“Your intelligence remains to be seen, and you may someday be a great designer, but right now, you’re green, darlin’—supergreen. Don’t let your arrogance trip you up. If you want to learn, I suggest you pay attention and grow a thicker skin than you obviously have at the moment. Grow up and stop acting like a wounded puppy.”

At that, he waives the waiter to our table and drops a credit card on the check. He’s pissed, but frankly, so am I. Not for the first time today, I wonder why I should care what he thinks. He’s no one to me. We had sex, and it was quite clear his interest was in nothing more than my body for one night. This is not a man who deserves my concern or care. Who the hell am I kidding? I’m no victim of his whoring. I asked for it, and I got it. But I feel victimized; I’m hurt. There’s no sense to it, and yet the pain is rejection. This realization is unwelcome; it means I’m exactly the same as every other pathetic woman so intent in believing my life is somehow attached to a man—as though his approval should mean anything to me. But it does, and with a swift and overpowering surge of emotion, I decide I’m going to prove him wrong, and I’m going to make him eat his bullshit words.

He stands swiftly to leave, and I fall behind his steps. He’s walking with a brisk pace, his irritation showing in his every swift footfall, and as we near his car he approaches my door. Rather than opening it for me, he pushes me gently but firmly against the door with a strong hand to my hip. His touch is possessive, his eyes are on fire, and I’m certain his harsh irritation has finally cracked. He’s going to touch me, and in all of my irritation and hurt, I want him to. I want him to soothe the pain he’s caused me. I want his hands on my skin and to push away his painful words with them. And as he slips his hand past the lapel of my jacket to my breast, my breath catches audibly, and I stop breathing. And with one final look to my eyes, he destroys me.

There’s a ripping sound, but it’s many long, confusing moments before I can figure out why his intimate touch my body is so craving sounds more like ripping fabric than the gentle kneading of my breast through my shirt, but as he dangles the long, clear, sticky clothing label, announcing I’m a size S in front of my face, I die. He continues to appraise my eyes as I stare at the sticker he now holds in front of me, and with one swift move, he pulls my hand to his, places the sticker in my palm and moves to the driver’s door without a second glance to me. I quickly wad the sticker in my hand and fumble for the door latch. Humiliation is washing over me in tsunami-size waves. I don’t want to be in the car with him, and the irrational childish part of my brain pleads with me to run, but it’s not an option. And sinking into the seat next to him, I look out the window, praying I can restrain the embarrassment and the tears pricking at my eyes in humiliation.

***

I’m not prone to getting pissed off easily, but she managed it in less than thirty seconds. Quite frankly, most people don’t challenge me so openly as she did, but she had no problem firing back at me. What happened to the innocent, sweet fuck from Friday night? Hard to believe this resentful bitch is that same girl. I told her what she needed to know. I don’t sugarcoat anything outside of my bedroom, and she might as well get used to that fact. What does she expect? I’m not here to hold her hand … but God, I wouldn’t mind touching her leg.

She’s sulking beside me in the passenger seat as I return us to the office. I had thought the ride back would be awkward, but my mind has been racing in irritation, and I’ve paid little attention to her whatsoever. But as she crosses her leg away from me, her black skirt riding up a few inches on her thighs, I stop hating her for long enough to fantasize about her. She had no business withholding the fact she was a virgin from me, but at the same time I can understand why she did. Would it have made a difference? I’d like to say the answer to that question is yes, but my cock begs to differ, and as I steal glances at the perfect, smooth, pale skin that peeks out between her knee-high boots and the hem of her skirt, my groin aches in want. I’m hard just sitting next to her in the car as she stares out the window in anger, and I have to concede I want to fuck her. I want to pull over and push that skirt to her tight, little waist and take her body. I want her to submit to my demands and fuck every last ounce of her obstinacy from her mind, but I don’t make a move. I keep my hand on the wheel, guiding the car through the traffic, and once we’re back at Foster’s I park quickly, desperate to get away from her but not wanting to.

I round the car to her door, and as I help her from the car I freeze. She’s been crying, and while she won’t look at me, her eyes are still damp with her tears, and her cheeks are splotchy and red. I humiliated her. I was angry, and rather than sparing her feelings, I let my anger get the better of me, and now seeing her in this state I hate myself.

Her pain is a punch to the gut. I want to touch her. I want to apologize. I want to take the hurt and embarrassment I caused her away, but as I open my mouth to speak she beats me to the punch. “Please stay away from me.”

Her eyes meet mine for the first time since stepping from the car. They are bright with her tears and twinkling from the glossiness. The blue is stunningly clear, and she looks beautiful—hurt but beautiful. And as she turns to leave, she stops and looks back with one final comment. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” And then she’s gone, and I feel like an asshole. More than that, I feel rejected. How the hell did this happen?


Chapter 5

Vera has fast become a pain in my ass, and when she approaches me the week following my lunch with Jordan, every muscle in my body tenses. She’s as much a bitch today as she was on my first day here, and when I see her coming I become nervous and jittery in an instant.

“We have a briefings and assignment meeting in the executive boardroom in ten minutes. Stay out of the way and try not to say anything stupid.” In Vera form she turns on her heel and leaves my gaze trailing after her in confusion. I’m guessing the executive boardroom is where I first met the executives, but it surely doesn’t mean I can find my way back there. In a fortunate coincidence, Bridget stops by my cube a few minutes later to see if I’d like to walk with her. Thank God for sweet Bridget, who doesn’t hate me for being supergreen.

