The Design(42)

I slapped my menu onto the bar.

What?

“Excuse me?”

That lying bastard.

…



I barged into Grayson’s office on Thursday morning like a bat out of hell. I pushed his door open so hard that it slammed back against the wall and shook the books on his shelf. Everyone in the office would have been able to hear the racket, but no one was in yet. I’d purposely arrived early to kill Grayson in peace.

“Looks like I chose the perfect day to install a new deadbolt on that door,” he remarked, keeping his focus down on his work.

I ignored him and shoved the door closed behind me.

“You realize that I’m trying to work, right?” he asked.

I scowled, crossed my arms, and waited for him to acknowledge me.

“The least you could do is bring me a cup of coffee when you interrupt me.”

“I’m not your secretary,” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes and pressed the intercom on his phone.

“Beatrice?” he asked. Silence.

She hadn’t arrived yet, which meant he was on his own with the coffee. He stared up at me expectantly, but I arched a brow and held my ground.

It was his move.

With an annoyed groan, he pushed his chair back and stood, his full height threatening my confidence for a moment.

“God. Fine, I’ll go get your damn coffee,” I hissed, turning on my heels and heading toward the kitchen. I ran through every ingredient that I could sprinkle into a mug inconspicuously enough so that Grayson wouldn’t notice. Did we keep cayenne pepper stocked in the cabinets?

“Get out of my way, Cammie,” Grayson hissed as soon as I opened the kitchen cabinet to reach for a mug. He moved up right behind me and reached over my head to get to the cabinet.

“I said I’d make it!” I snapped.

Grayson laughed. “I’m not drinking your spit. Now, move.”

I hadn’t had the confidence to tell him how I felt a moment before, but now his attitude made it all too easy.

“So, which of your two faces are you wearing today, Grayson?” I snapped, spinning around and pressing my hands onto his chest to push him away from the counter. “All of that bullshit about not dating employees and then you invite Hannah to get drinks with you? What the hell is that?”

“What are you talking about? And can you keep your voice down?” he hissed.

He slammed the cabinet door closed and moved around me to turn on the fancy espresso machine.

I hated that he was ignoring my outburst so he that he could continue on making his damn coffee.

“Let me speak slower for you,” I dragged out. “You. Invited. Hannah. To. Drinks.”

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t speak.

“I understood the whole Nicole thing, but seriously, Hannah? Is this all just a game to you?” I asked.

Grayson slammed his mug onto the kitchen counter, practically shattering the ceramic in the process, and then he grabbed my arm just above the elbow and dragged me out of the kitchen. His grip was tighter than necessary and his fingers pinched the back of my arm so that I had no choice but to follow him. He pulled me after him as he walked to the side stairwell near the kitchen, an exit hardly anyone ever used.

As soon as the heavy metal door closed behind us, he let go of my arm. We were standing on a small concrete platform with stairs leading to the floors above and below us. Out of the thirty-odd floors in the entire building, there wasn’t a single person using the stairwell. It was as private as we could get inside the building.

“I didn’t invite Hannah anywhere. Are you clinically insane?”

I reached up to slap him, but he caught my wrist two inches away from his cheek.

“What in the world did I ever see in you?” I asked, yanking my wrist away from him.

He growled and turned back toward the door, rubbing the back of his neck to calm his nerves, no doubt.

“There’s an office happy hour Monday night. Everyone’s invited. Hannah must have overheard the conversation and embellished it. I don’t know what to tell you, but you’re acting like a child.”

He didn’t invite Hannah?

I’m acting like a child?

I was still trying to connect the dots when Grayson moved toward me, so quickly that one second he was a few feet away from me on the platform and the next he was pressed against me, pushing me back against the wall and caging me in against the cold concrete.

“I’m not dating any employees.” His breath hit my neck. “I'm not fucking any employees. But if I were… it wouldn’t be Hannah.”

His lips touched my skin just beneath my ear, a sensitive spot that interrupted my breathing and forced me to squeeze my eyes closed.

We paused there for a moment, on the precipice of something more. Just as I fluttered my eyes opened, prepared for him to walk away, his mouth collided with mine. The force of the kiss would have slammed my head into the wall had his free hand not reached up to cushion the blow. I gripped his arms, residual anger still burning inside of me. Then his hands found the hem of my skirt and my anger dissolved in an instant, replaced with an emotion equally as compelling: lust.