It was a hard road, but I finallymadeit.
Knowing both of my parents were blue-collar workers and couldn’t afford to pay for my college, I worked my butt off in high school to get good enough grades to earn myself a scholarship. I knew I wanted to be an architect since seventh grade. In science class, we built bridges out of toothpicks, and I loved trying to figure out the best design for the teacher to test with an increasing number of weights.
My team won, and I’ve been hooked ever since.
I could have gone to a fancier school and taken out a ton of student loans, but the U of M has a great architecture program, I got nearly a full ride scholarship, and I could stay at my parents to avoid paying for housing and a meal plan.
I worked campus jobs for gas money, kept my nose clean, and avoided most of the parties. Sometimes I questioned those decisions, when my friends were partying in the dorms and I was home, babysitting my younger siblings with a textbook on my lap. It felt like I was missing out on some essential rite of passage.
However, just a month after graduating, I beat out dozens of other applicants and got my dream job: a spot as an architect with one of the premier firms in Miami. Yes, it’s entry level, and yes, more than likely guys like Frank would take credit for my work for a few years while I earn my place in this boy’s club.
But I know I got the job over lots of people who were looking to move up from other firms, willing to take a pay cut just to work here.
I earned that.
Sighing, I jiggle the mouse on my computer and get back to reading the extensive company documents I’m supposed to finish by the end of the day.
I’ve only gone a few pages when Rebecca passes through the glass doors again, leading a trio of young men in sharp suits into the conference room on the opposite side of the office.
My heart starts racing, and my temperature surges as I duck behind the monitors, hoping they don’t see me.
Because there, in the flesh, are two men I drooled over and one I legit fantasized about through my entire four years at U of M.
The Vargas brothers.
* * *
Holy crap. Vincente, Sandro, and Elian Vargas. In Kellerman. On my first fricking day.
Of all the luck.
I peer over the monitors, watching through the glass as Rebecca gets them settled in at the conference table and then bustles my way to fetch refreshments. Despite the bold red dress hugging her generous curves and the way her hips swing invitingly, none of them so much as glance up as she walks away.
Rebecca smooths her jet-black bob and starts making up a tray with a carafe of coffee and bottles of water. By the time she’s arranged things how she likes, the tray is near bursting with stuff and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. She tries to heft it and nearly twists an ankle in her sky-high heels. None of the guys move a muscle to assist her, including Frank, who supposedly didn’t want to bother her for coffee ten minutes ago.
Instinct takes over and I hop up. “Here, let me help.” Rebecca beams at me gratefully and I grab the two heavier items, the carafe of coffee and bucket of water bottles in ice, from the tray.
Of course, I want anything but to deliver myself for the scrutiny of these particular men, but I already feel like Rebecca is an ally and I have to help her.
Frank lets out an audible ‘harrumph’ but I ignore it as we cross the office to the conference room. Shuffling in behind Rebecca, I place the coffee on the table and set the bucket of waters on the sideboard where she indicates, keeping my gaze down to avoid eye contact and hoping the flush in my cheeks isn’t noticeable. The three men are deep in conversation about the project they’re here to consult on.
“Sloane?”
Well, so much for going unnoticed. Glancing up, I confirm it’s Elian, even though I’d know his voice anywhere.
“Oh, hey Elian,” I fake a surprised expression, as if I didn’t realize who they were, which is laughable. Everyone at U of M knew the Vargas brothers, and most of Miami knows their family from any of a dozen society columns, charity events, or night club openings that happen every week.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” Elian prompts with a smile, his dreamy dimples on full display.
“Yeah, I started today, actually.” It’s taking all of my energy not to stare at him with goo-goo eyes and turn into a puddle on the floor.
“Cool. So are you, like, the secretary or something?”
“No, that’s me,” Rebecca interjects on my behalf. “Miss King is our newest architect.” Rebecca beams at me with pride as if she’s my big sister.
And I didn’t think I could adore her more.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot you were in the architecture program.” Elian turns his gaze back to Rebecca. “We worked together at a few campus catering jobs.”