DID EVERYONE WHO WAS ABOUT to meet the expensive interior designer they’d hired feel completely unworthy? Jen was overdressed and terrified her likes and dislikes would send the man running for the hills.
She brushed damp palms over the other purchase she’d made in Austin, a turquoise silk jumpsuit that had no good function in her world but seemed the right kind of outfit to wear to meet with her interior designer.
When the doorbell rang, she checked to make sure the tags were well hidden, fussed with the weird belt that didn’t want to stay tied and then took a deep breath.
Why was she so nervous? It made no sense. He was her employee, not her judge. The hard racing of her heart reminded her of old times and every day before she’d gotten on the school bus, home of the worst bullies in town.
“Don’t be an idiot. You can handle this. If you don’t like what he brings, toss him out on his ear and hire the second-best designer in Austin. Simple.” They’d already met once in his funky offices that resembled a boutique art gallery in a long line of train boxcars. Tripp Bromley had been perfectly friendly when she’d handed over a lot of money to put him on retainer.
Retainer. Like he was a lawyer, one who’d taken the vision binder she’d struggled over and tossed it on a pile before giving her the grand tour of his space, complete with a gander at all his design awards.
But now, he was in her house. Or would be if she ever managed to open the door.
“This isn’t the first day of school and he isn’t a kid waiting to point and laugh.” Jen put one hand on the doorknob. “If he does, you can give him a hard chop across the throat and shove him off the porch. Easy.” But only if she stopped acting like a mouse. Jen tried her best firm smile as she opened the door.
There, on her bare porch, stood Tripp Bromley, designer to southeast Texas’s rich and even semifamous. He had his own decorating show where money was no object. When she’d asked Sarah to name the best, she hadn’t been a bit surprised when he was the answer.
“Tripp, welcome to my home,” Jen said as she reached down to wrap a finger inside Hope’s collar. “No need to worry. She’s a big marshmallow.”
Tripp took a large step over the threshold, the silver on his boots glinting in the light, and patted Hope twice on the head before he swept past them both to turn in a slow circle. “Good. You followed directions. I prefer a blank canvas when I work.”
Jen nodded and closed the door. “Blank canvas is easy for me.” She shook her head. “You should have seen the place when I bought it. The previous owner—”
“Doesn’t matter what was before. We are only interested in the future.” He tapped his portfolio and laptop. “Where should I set up? Oh, the couch. Yes, I’d forgotten I sent the test piece along.”
Before Jen could offer him something to drink or suggest her barstools might be more comfortable, Tripp was perched on the cushions and setting up. “You have your vision board.” He swept a glance around the room. “Somewhere?”
“It’s more of a notebook. I gave it to you?” Jen hated the question in her voice, but it matched her uncertainty. The urge to apologize was hard to stifle. “I didn’t have a suitable board.”
Tripp studied her face as if he suspected she wasn’t taking the assignment seriously. “Boards make the vision come into focus, but I’ll soldier on without it. You’ll remember it until I wipe all that away with my inspiration.”
She would remember the hours she’d spent cutting up magazines that seemed to be a waste of time.
Tripp pursed his lips and then clicked open a file on his laptop. A three-dimensional rendering of her living area opened and spun around. Tripp tapped the screen and then glanced at her. Jen took that as a sign she should move closer, so she bent to study the room.
Hope climbed up between them and Tripp’s only reaction was a wrinkled brow.
“Let me show you my preliminary, but keep in mind that colors can easily change.” Tripp tapped the living room and it opened to show a monochromatic room that appeared to be based on the colors and lines of the couch she hated. “I like to call my style Texas modern. If you’ve seen the show, you know that.” And he’d gone full speed ahead with the modern. The fixtures were shiny metal. Every line was square and symmetrical, and when Jen looked at it, all she could imagine was being forced to sit on this couch for the rest of her life.
Tripp’s eyes were narrow as he turned to her. “Do you love it?”
There were some moments when she realized she was going to have to tell the truth even though it was hard. Everyone thought Jen spoke her mind without hesitation but she spent a lot of time thinking things through. And the fact was, even if he was the best and he’d pick up his plans in a huff, she could not live with this couch for the rest of her life.
“You don’t think this couch…” She patted the cushions that were so hard she might as well have been knocking. “I mean, it itches.” She squirmed and tried to complete the list of all that was wrong with that piece of furniture without using a lot of breath.
