Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
STELLA
“ H ow many crates were delivered?” I ask into the phone, looking through my checklist to find the correct line.
“Twelve.” The foreman of the job at Florence’s house doesn’t sound pleased. “We had to put them in the garage because the living room is full.”
“Those are the last ones,” I confirm as I check the final box. “Everything has officially been delivered. When will you be finished?”
“I only have a few trim pieces to complete, and then we’re done. I just sent the crew home. I have to pick up the last of the wood in the morning, and I should be done by noon tomorrow. We finished the wallpaper in the bedroom today. It’ll cure in a couple of days.”
“Awesome.” I sigh in relief and feel my shoulders relax. “Thank you so much for all your hard work over the past couple of weeks. I know you had to fit me in, and I appreciate it.”
“No worries, Stella. Have a good night.”
He disconnects, and I double-check the checklist.
Everything I ordered for Florence’s house is finally there, and now I can get it all set up for her. I plan to tackle a room a day and be ready for the unveiling on Friday.
Given that it’s only Monday, I’m right on track.
I check the time and realize that my next appointment is set to arrive in five minutes. After that, I plan to go to Gray’s condo, soak in his huge tub for about an hour, and then sleep.
I’m exhausted.
My assistant, Liz, pokes her head in my door. “Are you ready for Mr. and Mrs. Stillman? They just got here.”
Before I can answer her, my phone rings.
I see Florence’s name on the screen.
“Give me five, okay?”
“You got it.”
Florence has never called me. She handles everything via email, so I’m not sure what to expect here.
“This is Stella.”
“Florence,” she says brusquely. “I need to see the house tomorrow morning at nine. I’m bringing a camera crew with me from Lifestyle magazine, and they want to get the first look at the house and feature me in the January issue.”
My mouth drops. “Florence, I’m not ready. We agreed on Friday.”
“I’m moving it up,” she says carelessly. “So, I suggest you get ready.”
She hangs up, and I stare at the wall in disbelief.
Tomorrow ? At nine a.m.?
“Ready?” Liz asks, her smile falling when she sees my face. “Oh, God, what happened?”
“I have to go,” I say, my brain racing now. “Please reschedule them for me. I have to finish the Florence project by nine tomorrow morning.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she just decreed it so. And, apparently, she’s the queen.”
“Shit, Stel, I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. I’ll probably be in late tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
With my jacket flung over my arm, my purse slung crossbody, and my heavy briefcase in hand, I hurry to the elevator and down to my car.
“There’s too much to do.” I can feel the panic start to rise in my throat. “There’s no way I can do it on time. There’s no way. ”
I sit in my car and take a deep breath, trying to calm my beating heart. Then I reach for my phone and call Liv.
“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” she says.
“I need your help.” I tell her about the phone call. “Liv, I have two hundred boxes and crates of merch I have to assemble and stage in that house. It was going to take me all week, working twelve-hour days.”
“We can do this,” Liv says immediately. “I’ll meet you there, and we will assess. We’ll just pull an all-nighter. Send me the address.”
My breath hitches. I’m overcome. Of course, she’d jump in without question to help me.
“Thank you. I owe you.”
I shoot off the address to Liv’s phone and then start my car and pull out of the underground parking.
On my way to the house, I call Gray and leave him a message, filling him in. I know he’s in court this afternoon, but he’ll get my message when he’s out.
Olivia is just pulling in front of the house when I do, and she hurries out of her car.
“I don’t see how we can do this,” I say as I rush to the front door, unlock it, and enter the code into the security system. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour and show you.”
“Wow, it’s so pretty already,” Liv says with a smile.
“And it’s not even staged yet.”
I give her a tour of the house, pointing out where things will go.
“This wallpaper ,” she whispers, running her fingertips over it in awe. “Seriously, where did you find it?”
“In Paris,” I reply with a grin. “It’s cashmere, and it’s divine.”
After showing her the rest of the house, Liv and I stand in the living room with our hands on our hips to survey the scene.
“That is a lot of boxes to unpack.”
