The Design(62)

I shoved aside the highlighters and drafting pencils, and then my fingers touched cold metal.

A key.

Without hesitation, I pulled it out and tried it on the drawer I’d just attempted to break into.

It worked. The drawer slid open, and inside, waiting for me in a neat pile, was Grayson’s stationery. I squealed as I pushed aside two boxes of business cards so that I could reach the pristine stack of letterhead at the back of the drawer. The Cole Design logo was printed at the very top and beneath that, “Grayson Cole, CEO” was embossed in bold black lettering.

I reached for one, then thought ahead and grabbed two. With my luck, I’d accidentally rip the first one or spill coffee on it and have to repeat the whole process over again.

I’d done it. I had the letterhead and I could submit my design. I pushed the drawer closed again and it locked into place just as the phone on Grayson’s desk started to ring. The shrill sound made me jump out of my skin as it ricocheted off his office walls. It rang again, the piercing sound seeming to grow even louder. Without thinking, I reached out for the phone, and pressed the first button I could find.

The ringing stopped and I stood frozen, unsure of what to do. Why had I touched it at all? I should have just let it ring!

A second later, his voicemail began playing on speakerphone and Grayson’s voice surrounded me.

“Hi, you’ve reached Grayson Cole. I’m not in the office at the moment so leave your name and number and I’ll give you a call when I get in. Thanks.”

Hearing his voice made me feel a sharp pang of guilt for what I was doing. Grayson trusted me and how did I repay him? By breaking into his office and stealing company property.

What was I doing? I had to get out of his office. I couldn’t go through with the plan. I couldn’t forge his signature.

As I started to move, his voicemail cut off and then the person who’d called started to leave a message.

“Hey Grayson. It’s Mitch. I have some things to discuss about—”

I scrambled to end the message. I couldn’t listen to one of his client’s messages. I didn’t need anything else to feel guilty about. I reached for the phone and pressed down on the same button as before, hoping to cut off the voicemail. I needed to get out of there, but Mitch’s message wouldn’t go away. I kept pressing buttons, cursing under my breath, until finally, Mitch’s voice cut off.

Get out. Get out. Get out. I repeated the phrase over and over again as I replaced the key and rolled his chair back to where it had been positioned before I’d moved it in the first place.

“First saved message,” the voicemail began.

“No! Crap!” I stammered.

“Hey, Grayson. This is Frank from Whitmoor Apartments.”

I reached to stop the message from playing, but paused with my hand midway over the desk.

Whitmoor was my building.

“We were able to install that security system you asked for on unit #450.”

My unit.

I could feel the color drain from my face as Frank continued on.

“I’ll shoot the bill over to your email and I’ll include an invoice for that portion of the rent you requested.”

What the hell?

I reached for the phone and slammed my hand down onto every button until the message cut off. Truthfully, I wanted to rip the phone from the desk and chuck it across the room, but I refrained. Instead, I stood there in a daze, trying to replay the last few seconds in my mind. Maybe I hadn’t heard what I thought I’d heard.

No, I definitely had.

Why in the world was my landlord calling Grayson? How did he even know who Grayson was?

As calmly as possible, I clutched the two pieces of Grayson’s letterhead in my palm and left his office. I glanced back once, ensuring everything was in its correct place, and then paused when my gaze landed on his phone.

In a matter of two minutes, my world had flipped upside down.

What the hell was Grayson doing installing a security system in my apartment without asking me? And what was Frank saying about my rent? Hannah and I split the rent 50/50 each month.

None of it made sense and there was no time to try and decipher it. Alan, Mark, or Peter could walk in at any moment and I didn’t want them to see me standing in his office.

I had a layer of sweat on the back of my neck, my heart was hammering against my ribcage, and my stomach was twisted into a tight, anxious ball. All morning I’d been unsure of whether or not I could proceed with my submission. But then I heard that message, and my world wasn’t so black and white anymore. That message had effectively made my decision for me. I was going to submit my design. For the next ten minutes, I operated like a robot. I shoved every emotion below the surface as I went about the motions I knew I had to do.

I loaded the letterhead into the printer beneath Alan’s desk and pulled up the summary for my design proposal that I’d worked on over the weekend.

Once it was printed on the letterhead, I took a deep breath and forged Grayson’s signature at the bottom of the page. There, in wet black ink, was visible proof that I was jeopardizing everything in my life by submitting my own design.

Would Grayson forgive me if he ever found out?

Would he ever find out?

What did it matter, anyway? Grayson had his own secrets to worry about.

Without another thought, I slipped the letterhead into the manila enveloper and sealed the top.