A design for love

Chapter two

By 7 a.m., I was fully awake, sitting on the toilet and fighting for my life. This wasn’t exactly how I envisioned my Monday morning. I’d planned everything meticulously: wake up at six sharp, brush my teeth, take a refreshing shower, put on my killer outfit, apply makeup, check emails, send Julia a goodbye text (because she wouldn’t be awake before noon anyway), stop by the coffee shop across the street for a donut, and hail a cab to my new workplace. According to my calculations, I’d arrive thirty minutes early, radiating professionalism and ambition. My bosses would be so impressed they’d start drafting my promotion right then and there.

But alas, life had other plans.

To be fair, it all started out great. I woke up right on time, or, well, 6:10, because I couldn’t resist an extra ten-minute snooze. I brushed my teeth and all seemed fine. But just as I was about to hop in the shower—step three on my carefully curated list—I got this weird, unsettling feeling in my stomach. Twenty minutes later, that “funny feeling” had me stuck on the toilet, expelling what felt like my entire existence. It was during this *very* humbling experience that I wondered if this was a sign from the universe to stop relying on takeout and consider, I don’t know, a salad? I shelved the thought for later though.

By 8:16, I was running around my bedroom, combing my hair with one hand and swiping on lip gloss with the other. My pale reflection stared back at me in the mirror, a little worse for wear after my gastrointestinal battle but still passable. I knew at that point that the coffee shop donut was officially out of the equation, a heavy blow to my carefully crafted plan. I sighed, grabbed my bag, and decided to wing it—maybe I’d sneak out for a bagel during lunch if things weren’t too hectic.

The next thirty minutes blurred by as I anxiously navigated through morning traffic, mentally cursing every driver on the road (mine included) to move faster. By the time we screeched to a stop at 8:51, I was all ready to shove some cash at the driver, sling my bag over my shoulder and sprint toward my new workplace.

Prescott & Co. loomed tall ahead of me as I approached it, its glass facade gleaming against the morning sun. Red letters spelled out its name at the very top, bold and striking, just like the company’s reputation. This company was a high-end real estate firm with branches all over the country. I didn’t know much about real estate itself, but I’d snagged a position as part of their interior design team, and I was determined to leave my mark. Who knows? Maybe one day I’d branch into real estate myself.

Stepping inside, I was immediately greeted by the chill of the air conditioning mixed with the faint aroma of coffee. Mentally adding “find the coffee machine” to my to-do list, I scanned the room and spotted a familiar face striding toward me.

“Anastasia! I’ve been waiting for you, my dear.” Caroline’s shrill voice wasn’t exactly a soothing start to the day, but she liked me well enough so I plastered on a smile and gave her a quick hug.

“I’m not late, am I?”

“Oh no, dear, you’re right on time. Come along now, the others are waiting in the boardroom.”

She led me down a corridor into a large room where six or seven people were gathered around a table, chatting quietly. Styrofoam cups and boxes of donuts sat at the center, a beacon of hope amid my chaotic morning.

“Okay, everyone, it’s 9 o’clock. Let’s get started!” Caroline directed me to an empty seat next to a pale-faced guy in a wrinkled suit, who gave me a lopsided smile.

“I’m Matt. Nice to meet you.”

Ah, Matt. The other newbie hired alongside me. His blue suit and crooked tie screamed “rookie nerves,” which honestly made me feel a bit better about my own jitters.

Caroline launched into a forty minute monologue about company values, expectations, and efficiency, all while my stomach churned ominously. She mentioned a new project, something about email etiquette, and time management—a blur of corporate buzzwords I couldn’t entirely focus on thanks to the familiar discomfort that had been stirring in my gut for some time now.

Uh oh.

When Caroline finally paused for questions, Matt raised his hand and I internally groaned.

Dammit, Matt.

“Since Anastasia and I are new, wouldn’t it help to get a little tour of the place?” he asked, his voice bright with enthusiasm.

