The Design(49)

She narrowed her eyes. “You know he doesn’t have meetings like that with anyone else. You must be pretty special.”

“I think you’re reading too much into it,” I shrugged. "It's boring mentor-mentee stuff, just like your meetings with Alan."

Hannah stepped closer so that she could reach for a mug of her own. The fact that I had to quickly duck so that the cabinet door wouldn’t whack me in the face didn’t faze her.

“Well it seems funny, because I tried to schedule a meeting with him yesterday and Beatrice said he wasn’t available for a few days, yet you just waltz right up to his office and he lets you in. Strange, right?”

I set my mug down on the counter, crossed my arms, and turned to Hannah.

“What are you getting at, Hannah? Just say what you want to say.”

Her stern expression broke into a smile, a deviously placated smile. “What?” She laughed. “I was just wondering if there was anything you wanted to tell me. Y'know, as roomies.”

I shivered at the way she said roomie. We’d only lived together for a few weeks, and I hadn’t seen this side of her. I thought her attraction for Grayson was a silly crush, but as she stared at me from over her coffee mug, I had a feeling I’d underestimated her obsession with him.

I’d definitely be locking my door from now on.

I offered her a fake smile. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Grayson is my sister’s friend and that’s probably why he doesn't mind meeting with me. He doesn’t want to piss her off,” I laughed. My entire demeanor seemed glaringly transparent to me, but I hoped Hannah couldn’t tell.

She tilted her head and watched me for another few seconds before a small, genuine smile unfolded across her lips.

“That’s right,” she nodded. “I forgot how close they were.”

I inwardly sighed. “Oh, yeah, like family,” I continued, embellishing the details. “They’ve known each other for years and she’d kill him if he was rude to me—listen, I gotta get back to work. Alan has been on my case all day.”

She nodded as if she understood. “Oh, I bet. I’ll see you later,” she called after me, sounding far more chipper than she had a few moments before.

As I left the kitchen, I made a mental note to play it safer with Grayson while we were at work. If Hannah suspected something, there was a good chance that she wasn’t alone. There definitely couldn’t be any more late night sneaking around in our apartment. I couldn’t put the blame on my sister if Hannah found Grayson standing in our kitchen in his skivvies.





Chapter Nineteen


Amount saved for Paris: $1382 (minus the $98.99 I spent at the small boutique I passed on the way to drinks. The mannequin in the window was wearing a pair of ankle boots I needed for Paris. Needed.).

Items I have: #ankleboots.

Items I need: An outfit to wear with my new awesome #ankleboots.

French phrases that I know: Mon père est Liam Neeson, alors ne me prend pas.

…which translates to “My dad is Liam Neeson, so don’t take me!” I figure it’s a pretty important phrase to have in my arsenal.




Brooklyn picked a swanky bar for our happy hour. I could practically feel my wallet shrinking as I walked through the frosted glass entryway. The bar was on the bottom floor of a high-end LA hotel and there were two separate sides. Normal people were filtered in on the left, and celebrities, moguls, and rock stars entered in on the right. I belonged on the left side without a doubt, but Jason and Brooklyn were far from normal. They weren’t even in the normal VIP section. She’d texted me to let me know that they were in some kind of secluded VIP area—even fancier and more badass than the normal one.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” a bouncer asked as I tried to enter the special VIP section. I’d had no problem making it past the first round of bouncers. I had that skinny model look going on, mostly because * Alan never left me enough time to eat actual meals (and when I did manage to sneak away, I spent the time boning my boss in the driver’s seat of his swanky car). I’d also unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse after leaving work just for some added incentive.

“Sure," I replied. “I’m here to see my sister, Brooklyn Heart.”

The bouncer scoffed and gestured to his buddy next to him like “Get a load of this crazy fangirl.”

The bouncer pointed behind me, toward the exit. “Yeah, okay. You need to head back to the front. If it makes you feel any better, you made it farther than most."

I huffed and then redialed Brooklyn’s number for the thirtieth time.

“Oh, weird, maybe she changed her number,” the other bouncer mimicked in a girlish tone, before punching his buddy playfully.

“That’s the funniest thing you could come up with?” I asked them with a harsh glare right before I hit redial again.

By some miracle, she finally answered.

“Are you here?!” Brooklyn asked.

“Yeah, butthead. Come let me in. These bouncers don’t believe that I’m VIP-worthy. They even think my 'Cameron Heart' driver's license is fake—I don't even know how to get a fake ID.”

“Assholes. Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

I hung up and crossed my arms, trying to come up with the best possible thing to say as soon as Brooklyn showed up. If it were the mid 90s, I would have thrown out a classic “Whasssuppp suckers!” but that didn’t feel cool enough for the current decade.