Somewhere in Between (Madison Square #1) (4 page)

Chapter 4

Alex (Now)

Monday morning, I woke up to the sound of my alarm, the fog horn. Just one more thread in a string of bad ring tone decisions. I showered quickly, then blow dried my hair in an attempt to tame the frizz. I put on just enough makeup to look presentable and dressed quickly in my vintage cigarette pants, a polka dot blouse, and some comfy ballet flats.

I never go overboard for work. The job requires professional attire, but as an interior designer, I spend most of my days in musty carpet stores and construction sites covered in drywall dust. Usually, by the end of the day, I end up looking like I just went through a desert.

I ran through today’s projects in my head and mapped out my schedule for the morning on the walk to work. After college, I landed my dream job with Madeline Grant Interiors. I met Madeline when she was a guest lecturer for my Introduction to Sustainable Design class. She told us that interior design required a gift that couldn’t be taught. That day, she became my personal god, and when I found out she was looking for an associate designer to join her firm, I camped outside her office for three days until she finally agreed to review my portfolio. She said if I was half as talented as I was persistent, then I had the job. She flipped through three pages and told me I was hired.

I could already tell that this week was going to be hell, but I was excited to present my proposal for the Ashburn Hotel to Madeline. She asked me and another designer to do a storyboard for the Ashburn Hotel lobby. We were supposed to present them to her today. The best idea would be pitched to the client.

She provided us with a color story and samples for the direction she was going in to ensure that the lobby was consistent with the overall look of the hotel, but she gave us a lot of freedom and encouraged us to think outside the box. Basically, may the best woman win, and I fully intended to.

My competition, if you could even call her that, was Gwen Stevens. My hatred for Gwen ran deep. Just the sound of her name made me cringe. It was painfully obvious to everyone in the office that she got her position because of daddy’s money and connections rather than actual talent. She followed her lack of actual skill with a bitchy attitude and a complete disregard for the people around her. Her Botoxed, overly made-up face seemed to be fixed in a permanent sneer when Madeline wasn’t looking, earning her the nickname Bitchface.

I got to the office a bit earlier than usual so I could have some extra time to prepare for the presentation. I rounded the corner to my desk, set my bag down, and turned on my laptop.

“Coffee?”

I looked up to see Wiley thrusting a large cup toward me. Wiley was a textile designer working for the firm. We were famous for our exclusive prints and textiles, largely thanks to Wiley. She was unique, to say the least, bohemian, and artsy. She wore her dark brown hair in dreadlocks and her fingers were always stained with ink or paint.

“Thanks.” I smiled and took the cup from her long fingers that were already tinted green. In my hurry to get to the office, I left without making my coffee, a sure sign I was losing my mind. Wiley had just saved my life.

She rested a hip on the side of my desk, holding on to her own cup. “So, what’s new?”

I leaned back in my desk chair with my coffee and smiled up at her. “Not much. Just got invited to the Rags & Riches gala on Friday.” I shrugged and waited for her excitement to bubble to the surface.

“What? Madeline finally invited you? That’s amazing!” she cried, her eyes widening.

I set my coffee down on my desk. “No, Gwen is still going. The cow has her lips surgically attached to Madeline’s ass.” Madeline was invited every year to the gala, and I prayed for the chance to go as her guest. Unfortunately for me, that honor always went to Gwen, since her father, Senator Lawrence Stevens, was a member of the arts council who sponsored the event.

Wiley’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“Drew got an invite. I’m his plus one,” I said, answering the question on her face.

“Oh, Gwen is not going to like that.” Her face turned sour.

“I’m not going to like what?”

I cringed and leaned over to look past Wiley to confirm it was her. Sure enough, there Gwen stood in all of her perfectly coiffed and surgically enhanced glory. Gwen sauntered over to her desk across from mine in her skin-tight pencil skirt and plunging V-neck sweater showing off the assets daddy bought for her eighteenth birthday. She stomped across the floor in her silver-tipped Prada heels so hard, I was shocked the thin stiletto didn’t snap.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my computer. Wiley pushed off my desk and, with a sympathetic smile, she quickly shuffled back to her office in the basement.

Before Gwen could unleash her wrath on me, Madeline swept in to the room in her usual cloud of Chanel. “Good morning, ladies,” she sang with a bright smile.

Madeline was amazing, sharp as a tack and unbelievably talented. She had a classic elegance that commanded respect. I so wanted to be her when I grew up. She glided past us and into her office, shaking out of her cream blazer. Gwen practically sprinted to retrieve it from her before I could even reply to Madeline’s good morning.
Kiss ass
.

“Good morning, Ms. Grant,” Gwen and I said simultaneously, glaring at each other when Madeline’s back was turned.

“Ladies, are we ready to present your proposals for the Ashland?”

“Of course, Ms. Grant. Ready when you are,” Gwen replied with way too much enthusiasm.

“Fabulous. We will meet in the conference room at one. Are there any messages?”

I quickly jumped in, knowing Gwen hadn’t had a chance to check Madeline’s e-mails. “Your dress for the gala is ready to be picked up. Mr. Donovan asked to see samples of the stained glass for the window by the front staircase, so I sent him the sketches and color options.” I looked at my message pad, doing my best to stay professional while inwardly rolling my eyes. “And Senator Stevens is looking forward to seeing you Friday evening.”

“Daddy is so thoughtful.” Gwen beamed.

To her credit, Madeline ignored the comment completely. “Thank you, Ms. McCabe,” she said, taking the message slips I offered. Then she dismissed us with a wave of her hand.

Gwen stomped her way back to her desk. I swear, for someone who paid a lot of money to a personal trainer and more likely a plastic surgeon, you would think she could walk without sounding like a herd of stampeding elephants.