“There are more in the garage,” I inform and watch her green eyes widen.
“Okay.” She takes a long, deep breath. “Our moms could come help. We need the extra hands.”
“You’re right, and we’ll call them. Also, I need a carpenter. That trim above the new wallpaper needs to be installed.”
“Uncle Mark,” Liv says immediately.
“Good call.”
“Let’s call in the troops and get started. We’re going to knock it out of the park, babe. Don’t worry.”
Three hours later, the house is bustling with my family. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, unpacking stemware.
Luke and Natalie are making the master bed.
And Uncle Mark is on a ladder, his toolbelt hanging low on his hips as he takes measurements.
“I have the right trim at one of my jobsites,” he says as he jots down some notes. “I’ll grab it from there and bring it over. It’ll be up and finished in an hour. Do you have the paint in the garage?”
“What paint?” I ask and earn a little smile from him.
“The paint they used on the trim.”
My mouth opens and closes like a guppy, and he waves me off. “Never mind, I’ll look for it. It’s probably in the garage.”
Mark hustles out the front door and almost collides with Gray.
“Sorry,” Gray mutters and steps inside, his eyes scanning the room for me. “I brought food. And while I can’t decorate for shit, as you know, I can unpack boxes and move furniture. I have muscles.”
“You’re hired.” I tip my face up for a kiss and then hear my father clear his throat in the kitchen. It makes me laugh. “What kind of food did you bring?”
“Cold sandwiches with potato salad and chips. It won’t go cold, and it won’t go bad.”
“You’re a smartypants, you know that?”
“I’ve heard that a time or two. Tell me what to do.”
I look around and feel completely overwhelmed. “There are some really big crates in the garage that hold the couches for the living room. They need to be put together.”
“On it.”
“I’ll help,” Luke says as he walks through. “The bed is made, and Nat’s fussing with stuff in there. Plus, I haven’t met you yet.”
“Gray.” Gray holds out his hand to shake.
“Luke. Let’s go build some shit. I can interrogate you at the same time.”
“Fun,” is all Gray says as they turn to head out the front door.
“I’ll go help them,” Dad says as he follows.
“We need to work , not give my boyfriend the third degree,” I complain to my mom.
“Don’t worry, honey. They can multitask. The stemware is clean and put away. I’m starting on the flatware next.”
“I found the pots and pans that hang over the island.”
“You want to hang them?” Mom asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Yes.”
“I’m no expert, but hear me out. Florence nixed the last design because it was too farmhouse. Too homey . If you hang the pots and pans, it gives the room that same feel.”
I narrow my eyes, looking over the space, then nod my head. “You’re right. Let’s stow them in the cupboard next to the oven.”
“Bathroom’s done,” Liv announces. “Well, the towels and rugs are. I think it needs some extra doodads.”
“I have an abundance of doodads,” I inform her and point to the box I just opened. “In there.”
“Awesome. Wait, you were able to order live plants online ?”
“You can order literally anything online.”
“Eat a sandwich,” Mom says before I can move to the next project. “Just half. You need it. It’s going to be a long night.”
So, I munch and work. When the guys bring in the big furniture, I point to where I want it positioned.
“This caramel-colored leather is just so good ,” Natalie says as she lovingly pets it. “Luke, I think we should put one of these in our living room. I’m tired of the dark furniture we have.”
“I’ll send you the info on where to buy it,” I promise as I open yet another box. The pile of empty containers out in the driveway is a small mountain.
But at least they’re empty.
“Here’s the matching chair,” Gray says as he and my dad carry it through the front door.
“There should be two matching chairs,” I reply.
“There is,” Dad says. “It’s next on the list.”
“Good. I want them to face the couch.”
“She’s a woman who knows what she wants,” Gray says to Dad with a wink.
“Damn right she is,” Dad replies.
The guys all left around three in the morning when all the heavy lifting was finished, the trim was done, and all we had left was the finishing touches.
Mom and Nat went home at six.