I haven’t seen, spoken to, or instant messaged Jordan since our lunch, and I’m guessing I’m about to be face to face with the handsome asshole any minute. The butterflies in my stomach are an unwelcome reminder this man still has the ability to stop me in my tracks, get under my skin, and intimidate the hell out of me.

As we enter the room, I hold my breath. Standing quietly against the wall as Vera instructed will be no problem. The expansive table is taken by Foster, the principals, and all the senior-level managers, including the toxic Vera. As she sees us enter, she glares at me but waves me to her side. I have no choice but to pass right by Jordan on my way to Vera, less I circumvent the table in a most out-of-the-way manner, and as I approach the table, rounding the end toward him, his gaze follows me. Vera is sitting two seats down from Jordan on the same side of the table, and when I approach, she speaks.

“Get me some coffee. One cream, half a packet of Equal.” My mouth drops open. It’s not as if Vera has ever been civil to me, but to treat me like a damn waitress in a room full of people has my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I hurry toward the side bar at the end of the room, wanting nothing more than to be done with this humiliating errand, but as I approach the side bar there’s a hand on my elbow. Looking over my shoulder, I see Jordan. He leans to my ear as my breath hitches in my throat.

“Go stand by Bridget.” I watch his eyes as he pulls back from me. They are serious but warm. He’s embarrassed for me. I round the table toward Bridget’s side as Vera watches after me with openmouthed hatred etched across her face, but my eyes pass quickly from hers as they return to Jordan. He fills a coffee mug with coffee, grabs a handful, yes a handful, of creamer packets and sugar packets before returning to Vera. He sets the cup in front of her and literally dumps the packets on the table, dropping a few directly into her cup and sloshing her coffee on the table. He doesn’t say a word as he returns to his seat, but his eyes find mine and hold my gaze. He’s expressionless but refuses to look away. I’m likewise unable to look away from him. Mr. Foster breaks the spell when he speaks, and it’s as my eyes pass to Foster I catch the look of abject hatred planted on Vera’s face, but this expression isn’t for Jordan, which would of course make sense; rather it’s for me.

Foster starts the meeting as Bridget whispers a commentary in my ear. The meeting is a roundtable discussion by the principals as they review their lineup of projects and what support they’ll need from management and staff. Lower-level employees really aren’t expected to be there, and it’s clear the only reason I was included was so Vera could make a fool of me. Jordan heads up the restoration department of Foster’s, and when it’s his turn to speak he runs down his list of ongoing projects. When he gets to a historic building restoration that is in progress and will ultimately end up being high-priced condos, it’s time for the other principals and managers to discuss the necessary workforce required for the project. Vera reports directly to the only principal on the interior design side of the firm, and it’s her job to assign interiors support, but when she starts speaking Jordan cuts her off quickly.

“I’ll be working with Adeline on the interiors.” Vera’s mouth drops open, as does mine; Jordan’s eyes find mine, and the entire room suddenly goes quiet … but not for long.

“She’s just an intern. You can’t pull her into a real project.” You guessed it, Vera McBitch.

“Watch me.” Jordan, of course. “This is a great project for an intern. The condos will be custom per buyer, and I’ll need a model unit as well as the common spaces. The scope should fit perfectly into the remainder of Adeline’s semester.”

“But you don’t work with interns.” Now it’s Foster who is speaking, but unlike Vera he is smiling quizzically and curiously at Jordan. I haven’t yet closed my mouth, and like an idiot I’m just starring back and forth from one to the other, but at Foster’s comment, Jordan’s gaze returns to me.

“Well there’s a first time for everything.” His eyes are serious, and his expression is intimidating, but the look on Vera’s face is priceless, and as terrifying as the prospect of reporting directly to Jordan is, it’s worth the terror for this small victory. I have to clench my jaw to keep the smirk from pulling my lips. The rest of the meeting is a blur, and I don’t catch a single bit of the conversation. Jordan has returned his attention to the meeting as well, and it’s only occasional glances I catch in my direction from him.

As Bridget and I move to the door at the end of my first executive-level meeting, Jordan again catches up and places a hand on my elbow, stopping me, and while his eyes are on mine, he speaks to Bridget.

“Please make sure Adeline finds her way to my office at two this afternoon. We’ll need to start hashing out a schedule.” His hand leaves my arm, and he exits without another word.

The entire way back to my minicube, Bridget talks a mile a minute. She’s shocked, as apparently everyone else in the room was as well, that Jordan brought me onto his project; she’s blown away by his obvious jabs at Vera, and though she doesn’t directly say it, her expression questions mine in curiosity about Jordan and his attention to me. I say nothing at all in response to the eye inquiry, but my curiosity is peaked as well. I guess when I told him to leave me alone, he had other things in mind, and while this brings a threat, there’s a longing and excitement as well. He’s blunt, confident, and without a shred of weakness, but his every action in that room was for my benefit in some way or another.

By two o’clock, I’m wired and nervous. When Bridget stops by my cubicle, I jump a foot and yelp in surprise. As I follow her through the maze of hallways toward the other building of Foster’s, my mouth goes dry and my breathing becomes shallow. She leads me to the open second floor and around to the back wall of the building, stopping outside an office. She knocks and enters, and it’s with great force I will my feet to move forward. Once within, I look slowly around, not wanting to meet his eyes. His office is large and nice. The back wall is original brick with an overlarge arched window that runs from the floor, peaking at the high ceiling above. His desk is simple and vintage. His drafting table is as vintage as his desk, and the office shows the same appreciation for old architecture as his home does. The color on the walls is warm tan, and the artwork is framed drafts of some of Chicago’s most notable features; I’m guessing the drafts are originals, and I would also guess this man has no patience or interest in knockoffs.