“So sorry you won’t be joining us Friday, Alex. It really is a shame you will miss the gala,
again
.” She smirked.

“Actually, I will be attending this year. I was invited by a friend.” I tried and failed not to sound smug. She stopped typing and gaped at me like my hair had suddenly burst into flames.

Alex: 1, Bitchface: 0

“Lucky you.” She sneered at me, pursing her overly plump lips.

Ping, ping
. I picked up my phone.

Drew: What’s for dinner?

Alex: Got me, what’s in your fridge? Duck Sauce and Batteries?

Drew: No, smartass. What are YOU making me for dinner?

I smiled.

Alex: Quesadillas?

Drew: I’ll bring Jose!

I smiled to myself, thinking about the first night we spent with Jose.

When one o’clock came around, I was stuck on a conference call with a wallpaper wholesaler. Gwen beat me to the conference room and already had her boards and samples set up on the table. She grinned at me like she’d already won. I took a seat as Madeline breezed through the door.

“Okay, ladies, let’s see what you got.”

She took her seat at the table, signaling for Gwen to begin. I looked at her presentation boards. She went with what I assumed was a Moroccan theme with a gold leaf wall paper and deep purple drapes pooling on the floor. The whole concept was Arabia meets Moulin Rouge. All it needed was Ewan McGregor and an elephant in the corner.

Nope, I was wrong, she had the elephant.

I glanced at Madeline. Her elbow was resting on the table, fingers pressed to her pursed lips, her face blank and completely unreadable as she listened. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking as Gwen yammered on and on.

“Thank you, Ms. Stevens,” she said. “Ms. McCabe, I believe you are up.”

I took my place at the front of the room. “The Ashburn Family started their global empire with just a few fishing boats in the Florida Keys. As generations have passed, they have branched out, but I thought that a nod to their Southern coastal roots would be something they would love.”

I placed my boards on the easel in front of the room. The boards showed slow moving fans and plantation shutters, potted ferns framing the reception desk, and cool slate tiles with thatched rugs, all of which could be done for under the advised budget.

When I was finished, I studied Madeline’s face for her reaction, but her stoic expression remained. She got to her feet and paced back and forth. Then she examined each budget proposal again and felt the fabric samples. She spent what felt like hours considering the options. Finally, she came to a stop at the head of the table.

“You both did a fantastic job, but I believe, for this project, Ms. McCabe’s plan is the best approach.” She smiled at me. “Ms. McCabe, you can present to the board next week.”

With that, Madeline swept out of the room, not noticing Gwen glaring in my direction. I just smiled and collected my materials.

“Guess she’s not a Nicole Kidman fan,” I said as I headed for the door. I heard Gwen’s growl of frustration as I made my way down the hall.

Alex: 2, Bitchface: 0. I was on a roll.

***

I was chopping up the chicken when I heard a knock on the door. It opened a crack and Drew stuck his hand, the one with the bottle of tequila in it, through the opening. I grabbed the bottle from him as he pushed the door open, brandishing a bag of limes in his other hand.

“Sadly, they were out of Margarita mix.” He paused, feigning disappointment. “So, shots it is!” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m sure they were out.” I giggled, taking the limes from him into the kitchen to finish dinner. I dumped the chicken and onions in the frying pan. “Tonight is a bit of a celebration.”

“For what?”

“Guess who is presenting her proposal to the board of the Ashland Hotel next week?”

“Bitchface?”

I threw a piece of green pepper at him. He dove and caught it in his mouth, raising his arms in victory as he chewed.

“Funny. No, seriously. Madeline loved my ideas. She gave me the go ahead to present to the board.”

“Wow! Congrats, Red. That’s great! This will be your first big solo project, huh?” He reached around me to pluck another pepper from the cutting board.

“Kind of. I’ve flown solo before, but on bathrooms and kitchen renovations. Never on something this huge.”

“Well then, let us drink to your success.”

Drew took the bottle off the counter. He reached up to get the glasses from the cabinet. The hem of his shirt pulled up, exposing a strip of his perfectly tanned, muscular stomach and that perfect V-shape pointing right down to his…

What was up with me? Since when do I ogle Drew? I’m not blind. He’s obviously gorgeous. His dark hair is messy in that sexy, just-got-out-of-bed kind of way. His eyes are deep blue and change from dark to light depending on his mood. His shoulders are broad and muscular from playing football all through high school and most of college. He still plays twice a month in Grover Park. I guess I just never took the time to notice him.

Well, okay, I noticed. I definitely noticed. I can’t help how my body reacts to him, my skin flushing and heart speeding up, teeth trapping my bottom lip, but that was just a biological reaction to someone I found attractive. At least that’s what I told myself.

Drew is still the player he was in college, though. Besides, he’d said it before; I’m not his type. I’m not exactly sure what his type is. The girls I’d seen him with showed a pretty wide range. There were so many it was impossible for me to keep their names straight, so I gave them nicknames like Bleach Bunny and Baby Voice. Over the years, there were blondes, brunettes, and a few with hair colors not found in nature. All of them had one thing in common, all boobs and no brains. Since he seemed happy, I would put forth the effort to talk to Bubbles and Hooters when he brought them around, even though it made me want to drill a hole into my skull.

“Alex.” Drew waved his hand in front of my face.

“Oh, sorry.”

“You okay?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I turned back to the stove, trying to hide the deep shade of red consuming my face. I pushed the attraction way, way down, like I always did. Drew was my best friend. Nothing was going to happen between us. He loved me like his little sister. We’ve always been like family. In fact, he’s the only family I have.