Chapter 8
Jessica
The phone rang on the main line, and since Helen was in the restroom, Jessica picked up while sitting on her throne in her office. Maybe it was a new customer requesting a bid on a huge mansion. Gotta think positive, right?
“Chandler Interiors, this is Jessica. How may I help you?” she said in her best business-like voice.
“Jessica?”
A male voice—strong, yet a bit cautious. Jessica instantly knew who it was. So did her heart, judging by the fluttering that kicked up in her chest. It was the good sort of fluttering, though, not the kind that made her feel like she was about to keel over. She swallowed hard.
“Oh. Hi.” His smooth voice washed over her. “This is Paul Brady. The guy you met at the Turkey Trot, and then double met at the Frothy Monkey?”
“Hey, Paul.” She tried to stay casual, while inwardly, she smiled. Blue Eyes. He’d been so eager to train her. Yes, he certainly did have the right equipment! “How’s it going? What can I do for you?”
“I was thinking about what you said, and . . .”
“About?” Jessica raised an eyebrow.
“You know.”
“Uh, not really.”
“About getting my condo upgraded. I’ve got an important get-together in a few months. But honestly, I’ve decided it’s time anyway. Meeting you got me thinking more about my space, you know? So I’m looking for a full-scale renovation.”
“Oh.” She took a long breath, her eyes drifting toward the Parthenon in the distance. It had taken them eight years to the build the one in Greece thousands of years ago, and nine years for the one she was looking at right now. Go figure. “You mean you’re ready to change out your Goodwill-eclectic style?” She laughed vigorously as she ran a hand through her hair, toying with it. Then she realized what she was doing and sat up straighter, returning to her professional “queenly” mode.
“Yes. I was wondering if you could come over and give me some kind of a quote for redoing my place.”
She shifted in her throne. This was definitely interesting. Did he want a quote, or something more? Her woman’s intuition switched on, and she began listening intently for any cues in his voice.
“Uh, sure. Of course,” she said.
Helen had entered her office and was listening. Jessica looked to her for support, and their eyes locked. Helen mouthed, Who’s that?
“When would you like one of our team members to come out?” Jessica asked, turning away from Helen and opening up her calendar. “I can have Angela Gladstone call you. She’s a fantastic designer and actually specializes in—”
“I was kind of hoping it’d be you.” Paul’s voice softened.
She swallowed. You. That one word cut into her. She needed to say yes—of course. She needed the work, no doubt about that, and there was something about his hushed tone that made her more than curious.
He gave her his address and they set up a time and date. Jessica hung up the phone and rose from her throne feeling anxious.
“Who was that?” Helen asked.
“Oh, it’s so strange,” Jessica said, pacing her office now, rubbing her brow. “I was at this Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning, and I . . .” She hesitated, but then forced herself to say, “I passed out.”
Helen’s eyes grew wide. “You did? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, and I haven’t told you, and I went to the doctor, and he checked me out and now I’m on medication for arrhythmia.”
“Really? What do you think it’s from? The stress?”
“Probably. And my diet and lack of exercise too, most likely. Anyway.” She took a breath to gain control. “I met this guy, a personal trainer, and we had coffee after the Trot.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” she said.
“And, well . . . he asked me out.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about—A new man in your life!” Helen said excitedly. “That’s just what you need. Seriously.”
But Jessica shook her head. “No, Helen. That’s not what I need at all. I have to worry about my business right now. I mean, we’re practically going down the tubes here. If that Buchanan project doesn’t come through—”
“Is he single?” Helen asked, ignoring Jessica’s nervous spiral.
“I sure hope so, considering he asked me out.” Jessica pulled up his website. “Here’s a pic.” Yes, there he was.
Paul Brady.
I’m here to transform you! Let’s burn it together!
Great grin, muscular shoulders, thick, wavy hair. He had it all.
“Well, well. Now that’s what I call hot,” Helen said with a wicked smile. “He wants you to come over and give him an upgrade? I wouldn’t mind giving that guy an upgrade myself.” She smirked. “How did he seem?”
“Oh, he seems great, actually. I hate to say it. I mean, I didn’t get to talk to him that much, but he seemed kind, interested. Caring, really. He kinda checks all the boxes.”
“And you’re not gonna take him to the rodeo and ride him like a bull?” Helen’s eyes lit up.
Jessica grinned like a woman reading one of the juicier parts of a tawdry novel. She took a deep breath. Act professional. Be professional. This was crazy. “No, Helen. I am not going out with another man right now. I don’t care how gorgeous he is or how right he seems.”
“Oh, come on, Jess.” Helen snorted. “You need to get back out there. You can’t keep staying home and nursing your wounds. You’re young. You need a hot man in your life. You need a bull to ride.”
A bull. But what about all the bull shit that came along with all that bull? That was how Patty Preston put it. Having been married for the past twenty years to a loyal husband, Helen had no idea what dating was currently like. How difficult it was to find the one —not that Jessica was looking anymore, but still. If she were searching . . .
Jessica toggled back to her accounts receivable spreadsheet. Becca Norris. New sunroom, only two-thirds paid up. Two months overdue. Outstanding: $3,254.76.
“Besides, what if he turns out to be too superficial for me?” Jessica asked. “I need someone with substance, you know? He’s a bodybuilder type. What if he turns out to be the kind of guy who does nothing but talk biceps and triceps, and . . . and protein intake all day long?”
“And supplements too.” Helen smiled.
“Exactly.”
That was the thing about Adam that she missed the most. He hadn’t had a superficial bone in his body. He may have been full of himself, and arrogant, but he was philosophically deep, a modern-day Plato with artistic talent out the wazoo. One art critic described his painting Moon Waves as “a powerful depiction of chaotic clarity amidst the ecstasy of joy, set against the background of universal desolation and decimation.” How deep was that? The guy was a thinker, a ponderer of the meaning of life. He’d seemed like everything Jessica had ever wanted.
And yet, despite all of Adam’s depth and interiority, their relationship had wound up going south like a flock of snow geese bound for the Florida Keys.
“Well, do what you want,” Helen said. She stared at the picture of Paul again. “But if I were you . . .”
“You’re not me, Helen,” Jessica said firmly.
And that was all that needed to be said. Jessica would take the job, but she would not, under any circumstance, take the bull.