Tripp tipped his chin up. “Interesting.” Interesting like she’d passed with flying colors? Or interesting like she was hopeless and didn’t deserve nice things? His tone could mean either. “I make it a policy not to work with clients who aren’t able to work with me.”
“Because I don’t like the couch? That’s what you’re getting from a preference for a cushy seat.” Jen heard her angry tone and tried to moderate it. She wanted this to work. She needed to hire the best. “Here’s the thing. I’ll be sitting on this couch to grade homework and tests. I spend a lot of time grading. I need a good, comfortable place to spend a lot of time. Do you get that?”
Tripp pointed at the room. “Right. And I asked you to pull pictures of things you liked. What you did, instead, was pull pictures of rooms I’ve already designed.” He bent to dig around in the large bag he’d dumped on the floor. “The binder is here, after all, and here’s the couch you hate, front and center in one of your inspiration pages.” Then he raised an eyebrow.
If this had been a murder mystery, Tripp would have announced the killer complete with a dramatic Aha! of accusation. Her binder was the candlestick in the library that had resulted in this killing couch.
“I like the color. It’s nice.” She tried to smile confidently. “I don’t want my leg to go to sleep because it’s dangling over a hard edge. See?” She kicked one of her feet, flashy in her favorite pair of gold flats, to draw his attention to the fact that her feet didn’t touch the floor. That was a problem she was familiar with, but if there’d ever been a piece of furniture that discouraged folding her legs under her and snuggling down more than this couch, she’d never seen it.
“You’re not ready to work with me, dear.” He patted Hope on the head again and folded everything up. “I warned Sarah when she called to beg me to take you on that I’d moved beyond a certain kind of client. At this point, I’m much more interested in people who are going for an artistic statement.”
Jen knew her mouth was hanging open. “You’re here as a favor to Sarah?”
Tripp’s sad face was dramatic but unconvincing. “I don’t take anyone on without a referral, not anymore. But Sarah gave me my start years ago when her father was furnishing a penthouse downtown.” Tripp sighed. “That was the first time I’d ever worked with funds equal to my talent. When she refused to take my first or second no to help you as an answer, I gave in gracefully. Tell her I consider us even. It’s clear you’ll be happier with someone else.”
If Jen had known she was asking for favors to be called in, she might have made a different choice. She and Sarah were friends, but it was important not to take advantage of that friendship. Why hadn’t Sarah told her how hard she’d had to push?
One quick glance around the cavernous rooms snapped Jen out of her confusion. If she didn’t get someone hired fast, she’d be stuck with this couch through semester tests and she’d lose all function in her lower extremities. “Who would you recommend? What designer fits my style?”
“Hard to say,” Tripp drawled. Jen forced herself to sit very still as he examined her from head to toe with a detour over Hope and her pink bandanna. “Let me think on it.”
He stood so abruptly Hope scrambled to follow. Her confused grumble reminded Jen of the growl Mari had surprised out of her. She might not mind a little growl at superior Tripp Bromley. Watching him pack his laptop away with precise jerks was annoying enough to strengthen her backbone. “What about the retainer? How soon can I expect that to be returned?”
Jen crossed her arms over her chest, certain her scowl would fill in any missing blanks. His answer better be polite and Soon.
He wrinkled his nose. “Oh, no. You should have read the contract. That retainer covered this consultation, but we won’t be moving forward, so it’s forfeited.”
Jen blinked slowly. “By you, not me. How does that make any sense? You did no work. You collect no pay. That’s the real world.”
Tripp pivoted to stare her down. “No work? You saw those renderings my poor assistant slaved over.” He motioned vaguely at the couch. “Plus, I’ll cover the cost of this. And I’ll send you a name for someone who will give you comfortable instead of a statement.” He waved one hand. “The end.”
She was going to kill Sarah. The end.
“Fine.” Jen yanked open the door. “I hope you get lost on the way back to civilization.”
Tripp shuddered. “Mean.” He paused at his car and called, “No hard feelings, sweets.”
Jen squinted at the luxury sedan as it reversed down the driveway. Did he actually have a driver? That would have been evidence enough of his inability to connect with the real world.
That was where she lived.
Before she turned away, she caught a glimpse of Luke Hollister riding a pink ten-speed down the street, Mari pedaling her own purple bike with training wheels right behind. Her sword was in the air. Was Luke part of her biker gang or the target?
When she realized she was smiling at the picture, Jen shook her head. The guy was head over heels for his little girl. That just made him twice as handsome.
