When the car pulled up outside of the coffee shop, Grayson Cole was standing near the door, eyes focused on his phone in hand. I smiled, realizing some things never changed. He was a workaholic, always had been. His dark navy suit was tailored to perfection and his dark hair was styled well. He wasn’t the type to go out with a single hair out of place. The guy was a control freak to the max. Which probably had something to do with why he’d started his own architecture firm as soon as he’d become certified at twenty-six, turning it into a global firm by the time he celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday.
I thanked Jerry for the ride and gave him instructions to be back in about an hour. I doubted Grayson had any more time than that to spare for coffee on a workday.
“Excuse me, is that the oh-so-important Grayson Cole, of Cole Designs?” I joked as I stepped out of the car, pretending to be amazed at my friend.
He smirked and slid his phone back into his pocket. The light caught his brown hair, highlighting his sharp features that were too good-looking not to notice. “Good to know you haven’t let the fame take away your humor,” he said.
I laughed as he held the door open for me. “Cammie makes sure of that,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes ever so gently as he turned his attention to the chalkboard menu hanging on the wall over our heads. That reaction, on top of Cammie’s emphatic “no” to my invitation earlier, piqued my curiosity about the two of them.
“Hey, you’ve never had a problem with my sister, right?” I asked, trying to sound casual. The patrons in front of us stepped up to the counter and I heard the woman order what sounded like a Cinnamon Roll Mocha. Um, yes please. I’ll take a dozen of those.
“No. Of course not. Why do you ask?” he asked, continuing to peruse the chalkboard. He was using his business tone. He never used his business tone with me.
“Oh, it’s just that she graduates from college soon and it seems like it would make perfect sense for her to get her feet wet working for you, but neither one of you seems very keen on the idea.”
His dark brows tugged together and I studied the way his blue eyes purposely focused on the wall behind my head.
“I have no problem with it. I’m just not sure if she could meet the standards that I hold my employees accountable to.”
Oh God, why did he sound like a more polished version of Jason Monroe? What was it with guys underestimating my sister and me?
“She’s won like a billion architecture awards in her program. I don’t know what any of them mean, but she assures me that she’s one of the top students in her program,” I declared. My sister was smart and I knew she could hold her own at any firm in the city.
Grayson rubbed his clean jaw and I noticed the scent of a clean after-shave for the first time since joining him. I knew most of the women in the shop were purposely glancing in his direction while trying to be inconspicuous about it. The Grayson Cole curse.
“That might be true that she’s one of the top students. However, I usually hire the top student.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Give me a break, Grayson. She’s brilliant and if you took two seconds to look at her designs you’d know that.”
“I’ve seen all of her designs,” he answered in a clipped tone before gently pushing me toward the front of the line so we could order.
A hippie barista with dreadlocks asked for our order before I was able to expand on that very interesting point. Did he always take an interest in architecture student work? By the time we’d moved down to the end of the bar and I’d taken pictures with two very sweet fans, I was too distracted to ask.
We found a booth in the far corner so that we’d have some semblance of privacy. At first, I used to care that paparazzi constantly thought that Grayson and I were dating. In the beginning they’d photograph us together anytime we stepped out in public, but now they’d come to understand that we were just friends, that we’d always just been friends. I didn’t see Grayson like that, even though every other warm-blooded female did.
“So how is work going?” Grayson asked, taking a sip of his coffee. I watched him unbutton his suit jacket to get situated, revealing a crisp, white button-down shirt.
“It’s going well. I have that tour coming up later this year, but just this morning my record label dropped a little bomb on me.”
His brow quirked up in interest, but he didn’t feel the need to ask me for details. He knew I’d offer him more than enough information on the subject.
“Have you heard of Jason Monroe?” I asked, secretly praying that he hadn’t.