Caroline adjusted her glasses. “A tour isn’t a bad idea, but you’ll get familiar with the layout soon enough. Any other questions?”

My hand shot up before I could stop myself. “Where’s the washroom, please?”

The words left my mouth with far less grace than I intended. Someone chuckled, a chubby guy across the table, but Caroline silenced him with a pointed look. “Top floor, on your left,” she replied.

“Thanks.” I mumbled, already reaching for my bag on the floor.

“Since there are no more questions then I guess we’re done here." Caroline announced, closing the fat binder in front of her. "Anastasia, meet me back here when you’re done. I still need to show you your workspace. Matt, since you want a tour so badly, follow me to my office. I need to pick up a few files from there. The rest of you, back to work!”

I was about to make a dash for the door when the same chubby guy from earlier called after me and stopped me in my tracks. "You’re from London, aren’t you? Your accent…”

I narrowed my eyes at him. People always assumed I was from London. And yes, it happened to be true, but still, there are plenty of places in England besides London, folks!

I didn’t bother responding and just rushed out of there. Not that I wanted to be rude on my very first day, but I had bigger concerns. If I didn’t find that bathroom soon, this already disastrous morning was about to hit rock bottom.

Now where did Caroline say the washroom was?

Top floor?

By the time I reached the last floor, I realized two things. One, I hadn’t fully grasped Caroline’s directions, and I was hopelessly lost. Two, the ache in my abdomen was now a nauseating pulse of panic, making it impossible to think straight. Time was running out.

I spotted a man standing by the railings and without giving it a second thought, I made a beeline for him, giving him a small tap on the shoulder.

He turned around, his phone pressed to his ear, raising a single eyebrow at me.

“Uh, hi…” I began, forcing what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Sorry to bother you, but could you please show me where the washroom is?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, muttered something into his phone, and turned away without acknowledgment.

Seriously?

My frustration surged. I tapped his shoulder again, harder this time. “Excuse me, but unless you want me to start bleeding on the floor, I suggest you tell me where the b****y washroom is right now!"

I didn’t *want* to be rude, honestly, I’m not a generally rude person, but my panic and hormones were driving this train now, and this guy wasn’t helping one bit.

“Follow me,” he said and I let out a small sigh of relief.

Finally.

I trailed after him, praying he wasn’t leading me to a backdoor for unruly employees considering how I just snapped at him. Thankfully, he led me into an office and gestured toward a small door tucked away in the corner.

“You can use that.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, clutching my bag as I darted inside.

I didn’t even bother to pause and take in my surroundings, I was a woman on a mission. The damage wasn’t catastrophic, thankfully, but it had definitely been a close call. After taking some deep breaths and sorting myself out, I washed my hands and stepped back into the office, wearing what I hoped was a bright, reassuring smile.

Maybe the smile would convey gratitude… or maybe he’d think I’d just taken the biggest dump of my life. Either way, I *felt* better.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“Yeah,” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “Yes, thank you. I’m much better now.”

Before I could say more, he handed me a bottle of aspirin and a small bottle of water.

Huh?

“I thought you might need painkillers. You looked uncomfortable earlier.”

I blinked, surprised by the thoughtfulness. Sure, I hated taking painkillers on my period, but the gesture was unexpectedly kind. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “I don’t think I’ll be bleeding on the floors anytime soon.”

He didn’t laugh.

Oh God, Ana.

“Well, I should get going now.” I fumbled with my bag, nerves bubbling up under his intense gaze. “Caroline’s probably still waiting for me downstairs. Thanks again for your help.”

“What’s your name?” he asked, his tone even, but there was something about the question that made me pause.

“Anastasia Donovan,” I said quickly, offering another nervous smile. “I’m new here. But I guess I already gave that away when I asked for directions to the

washroom, huh?”

For the love of God, *stop talking*.

“And yours? What’s your name?”

“Jonathan.” He watched me, his expression unreadable. “Jonathan Prescott.”

Oh. Oh no.