And Amelia, our cousin who owns a mega-successful makeup brand, came to help me get camera ready at seven.
“The smoky eye is just perfect,” Liv says with a nod. “And the foundation isn’t too cakey.”
“It’s a new airbrush foundation,” Amelia agrees. “She’ll look flawless for the camera but not overdone for the rest of the day. Also, I just have to say, for someone who was up all night working her ass off, you don’t have even one dark circle or bag under your eyes. It’s not fair.”
By the time she finishes my makeup, and we clean up Amelia’s supplies, I only have thirty minutes before Florence is due to arrive, so I pull on the pink dress that Gray delivered on his way to work.
The three of us make our rounds through the house, fluffing pillows and making sure there’s not even one speck of dust to be found, and when there are just ten minutes left, I’m walking them out the door.
“Thank you,” I say as I cling to Liv. “I literally couldn’t have done this without you.”
“I’m always here for this stuff,” she assures me. “Call me when it’s over. I can’t wait to hear how it goes.”
When Liv walks down to her car to leave, Amelia takes my shoulders in her hands and smiles at me.
“You’ve got this, babe. Seriously, you need to be so proud of yourself. The house is absolutely stunning. I wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true. You have no reason to stress over this. It’s in the bag.”
She kisses my cheek and then walks down to her car, waving before she drives away.
I take a long, deep breath and stare up at the sky. It’s an overcast day in early November. It’s likely to rain today.
I walk over to the garage and smile when I see that all the debris from the crates and construction has been cleaned up and hauled away. There’s nothing in there except for a clean concrete floor.
Nothing about the house is amiss. Nothing at all.
Just as I return to the front door, three vehicles come up the driveway—one limo and two vans.
The driver opens the back of the limo, and Florence steps out, along with a pretty brunette dressed in a killer red dress and camera-ready makeup.
As always, Florence is in black from head to toe, with thick, black-rimmed glasses. She has her lips painted red today.
“Hello, Stella,” she says, much nicer than several weeks ago.
“It’s good to see you,” I reply with a professional smile.
“This is Stella McKenna, the designer behind the renovations of Florence’s home here in her beloved Seattle,” the brunette says to the camera before she turns to me. “I’m Rebecca Silver. We’re broadcasting live on our website, as well as TikTok and Instagram.”
I had no idea this would be live.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Before we go inside,” Rebecca says, “can you tell us what your inspiration was for this design?”
“Well, it was Florence, of course. I did a lot of research on her style and thought the home should complement her. She’s the main work of art here. The rest is to support her.”
“Oh, I love that,” Rebecca says with a wide grin. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“Shall we?” I ask and gesture for the two women to follow me, trying to ignore the three guys holding cameras and sound equipment.
This whole thing is so over the top, and I’m more than a little pissed that nobody warned me that we’d be live—or that there would be so many people here.
I’m relieved that I had Amelia do my makeup and that Gray brought me this dress. Otherwise, I would have felt dowdy and out of place.
Is that what Florence wanted all along?
I lead them through, room by room, pointing out the designers of the different pieces and explaining about leathers and grains and how colors accent each other.
When we finish the initial tour in the master bedroom, I stop and turn to Florence with a smile.
“What do you think?”
She purses her lips, and I feel my stomach sink to my toes.
Fuck.
“Does it smell like sex in here?” she asks calmly, turning to the others. “Do you smell that?”
“What?” I frown and sniff the air. “Of course, not.”
Florence shakes her head in disappointment and then walks over to the wall where the new wallpaper is still drying.
“This wallpaper,” she begins and runs her hand over it. “What is it?”
“It’s cashmere. From Paris,” I reply.
Rebecca nods, clearly happy with it.
But Florence finds a seam, pushes her sharp, black fingernail under it, and rips a huge swath of it right off the wall, making me gasp in shock.
“I’m vegan ,” Florence says, dropping the paper on the floor. “You’ve dressed my house in cashmere and leather .”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Florence, I apologize. I didn’t have that information.”
“You didn’t ask, did you?”
