Something so Grand Read online

  1 Vivian

  You never know in that moment when you’re going to meet the woman who will one day save your life. If you did, you might be more gracious in your greeting.

  “Hey, watch it, moron!” I barked at the inconsiderate jerk who just bumped into me.

  Beautiful throw pillows, once in my arms, now surrounded us on the ground. My client would kill me if a speck of dust got on these things. I couldn’t chance that happening, which meant I’d now be headed back to the other side of the store to pick out new ones. I was going to be late, something she would no doubt hold against me. She’d already tested the limits of my temper today. I really didn’t need to give her more opportunities to make my work environment hellish. That was the only excuse I had for overreacting and speaking aloud something I’d never before said outside the safety of my enclosed car on a crowded highway.

  Heat flushed my skin and a stone dropped in my stomach. Oh no, I’d actually said that out loud. To another human being. A stranger, who wouldn’t be able to perceive that snapping at someone, no matter how startled or displaced I’d been, wasn’t a normal reaction for me. There was never any excuse for being unkind, and I’d just let my frustration with my overbearing client dictate how I treated someone. I really needed a break from work before I became a raving bitch.

  “Pardon me,” a woman’s quiet voice broke into my inner dialogue.

  I was just about to apologize for my reaction when I noticed a small child standing inches away, staring wide eyed at me. The woman patted the little girl’s shoulder and urged her on her way.

  “Sorry,” the girl said and hurried off toward her mother.

  Terrific. Now I’m even more of an asshole. The woman had clearly stepped into my path to avoid running over the kid. I’d been so preoccupied with my final to-do list that I hadn’t been aware of anyone else in the store let alone a woman walking close enough that one step to the left would make us collide. Yet another argument for taking some time off.

  “Let me help you,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told her, already bending to pick up the pillows. “Sorry I bit your head off. I’m in a terrible rush.” More than a rush actually. My client was a notorious dragon, making this more of a race to get back to her house before she could generate enough fire to set me aflame.

  The woman took a knee beside me and began stacking pillows. “One of those days.”

  I glanced up to see if she was being facetious. Her cinnamon brown eyes blinked, no ridicule in them. They seemed like the kind of eyes that showed emotion even when her face remained impassive. With a slight nose, three noteworthy moles, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper, her face held my interest. I could feel my fingers starting into a sketch, outlining the angles of her face. I haven’t wanted to draw a portrait in a long time.

  “Here.” She set her stack of pillows onto the three I’d managed to pick up. “Pretty,” she murmured as she withdrew her hands. Her eyes widened at the exorbitant price tag hanging from the pillow on top.

  “For my client.” I felt the odd need to justify spending more on pillows than most people do on a car payment. Only my clients could afford to do that, which wasn’t surprising considering where we lived. If my business weren’t benefiting from the explosion of wealthy tourists in Aspen, I’d long for my high school days when the town was one-third the size and only businesspeople from Denver came in for the weekends to ski.

  Her eyes seemed to convey complete understanding of my uncharacteristic behavior without one word passing through her lips. I itched to push the visor she was wearing off her forehead so I could see her whole face. She had brown hair, two shades lighter than mine, cut to graze her small ears and stop short of her collar. With hair that short, she probably got saddled with a label of cute rather than beautiful. I’d call her attractive even in a dusty pullover and thermal workpants that did nothing for her trim figure. She stood a few inches shorter but wiry and I’d bet this client’s fee on muscular. My fingers flexed again. I wouldn’t mind sketching all of her.

  “Forgive me for barking at you earlier. I completely overreacted.”

  “No worries,” she said with an unaffected smile. “Hope the rest of your day goes well.”

  An audible breath left me as she walked away. That wasn’t a standard signoff. This stranger, whom I’d unjustly yelled at, actually sounded like she hoped I wouldn’t run into any more hiccups today. The encounter was worth the wrath I’d face from my client. It was even worth angering her further by seeing if I could help the woman find what she’d been looking for in the store. It was the least I could do so she wouldn’t have to leave the store empty handed.

  “Need help, Vivian?”

  The question jerked my thoughts away. I turned to find Brandy coming to a stop behind me, hands full of candles. She and her roommate, Joanna, were obviously planning an evening with a couple of their ski school students tonight. Candles and a hot tub were better than Ecstasy to the women they seduced.

  “Thanks, I’ve got it now.”

  “Who was the white knight?” Brandy’s eyes followed the woman’s progress through the glass window of the storefront. She was making her way toward a small pickup, her stride even and sure despite the snow covered path.

  “No idea,” I said, trying hard not to seem interested. Neither Brandy nor Joanna could be trusted with a secret. They adored practical jokes and often used them to wreak havoc on their friends’ romantic lives. Over the years, I’d learned to keep my mouth shut for fear of what they might do. Usually they’d try to bed the woman first, but often they’d do a convincing job of scaring her off. The jokes were juvenile and somewhat cruel, but in a small town with an even smaller circle of lesbians, it wasn’t practical or wise to cut them off.