When he glanced in her direction, Jen realized she was frozen in her doorway. He lifted a hand to wave, snapping her out of her daze, and Jen stepped back in a hurry.
As soon as she closed the door, Jen remembered her lack of furniture and having to kiss her retainer money goodbye. She marched over to the kitchen island and snatched up her phone. Now that the shock was wearing off, it was time to rant.
“Did he bring a truck filled with wonders?” Sarah said instead of wasting time with a boring hello. “When can I come see?”
“Three weeks from never, that’s when,” Jen snapped. “Was this your idea of a joke? This reminds me of old times.” Jen inched down on the couch to arrange herself around a sprawled Hope. Every brush of her silky fur made it easier to breathe. The disappointment was bad enough. The fear that she was going to mess this up, her chance to have a space to be proud of for the first time in her life, made her angry.
“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked in a patient tone.
“I can only imagine you had some ulterior motive for sending someone who was so clearly unwilling to stoop to my level. Just like the old days, when every single one of your smiles was a distraction for whatever joke you were about to make at my expense.” Jen closed her eyes and tried to ignore the memories.
Silence on the other end made her even angrier. “Nothing to say?”
A sniff was her only answer at first, but Sarah eventually cleared her throat. “I don’t know what’s going on, Jen.” Her quiet, serious tone caught Jen’s attention.
“Tripp made sure to mention that he couldn’t help me, not even as a favor to you. Why didn’t you warn me that he was a jerk? Is it because you all stick together?” Jen kicked one of her flats off, and was immediately satisfied at how far it flew across the empty room.
“Warn you?” Sarah said, irritation seeping through. “I tried to give you a list of five other decorators.” She huffed out a laugh. “Forget that. I tried to tell you more than once that you should do it yourself. Nobody will be able to build the home you want but you. Remember that?”
The last part of her speech ended with a hard snap. Things were heating up.
Jen immediately felt better.
“Because you think I don’t belong in the richy rich club, right?” Jen kicked the other shoe off and tried not to be disappointed that it didn’t fly as far.
“No, you ingrate, because you have the best style of anyone I’ve ever met. There’s no one I know who could put together the outfits you do on their own. Why in the world would you trust someone else to do what you would love so much?” Sarah drew in a deep breath. “But you insisted. You demanded. You even tried asking nicely that one time. That’s when I knew nothing but your plan would make you happy, so I did whatever I could do to get you what you wanted. Because I’m your friend.”
Righteous indignation. If Jen had to label Sarah’s tone, it would be righteous indignation.
That was pretty convincing.
“Say I believed you,” Jen said slowly, mainly to irritate Sarah further, “what would you say to a friendly request for that other list of names at this point?”
A long string of curse words made Jen laugh.
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Jen stared at the ornate ceiling that had made her think of Italian villas and cash money the first time she’d seen it. “Then how about a friendly shopping trip this weekend? It’s time this felt like home.”
“One minute you accuse me of playing a dirty trick on you, and now you want to go shopping,” Sarah said. “Without even a hint of apology, I’d add. You’ve lost your mind. Call another friend. With your gentle and loving personality, I’m sure you have hundreds to choose from.”
The thing that Jen liked most about Sarah was that she hit back. With Rebecca, there would be muffled tears and then a determined cheerful attitude and Jen would end up feeling like a garbage can for weeks because she’d hurt her. With Sarah, she’d watch her back, but there was no doubting where she stood.
“I have as many friends as you do, and she’s terrible at buying things. Rebecca hasn’t bought anything but kitchen appliances in years.” Jen wiggled her toes and focused on the pretty gold flats she’d snagged at the consignment store. There was very little doubt in her mind who they’d originally belonged to. “And the only person whose taste I trust enough to haunt the consignment store in town, even when I was pretty sure you were the devil’s minion, is you. I need your help.”
“A compliment is not an apology, Jen Neil.” Sarah’s huffy voice was good. She’d had a lot of occasion to practice it.
“Yes. Something else I learned from you.” Jen smiled at Sarah’s grunt. It was the truth, even though Sarah had apologized more than once for being a terror in high school. Jen had thought she’d let all that go. This episode was enough to convince her she might still have some work to do. “Come with me. I’ll apologize in the car.”
“Clever. The one sure way to get me on board,” Sarah said with a sniff. “Fine. Let’s go on Saturday, and make this apology count.” Then she ended the call before Jen could agree.
Which was perfect. Things would get too mushy if they went any further.