She walks out of the bedroom, down the hall to the living room, and points to the oil painting above the gas fireplace.
“What is that?”
“It’s an original piece from an artist in New Orleans.” My voice is flat now, like a child being berated. Because that’s how I feel.
“It’s depressing ,” Florence says. “And these pillows. Did you buy them from the thrift store? They look cheap.”
“No. I got them from Neiman Marcus.”
I look around and see that Rebecca is talking directly to the camera now, signing off. The three men lower their cameras and leave out the front door.
Florence doesn’t even notice. She keeps going at me.
“This rug is disgusting. It already looks dirty. And don’t even get me started on the kitchen.”
She marches into the attached kitchen and grabs a crystal vase from Tiffany off the island.
“This looks like an old-lady vase.”
She smashes it on the marble floor.
Two thousand dollars in pieces.
Rebecca says nothing. Her face is sober, her eyes hard. She sees the abuse that Florence is spewing but says nothing.
And I don’t blame her.
Florence is a powerful, intimidating woman.
“That’s enough,” I say at last, and Florence whirls around to stare at me.
“What did you just say?”
“I said, that’s enough. Obviously, you don’t like the hard work that I put into this house or the money I spent on it—at my own expense. There’s no need to abuse me to make your point.”
She narrows her eyes on me, firms her lips, and leans in close.
“I’m going to fucking ruin you,” she whispers and then walks away.
Rebecca follows her, and I watch through the open front door as they get into the limo and drive off.
I don’t know why I thought it would go well. Nothing I could have done would have satisfied that woman.
I know that now.
She’s an angry, miserable excuse for a human, and she’s likely to follow through on her promise.
I grab my things and lock the door behind me on my way out to my car.
But before I can even start the engine, my phone rings.
It’s my boss.
“This is Stella,” I answer.
“My office. Thirty minutes.”
And she hangs up.
Yep, I’m fucked.
I just want to sleep for about a year.
Instead, I’m walking through my building, headed for my office. But before I can get there, Camille pops her head out of her office and gives me the come here signal.
I glance over at Liz, who cringes for me but gives me a thumbs-up gesture as if to say, it’s gonna be okay.
But I can see by the look on Camille’s face that it’s absolutely not going to be okay.
“You’re fired,” she says as soon as my ass hits the chair.
“Wait. You’re firing me?”
Camille sits back and looks at me incredulously. “What else would you have me do, Stella? That little shit show just happened on a live stream for all the world to see.”
“Exactly, so the world can see how fucked-up Florence Paddington is.”
Camille shakes her head. “No, honey. Florence is a billionaire who hired you to do a job, and you missed the mark twice. ”
“I paid out of my pocket to correct it,” I remind her. “I asked her directly if she liked the new designs, and she approved them. I’m being thrown under the bus here, Camille.”
“Listen, I’m not happy about this, okay? I like you, and you’ve done some beautiful work in the past.”
“In the past ? That design is beautiful. You saw it. I assume you were watching the live stream.”
“I was, and I agree. It’s beautiful. But the client doesn’t like it, and their opinion is the only one that counts. You messed up, and I can’t have that in this firm. Our name can no longer be linked to yours.”
I shake my head but stand to leave her office.
“You have fifteen minutes to clear out,” she calls after me.
I don’t reply.
I walk to my office and gesture for Liz to follow me.
“She fired me,” I tell her quickly.
“ What ?”
“I don’t have much time.” I start to gather the few personal things I keep in my space. Danny’s out in the field, so I’ll call him later. “This probably means that she won’t keep you on. I mean, she might reassign you. But I’ll be starting my own firm.”
Liz’s eyes go wide.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Please do,” Liz says with a nod and reaches for my hand. “I’ll go with you when the time is right.”
And with that, she walks back to her desk and sits down so no one suspects a thing.
I’m completely dry-eyed as I walk through the office to the elevator. I can feel eyes on me, and I don’t care.
I didn’t do anything wrong, goddamn it.
And I won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me upset.
Because fuck them all.