  “Hmm.” She watched the taillights of the woman’s old pickup as it backed out of the space then headed for the road. Her fingers tucked strands of long blond hair behind her ear for effect. The movement always drew attention to her beautiful tresses. She turned back and pointed at the pillows. “Those are nice.” Her fingers flipped the price tags up for a snoop to satisfy her curiosity. “How’s the bitch?”

  I cringed at the way she callously critiqued people. It didn’t seem to concern her that I might repeat what she’d said to my client or that being a bad ski school student didn’t make my client a bitch. I wasn’t a whole lot better with my description, but I’d never share that with anyone other than my trusted assistant and only when pushed. “My client is fine, B. Go ahead. I need a few more things.” I stepped out of the way.

  “We’re having a house party on Saturday night. Head over about ten o’clock.”

  I shook my head at her back as she took her spot in line. She and Joanna were both in their mid-thirties, and they still partied like they were in college. They still acted like they were in college most of the time, too. But as I’ve said, one of the pitfalls of living in a small town meant I couldn’t be discerning in my choice of friends. I could choose not to go to their party, though.

  On the other side of the store again, I carefully pulled out new pillows to replace the ones that had scattered onto the ground. It may seem anal, but I never knew what could make the dragon snap. Just these last few items to complete the room, then I’d be free of her. After that, I would take a couple weeks off before starting another project.

  “You’re late,” the dragon said when she greeted me in her foyer. Her housekeeper had opened the door with a pained look on her face, giving me all the clues I needed about my client’s current mood.

  “The roads were a little slicker than I expected.”

  “Whatever.” She tended to blow off explanations, especially if they made her look heartless by following through o
n her fury. “At least you’re here in time to finish up before my party tonight. Everyone’s going to be so impressed, Vivian. You’re truly talented.”

  “Glad you like it.” That’s how this business went. Massive stress during the designing process, but with a tweak of the final piece, the stress could transform into exhilaration.

  As I added the last purchases to the sectional that had been delivered this morning, I gave the room a final assessment. The colors were darker than I normally used, the furniture more bulky, giving the room a traditional flare. It wasn’t my preference, but as a designer I’d learned that my preferences didn’t matter. My taste did, and I could add that to any style my client preferred. Overall, a majestic living room, the last on my project list for her. I’d redone the kitchen, bathrooms, dining room, and living room for this house. All of which had been beautiful to start with. That was never enough for people with too much money. It didn’t matter that I’d been the one to decorate the house before she’d bought it. She wanted it redone.

  “Next week we can talk about what to do with the bedrooms,” she said as she came in from the kitchen. The ice in her clear colored drink clinked with each step. She would tell anyone who asked that it was seltzer, but I knew it was gin and tonic. I’d smelled the alcohol on her afternoon breath too many times before.

  I stalled. As a business owner, I should never turn down business, never possibly anger a client who could give me more business, but after eight rooms and more than my share of her stressful days, I’d had enough. I could retire a year early with what I’d made from this client, but the prospect of an even earlier retirement wasn’t incentive enough to continue on with her. “I’m afraid I’m already booked on another major project.”

  Her eyes and mouth went wide. No one denied this woman’s requests. “That’s just silly. I’ll pay double.”

  Of course. It was always about money with these kinds of clients. If she’d earned it herself instead of inheriting it from her great grandfather’s railroad empire, I’d have more respect. She loved telling people that she’d never had to work a day in her life thanks to dear great grandpapa. She felt sorry for the people that did. Yes, she actually said that and to people who did work for a living.

  “My schedule is set for the next eight months.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. A big project would fill my spring and summer months, but spring was still a ways off. I’d just rather spend the time not working than working with her.

  “Eight months, but that’s just…I won’t…you must. I can’t live here with these bedrooms like this!”

  Like what? Walk-in closets the size of a small bedroom? A master suite that takes up half the area of one level? Five other bedrooms that would be considered masters in most normal homes?

  “Unfortunately, I’ve made other plans.” In the store a few minutes ago, but I did make those other plans. “I can recommend another designer.”

  “No! I must have you, Viv. You’re the best in town. Everyone says so.”

  Everyone? Now she was just exaggerating. Given how she’d been on my ass for every single design aspect in this house, I was honestly surprised at how fervently she seemed to be pleading for me. “That’s nice to hear, but Dwight is very good.” And probably better suited to this kind of client. He often told me he liked working for women who had more money than time. He had a way of making them bend to his will.

  “Dwight? A man? Is he gay?”

  I looked away, not wanting to roll my eyes in her face. “You’d have to ask him.”

  “A male interior designer? He must be. Don’t even think about bringing a straight man into my home to design.”

  Like I was the one who would bring him in. Yet another shortcoming of the rich: they assumed everyone worked for them. And talk about stereotyping. I’d met many straight men in design school that could do wonders with any project. It was almost too bad Dwight was gay. I’d love to watch him change her mind.

  “You’ll be very happy with Dwight if you decide to hire him.” I wasn’t about to suggest Ursula, the other interior designer in town. She had the annoying habit of badmouthing everything Dwight and I did for our clients. If she ever came in after us, she’d overcharge the client to redo everything we’d done.

