Grayson nodded good-naturedly and I turned back to my food, ill-equipped to deal with the awkwardness of the dinner.
“Cammie, did you enjoy your first week of work?” Jason asked from across the table. Usually, I would have taken a moment to admire him. After all, he was People’s Sexiest Man To Ever Be Born… or whatever. But tonight, I wasn’t in the mood. Not while Hannah was practically licking her lips, preparing to sink her teeth into Grayson.
“Yeah, it was uh... fine,” I said, spinning my ravioli around with my fork. I’d barely managed two bites. Every time I saw Hannah turn her attention to Grayson or—God forbid—emit another one of her giggles, blind-rage replaced my hunger. If I casually stabbed her hand with my fork so that she’d have to be rushed to the hospital, would that scream “desperate”? I wasn’t sure, so I just filed the idea away in the “maybe” pile.
“Wow, is it that bad working for me, Cammie?” Grayson asked, directing words at me for the first time all night. The fact that he’d used “Cammie” instead of “Cameron” in front of my sister only served to piss me off even more.
“It’s not like I’m really working for you. You’re locked away in your office all day. I’m left with Alan and his sparkling personality.” I practically shivered just saying his name aloud.
“I’ll keep a better eye on him,” he promised just as Hannah put her hand on his forearm to steal his attention once again. My fork twitched in my hand.
“Grayson!” Hannah all but shouted. “I meant to tell you, I absolutely love the mentor program. I have Alan as a supervisor and he’s actually a really great teacher. He showed me the blueprints for the…” At that point her voice completely faded into Charlie Brown-esque “womp womp womp”. I turned to see if I could find solace with Brooklyn and Jason, but they were whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears—or so I assumed—so I was left on my own, rocking the fifth wheel spot like I was born for the role. Enough. I dropped my fork onto my plate and pushed my chair out from the table.
“I’m going to go get some air,” I said to no one in particular. Brooklyn moved to follow me but I shot her a look to stay put.
A good, solid suck of LA smog was just what I needed. I needed to shake things up. I hated the person I was becoming: this insecure, shell of a girl. I’d been confident in college, outspoken and happy. I didn’t care about what other people thought. Now I couldn’t even make it through a dinner without coming undone. I couldn’t eat. One minute I’d be fine, and the next, Grayson would make me so angry that I felt completely out of control. It was all Grayson’s fault.
I toed a rock with my shoe and crossed my arms like a melodramatic teen.
What was I doing wasting my time on Grayson? Why did I feel the need to conquer him? To win him over? Because really, that’s what I was after. If I wanted something serious from him, I’d play it cool and take a step back. No. It was about the thrill of the hunt. But why? I didn’t need the added stress. I just needed three months worth of paychecks so I could get the hell away from LA and find some nice Frenchman to stick between my legs.
Just the idea of leaving LA started to calm me down. I’d start in Paris, of course. I’d yet to see the Eiffel Tower in person and if I was going to jaunt around the world, experiencing life to the fullest, that’s where I needed to begin. Maybe I’d stay there for a week or two, eating my fill of croissants and sleeping my way through as many Frenchmen as I dared to try out. How do you say “Get into my pants” in French? I’d have to learn. (Or y’know… I could always just default to good ol' body language.)
“Cammie?” a voice spoke from behind me, jarring me from my thoughts. I closed my eyes as I registered the fact that it was Grayson’s voice.
He’d followed me out.
I folded my arms even tighter before speaking.
“What can I do for you, Grayson?” I asked, not bothering to turn to look at him. A few minutes ago, I would have been ecstatic that he had cared enough to come out and talk to me, but in that moment, I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t feel any of my confidence. I didn’t feel flirty or desirable. I wanted to hit pause on the game.
“I was just wondering what you needed a breather from?” he asked.
You. You. You.
I kept my eyes on the road.
“Nothing.” That word held so much power: the power to deny someone your true feelings in a moment of vulnerability. I watched a car drive down the street and tried to concentrate on its movements rather than my feelings. But then Grayson spoke again.