smiled down at her and gestured for her to lead the way out of the classroom. I was left standing there like a fool as I watched them leave. He had his hand on her lower back and his gaze focused on the door. A part of me wanted to yell after him, but I knew it was futile. To Grayson Cole, I was as good as a ghost. He might have humored me around Brooklyn, but whatever politeness he’d once shown me was long gone.

From that point forward, I attempted to block Grayson from my mind. I did my best to ignore him whenever we saw each other, and he did the same. We had an unspoken agreement to pretend the other person didn’t exist.

That is… until a few days ago—the day of my college graduation. I’d just arrived at the restaurant for my celebratory brunch when I saw Grayson waiting for me on the sidewalk, wearing his classic navy suit. I was shocked to see him—I hadn’t invited him to my graduation, obviously. Yet, there he stood, turning heads on the sidewalk and forcing my heart to kick into overdrive.

“Could I speak with you for a moment, Cameron?” he’d asked, ignoring the other four people in my group altogether.

I froze with his confident gaze on me. Actual conversation was against our unspoken rules. I couldn’t recall him ever asking to speak with me privately.

Despite my nerves, I agreed and once we were alone, he stepped forward and presented an offer I couldn’t refuse: an interview at his firm, Cole Designs. The exchange was brief—he turned back to his car as soon as I’d accepted—but the fact remained: he’d gone out of his way to offer me an interview.

So tomorrow morning, I’d sit across from him with every bit of confidence I could muster, all the while wondering how he could hate me so much yet still consider hiring me.