  “We’ll talk next week. Perhaps your other client will fall through.”

  My imaginary client? I didn’t see that happening, not when I was lucky to get out of this house without any major scratches and every bill paid. I could leave with a clear conscience. Enjoy a week or two off. Maybe see if I could bump into the mystery woman with the sketchable face and kind demeanor again. That was definitely a better idea than redoing bedrooms that didn’t need redoing. No matter how much I could make.

  2 Vivian

  Turns out, I didn’t have to wait long for a new client. I got a call on Wednesday from a friend looking to redo some rooms in her house. It sounded like a sizable project that didn’t involve taking away her kitchen or the main bathroom. No matter how good a friend she was, those kinds of projects could stress any relationship.

  Large timber beams created a welcoming portico for her front door. I’d always admired this house. It was the only place in town that could make me consider abandoning my plan to build on the land my brother and I owned. With a nice exterior design and good interior flow, the house would have been perfect if not for the inflated price and abundant square footage. My design would have the right amount of space and be the right price. For now, I was fine in my little cabin until I could bank the cost to build.

  Lena opened her front door with a smile. She was dressed in slacks and a silk turtleneck, looking far more professional than her colleagues would be at the high school where she was the principal. We had that trait in common. Dressy always beats casual when it comes to work. Her long black-brown hair was held back by a barrette, showcasing her beautiful face. Along with her endless hairstyles, I found myself envious of her perpetually tan skin tone, courtesy of English, Japanese, and African American grandparents. My grandparents were all English, which meant pale mixed with more pale to glow as bright as the moon in the winter.

  “Hi, Lena.”

  “Vivian, thanks for coming,” she greeted in that voice of hers that would do wonders for any late night radio show.

  Completely against character, I’d nearly asked her out the moment I heard that silky voice. I didn’t even know if she was a lesbian. I just responded to that voice, and my prolonged celibacy at the time raged at me to act. Then I noticed how she was looking at Glory, the friend who’d introduced us, and the impulsive urge died swiftly and without regret.

  She showed me into the great room and had us sit on the contemporary couch. Her style was a bit austere but tasteful and consistent. That I appreciated. Too many styles always sparked my compulsive designer tendencies.

  “So, what’s the project?” I pulled out a grid pad for notes and sketches. I refrained from asking about a specific area. I’d made that awkward mistake once and once only. Launching into suggestions for a room that you weren’t brought in to do was the easiest way to lose a bid and insult a potential client.

  “My grandparents are moving in. They’ve been traveling a lot over the past few years, and this makes a nice stopping place.”

  That’s all it took to invite two family members to live with her? A nice stopping place? I loved my grandparents and my parents, but I didn’t want any of them living with me. The closest I could stand was living next door to my brother, and that’s only because he’s been my best friend since we were kids. All other family time we limited to an annual ski trip around the holidays.

  “Admirable,” I murmured, still musing about keeping several state lines between my family and me.

  “Well, we’ve always been close, and I don’t want to miss out on any more time with them. Plus it’ll force my parents, brother, and sister to visit more often.”

  “Devious,” I commended her. “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “The
guestroom isn’t large enough and the bathroom doesn’t have a tub. My gram can’t live without a tub.” She stood and took me past the kitchen toward the back of the house. “I don’t use the formal dining room or the den. The laundry room isn’t big enough, and I’d like a real mudroom.”

  My pencil flew over the pad. Often clients are most honest and sure on the consultation. They start backtracking once the work begins. I like to be as thorough as possible at first to remind them of why they’d made their initial decisions.

  “Let’s head upstairs.” She stepped back and gestured toward the front of the house.

  I jerked my head up from the pad, feeling my brow lift. I’d always wanted to get a look at the upstairs, but it would have been rude to sneak away during a dinner party just to satisfy my curiosity.

  Upstairs her master suite had both a bedroom area and large sitting room with fireplace and private balcony. The walk-in closet was on the smaller side for a house this size. The master bath, though, housed a soaking tub large enough to bathe eight at a time. Too bad the shower was nothing more than a tiled hole in the wall and the toilet room had swinging shuttered doors. Swinging. Shuttered. Doors. As if that weren’t bad enough, the tiles, the paint, the wallpaper, and the floors were all done in shades of gold and avocado green. Avocado. Green.

  “Big,” I commented because I couldn’t really think of anything else to say. Design wise it was an eyesore. I was surprised Lena hadn’t done something with it already.

  “It’s frickin’ monstrous, Viv. Tacky as hell.”

  I laughed. Lena didn’t usually mince words unless she was in principal mode. “You’ve managed to live with it for almost two years.”

  “I use the bedroom downstairs, but my grandparents will need that now. Something has to be done up here.”

  I nodded. I was starting to get the picture. “You want a layout like this for the guestroom downstairs, and you’re willing to give up the dining and den to do it?”

  “Exactly. I’d also like to see what you can do about a decent laundry space, mudroom, and a space for the dogs to sleep if it’s in the budget.”