The Design(8)

She pulled out a small object and tossed it onto my lap before proceeding to the elevator. I looked down to find a small blue stress ball with the words “Grayson Cole” written across the latex in black Sharpie.

I smiled and picked it up, wishing there was a picture of his beautifully annoying face on it. Maybe if I did land a job, I’d modify it.

…



I sat in that waiting room for three hours. As each applicant’s name was called, they stood and made their way through the double doors behind the front desk, one by one, until I was the only one left. It was excruciating to have to sit there, even after I’d finally landed a coveted seat. (My ass had gone numb from sitting on the ground, or maybe from the blood loss from my knees. Whatever.) To pass the time, I alternated between checking my phone and squeezing the stress ball. In the end, I sat there with my arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering for the hundredth time that morning, just how cruel Grayson would be that day. Surely he intended on actually interviewing me; it couldn’t all be some cruel joke.

“Ms. Heart,” Beatrice spoke.

I looked up in time to watch the blonde guy with glasses—I’d dubbed him Flashcards—make his way through the waiting room with tears streaming down his face. Oh, jeez. Grayson made him cry?

“You’ll be our final applicant,” Beatrice said with a bright smile, seemingly unconcerned by the blubbering young man passing by her.

My walk to join her at the door seemed far less dramatic than it should have. In hindsight, a violin should have been playing a sad song to accurately portray the tone of the moment: dead man walking.

“Don’t worry, Grayson always likes to save the best for last,” Beatrice assured me.





Chapter Three


I highly doubted that Grayson was saving me for last because he I thought I was the best applicant. There were many possibilities for why I was last:

1. He wanted me to sit and sweat, torturing me slowly. (In which case, joke’s on him, because it took about 3 hours for me to stop sweating from my sprint up the stairs.)

2. He wanted to have ample amount of time to criticize my resume and everything listed on it.

3. He’d actually forgotten I was even there for an interview.

Beatrice held the door open for me as I walked through, and then I got my first glimpse at the company Grayson had built from the ground up. The office was shaped like a giant square with four arms branching off at each corner. The main room itself was the biggest space in the office. It housed the architects, dividing them into small teams of four or five. It was a collaborative work environment with zero privacy.

Each arm that branched off from the main room housed a different department: in-house engineers, accounting, interiors, and the company’s conference room. Industrial signs hung artfully from the ceilings, directing guests to the various departments. There were three offices on the back wall of the main room, across from the front reception area, each reserved for the company’s executives. Grayson’s sat in the very center, nearly twice as big as the two offices surrounding it.

I walked toward his open door, letting Beatrice take the lead as I hung back and tried to get a feel for the work environment. The open floor plan allowed for collaboration, and most of the employees had their heads together as they worked through design problems. A few of them looked up and nodded at me, but most of them stayed busy, drafting and designing.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting—maybe more of a prison-like atmosphere, especially after the scene Kelly had pulled in the waiting room. Most everyone looked happy though. That is to say, no one was flashing me signs inscribed with “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

I smiled at the thought just as Beatrice and I arrived outside Grayson’s doorway. Beatrice stepped to the side, and I inhaled a sharp breath. I had a clear view of Grayson sitting behind his large black desk with his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. His hands worked furiously, jotting down notes while listening to whoever was speaking to him on the phone.

“Just wait here,” Beatrice whispered. “He should be done soon.” I nodded and she touched my arm gently before taking a seat at her desk a few feet away from his door. Within a moment, she was on a call and I was left to stand there idle as I watched the subject of most of my college-aged fantasies.

He didn’t notice me right away—not while he was working—so I stood there admiring him. He was in a traditional black suit, fitted across his shoulders and arms. He’d paired it with a crisp white shirt and a sleek black tie. The soft light from the window hit his cheekbones, accentuating their sharp contours and putting special emphasis on his exquisitely defined jaw. He reached to rub his fingers along his chin, and his eyes narrowed on the sheet of paper on his desk. I wondered what he was studying. So much so, that I dared to take a step closer.

Bad move.

He dropped the drafting pencil and after one excruciatingly long second, his eyes slid up to me. They were so sharp and blue that they pinned me to my spot, and I was caught between taking another step closer and fleeing for my life. Neither of us moved. I felt like I was stuck in the center of a tightrope, hanging over a canyon with nowhere to go but down.

He spoke into the phone with a deep, authoritative tone while keeping his gaze on me.

“Mitch, I’ll have to call you back in a moment. I’ve got one last interview.”