Restoring Jordan Read Online Free PDF Page A

lips.
    My mother is getting ready to go antiquing and my father is getting ready to mow, and I’m homesick just talking with them. I visited them both only a week before when I was on spring break. While most of my friends were off on a trip somewhere warm and tropical, I was excited just to go home to the country. It was a great week, and now sitting in my kitchen with Kelli, I miss it so much. I’m confused, and I’m like an alien in this life at the moment. Who knew my actions of the night before would cause me so much confusion today? I can still see his eyes, feel his touch, smell his home, and I ridiculously miss him. I don’t even know him, and yet I would do anything to be near him as though closing that space would somehow ease my mind, reassure me my life was still my own.
    Once I hang up with my parents, Kelli pulls me to my feet and out the door. She keeps me busy for the rest of the weekend until I can immerse myself in my internship Monday morning. Keeping busy with no time for life has been my existence for the past four years, and I’m craving this new adventure. Once I’m busy, my confusion, my uneasy spirit will surely be at rest once again.

Chapter 3
    Paperwork done, I’m ushered out of the Human Resources office to a waiting woman who is sneering at me even as she extends her hand for me to shake.
    “I’m Vera, like Wang for the interior design world … and I don’t like interns.” Oh yeah? Well I’m Adeline, and I don’t like bitches! But rather than speaking the words my mind is muttering, I laugh as though it was nothing more than a joke. However, the look Vera Bitch Wang shoots me makes it clear her comment was no joke.
    She’s pretty in that cold, harsh, mean sort of way—silky, black hair, which is straight as a board, blunt cut bangs that hit just above her brow, and hair tied back in a neat knot at the nape of her neck. She’s tall and slim, wearing a winter white pantsuit that fits her to a T—not a cuff too long or short, not a patch of fabric that doesn’t skim her silhouette in just the exact way it should. Her nails are manicured with a perfectly lacquered shade of burnt umber. Midthirties perhaps, but it’s hard to tell; her pinched and unfriendly features make it impossible to know for sure.
    She turns without a word but with hatred showing clearly on her face, and as she walks down the corridor away from me, I scramble to catch up with her. The building we pass through is amazing. Foster Architectural Design is part of the trendy neighborhood of Lincoln Park. The building is actually two old renovated warehouses linked by a single story addition, and it’s this addition that houses the Human Resources offices, Accounting, and Payroll. A long corridor joins one building to another, and exiting this corridor now, we enter the large open space of one of the historic warehouses. It has stained concrete floors and open ductwork suspended from the ridiculously high ceiling. There is a stationary catwalk-type system of walkways that create an open second floor, where offices can be seen surrounding the exterior perimeter of this enormous room. The windows are all massive arched style that let in plenty of natural light and open to incredible views of the surrounding city. I, however, don’t make it anywhere near the upper level, natural light, or incredible views. Instead, I’m whisked down a corridor of small cubicles and dumped in one that has no view of anything whatsoever and is so obviously reserved for someone of no status.
    Vera deserts me without another look and leaves me staring after her wondering what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. What the hell am I supposed to be doing? I try to log on to the computer, but that’s too much to hope for. I try to call Kelli, but can’t get out of the phone system, and finally after fidgeting and fretting and allowing my boredom to consume me, I venture away from my quaint little cube buried in the land of cubes—some