Read Restoring Jordan for Free Online Page A

suppose?”
    “Well sure, but you’ll be managed by Vera, and trust me, she won’t let you get too involved with the architects.” A slight stab of disappointment even as relief washes over me.
    “So which architects work with the intern?” I must sound like an idiot, overly eager for information, but Bridget seems not to notice.
    “Residential is a good place for interns to start, and that is led by Strahm. Commercial usually doesn’t involve interns too much; the scale is just too vast for an intern to really dig into during the course of half a semester, and then there’s Mr. Ellinwood. He heads up restoration. Frankly, it’s a great place for interns to work, but he never allows interns on his team—doesn’t like working with them for some reason.” Now it’s a shade of hurt that passes over me—just another ridiculous emotional response that makes no real sense whatsoever, but there it is. I won’t be working for the good Mr. Ellinwood. I should likely be happy about this. I acted like a blithering idiot when I ran into him in the boardroom; I cannot fathom having to constantly tolerate his presence that seems only to make me quake in my cheap pleather boots.
    As we enter the sample room housed in the corner of the second floor off the main catwalk system, I forget instantly about Mr. Ellinwood, or at least I stow him to the back of my mind for the time being. I’m in heaven. There are worktables aplenty, and walls and shelves, and bins of everything from wood samples, finish samples, flooring samples, paint samples, and fabric samples. There are light boxes set up around the room, and project boards lining an entire wall with various samples affixed. I could live here, and as I pass by a rod of fabric swatches, letting my hand pass over the expensive fabric, excitement runs through my body. Some of these fabrics cost more than a thousand dollars a yard. I am definitely way in over my head, but I don’t mind drowning in it here. The room is so vast, but also organized to a T. It’s for the use of all designers, and where most projects end up. Every vendor in the world wants their product to end up in a room like this where it can be easily picked and chosen for one project or another, and there is never a shortage of new product samples coming in. And that is where Bridget comes in.
    She is the office and inventory manager. It’s her responsibility to ensure all the samples stay in workable usable organization. She is the organization that keeps this part of the company moving smoothly. The fact she is friendly and easy to talk to makes me like her all the more.
    When I finally return to my desk after exploring and daydreaming in the sample room for half an hour, my instant messaging notification box is lit. When I open it, I still, my heart starts racing, and a warmth floods through my groin.
    “Meet me in the lobby at noon. Lunch.” Bossy jerk.
    “I don’t eat.” Two can play at this game, but even as I type, my excitement builds and a smirk pulls at my lips. He may have caught me off guard the day before, but with the safety of my cubicle walls, the internal e-mail system and an entire building between us, my confidence is quite healthy for a change; it doesn’t hurt I’m now dressed appropriately for Foster’s. That alone is worth the few hundred dollars it cost me.
    “Damn Catholics at Lent. Well I do eat, and you can watch me.” I smile at his sarcastic response, and as the minutes tick off the clock I check my mirror, check my hair, straighten my clothes, but I feel good about my appearance today. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt with my knee-high boots, a new silver-and-black striped fitted blouse under a coordinating gray jacket. I’ve pulled my hair back in a knot that sits at the side of my neck, and loose strands fall over my opposite shoulder. I at least look like I belong here, even if I don’t actually belong, and as I grab my deep, structured, red, patent-leather