As she listened to Hope snore, the terrible feeling that Tripp had seen through her shell to the unworthy person underneath faded. She lived with the certainty that someone would eventually call her a fraud. Surviving an episode made it seem a little less scary. Dressing carefully was important. Buying the right things, now that she could, mattered. Sarah would steer her in the right direction, and between the two of them, they’d have this place look great in no time.
Relieved and anxious to move on to something else, Jen picked up her phone again.
Watcha doing? Texting Chloe had gotten easier. Her niece was one of the few people on the planet whom Jen would rather talk with, but she was also a teenager who typed faster than her mouth formed actual words.
Homework. Spanish. The long line of Zs emoji conveyed her feelings brilliantly. You?
Plotting world domination. The usual. I need an OTT idea for Halloween decoration. Jen was slowly learning how to work the abbreviations into her text, mainly by researching them as Chloe used them. OTT meant over the top, the only way to go in this competition.
When her phone immediately rang, Jen laughed out loud. “I wasn’t sure you knew your texting machine also made phone calls.”
“This is going to be so much fun!” Chloe squealed. “But I can’t come this weekend.” Her excitement turned into a long, drawn-out wail. “Dad’s traveling, won’t be home until late Saturday night.” The breathy way she said it suggested it was the cruelest turn of events ever and Jen understood in a flash why Sarah was happy enough to agree to the shopping trip. No Will, so Sarah was free. Ugh.
“Sarah and I are going to do some shopping in Austin. We could pick you up Saturday. You could stay with me if your mother’s okay with it.” Jen didn’t even get the words out of her mouth before Chloe was shouting to her mother to get permission.
“She said yes. Shopping for what?” Chloe’s voice was nearing decibels that only dogs could hear.
“Furniture. We can brainstorm ideas for Halloween, too, if you want to come along.” Jen had zero doubt Chloe would be ecstatic.
“Yes! Yes! Yes. I’ll get all my homework done on Friday night. I’ll shop. I can see Dad on Sunday when he drives me home. This is awesome.” Chloe’s enthusiasm was what she needed. Sarah would be thrilled to spend time with the girl who was going to be her stepdaughter someday and she’d easily forgive Jen’s misstep.
Maybe she was the evil genius, after all.
“I want to win this competition. We need big. Interactive. We need help.” Jen sat up and rubbed the ache in her neck. Stupid couch. She had things to do and no time for sitting around feeling sorry for herself.
“Hmm. Do you want to go kid friendly? Or gory…” Chloe was already plotting.
“I’m not sure, but I want sound effects. Lighting. Big.” Jen paced through the empty rooms and tried to imagine what she’d choose to put inside them. If she had to guess, after Saturday, she and her team would have enough furniture to fill the place up.
“We’re going to need a fog machine,” Chloe added so matter-of-factly that Jen had a shiver of delight.
“Start a list. We have until the week before Halloween to put everything in place. The judging and awards are handed out on Halloween.” Jen had already memorized the rules.
“That’s not a lot of time, but we can do this.” Chloe was quiet for a minute. “Hansel and Gretel? The house would sort of work for that. Or maybe we do a twisted fairy tale thing. Or a cemetery with vampires rising up from graves…”
Jen could hear scribbling. Chloe was on the case.
“I love all those ideas. We’ll brainstorm on Saturday. I’ll pick you up then. Love you, kid.” Whenever her mother’s insistence on Will’s hero status set her teeth on edge, it was easy to let the irritation go. All she had to do was think about this awesome young woman he’d brought with him.
“Can’t wait, Jen. This is so exciting,” Chloe said. “I love you, too. Hope your credit cards are ready.”
“Do your homework. I’ll go warn the credit cards about what is coming.” Chloe’s giggles were sweet as Jen ended the call.
Most days, Jen was okay that having children didn’t seem to be in her future. She spent enough time trying to force-feed them education, and she’d learned early how dangerous this world could be. Besides, she loved the peace of being on her own.
Then she talked to her niece. Will and his ex Olivia had done an outstanding job of raising a girl more than equal to the challenges of life. Chloe was going to be happy, brave and strong.
And little Mari from across the street seemed prepared to take the world by storm.
These kids were all right, but that didn’t mean she had to rethink her own plans. “What’s your opinion, Hope? Twisted fairy tales could be fun. I could still be a witch, too.” Her dog was completely unconcerned as she padded over to sit patiently next to the counter where the treat box lived.
Life was good. It was comfortable. And after Saturday, she might have the couch to match.