Chapter 20
Jessica
Two days after Christmas, and there was still no news on the Buchanan deal and no word from Paul either, not even a text or phone call. Was he taking some space? Had he gotten spooked by the whole sharing-a-bed thing? Or maybe he’d met someone else and was now keeping his distance.
Just as well. She needed time to be on her own anyway. Time to be her own person, to find that person, and to validate her. Of course. Think Patty Preston all the way.
Jessica drowned herself in work. She had spent so much time on Mrs. Worthmore’s project, going over the measurements again and again. She was obsessed. She added a brand-new lighting concept for the hallways, too. Selected a pendant fixture composed of hand-formed acrylic petals and suspended by cables from a matte white canopy for the den. It emitted a beautiful, ethereal vibe. She hoped Mrs. Worthmore would love it as much as she did, and today was the day she would find out.
Sitting across from her in the kitchen, perched on an uncomfortable hardwood chair and trying to control her frayed nerves, Jessica had gone over her remodel plans in detail. Throat dry, abdomen steely tense, she shut down her nervousness as much as she could and waxed enthusiastic as she described the new artwork, the changes in color shades and schemes, and the extra space for the den.
She modeled it all for Mrs. Worthmore using interior design software, showing her how much better the two rooms would flow if she tore down the wall that separated them, and let them merge, as well as how the Indian hardwood flooring she’d picked out would create a fine harmonious continuity. The Southern-style landscapes she suggested for the walls were expansive yet tasteful, full of blue-grays, and cut through with shimmering white light. She also presented her Love-Me-Knot lighting fixture as the icing on the cake: visually appealing, moon-like, and beautiful.
When she was done with her presentation, Mrs. Worthmore scrolled through the model with her knobbly finger, her reading glasses perched on her nose, zooming in and out. She didn’t say a word, and the silence was deafening. Jessica squirmed in her seat as her throat tightened even more. The old woman breathed in raspy gasps. What in God’s name was she thinking?
“Well, then,” Mrs. Worthmore said, refusing to make eye contact. She cleared her throat. She was about as noncommittal as a person could possibly be.
“Of course, uh . . .” Jessica’s stomach churned. “If there’s something you don’t love, I-I-I can easily redo whatever you want. This is all totally flexible. If you don’t like pooled curtains, we can certainly do shorter versions. We can always go with your idea of a single chandelier.”
A single chandelier is a terrible idea, but I am not about to disagree.
Mrs. Worthmore said nothing. She simply emitted a “Hmm.”
A grandfather clock chimed somewhere in the house.
Frowning, deep wrinkle rivulets running across her forehead, Mrs. Worthmore finally said, “I have to tell you that I just don’t like it.” Mrs. Worthmore met Jessica’s eyes straight on, her eyes steely gray. Her voice was stern and cold, and Jessica’s heart sank like a dead weight. She was on the verge of tears. Oh, God. She didn’t like it. This woman was impossible. Or maybe Jessica was awful compared to Stefan Vidal, the kind of designer Mrs. Worthmore was used to employing. Was he that much better?
“You . . . uh, don’t?” Jessica was already preparing to gather her things and leave, head to a bar, and just drink the rest of her no-good life away. How would she break the news to Helen and the rest of the staff? The thought of it made her feel sick.
“Honestly? I don’t like it because, well, actually . . . If truth be told, Jessica . . .” She clasped her hands together, pausing. “Honestly? I-I hate to admit it, but I actually love it. I really do. You’ve pleased me, Jessica, and I’m very surprised. The pendant fixture, by the way, is a lovely touch.”
Jessica wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “What?” She leaned forward.
“I hardly ever say something like this to anyone I employ, but I really do approve of this. I think you’ve captured my needs quite well.”
“Oh! Oh, Mrs. Worthmore!” Jessica grabbed the old woman’s hand as her eyes moistened. She couldn’t help it—she was beside herself. “I’m so thrilled!” She was so excited she dropped her iPad on the floor, picked it up, and dropped it again, frantically trying to gain some composure. Thank God it had a cushion cover.
“I must say, you’re a real go-getter, Jessica. I’d put your work right up there with Vidal’s any day. You’re quite . . . how should I put it? Refreshing.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Worthmore,” Jessica said. The comparison made her heart swell, and blood rushed to her face. A steely resolve rose inside her as she pressed her lips together. “I’ll get on it right away and order all the materials this afternoon. I can have the work men out here, let’s see . . .” Hands slightly trembling, she opened her appointment app. “How does, uh, the second week in January work? Starting at nine on the nose?” Jessica knew most of the materials would be in by then.
“That sounds perfect.” For a moment, Mrs. Worthmore’s rigid expression almost cracked into a real smile. “You may draw up the paperwork.”
When she left Mrs. Worthmore’s and climbed into her car, Jessica did a fist pump and a little dance sitting in her seat. Then she got a call from Helen. She answered, gazing at a white Rolls Royce in the drive. Two people were toweling it down and polishing it.
“Yes, Helen?”
“Most of Paul Brady’s order is in and ready to go. Do you want to call him for a date to start, or do you want me to do it?”
Jessica hesitated. Should she call him? She could easily have Helen do it. But she was the one working the job. Besides, if she called, it would give him the opportunity to explain why he hadn’t called.
“Sure, I’ll call him.”
“And go out with him again while you’re at it,” she said.
“Seriously?” Jessica asked.
“Don’t see why you wouldn’t.”
Right.
It wasn’t complicated. It was just Jessica’s personal decision not to date at the moment. If it weren’t for that, he’d be perfect dating material. Didn’t Helen get it? Jessica ended the call, brought up Paul’s contact information, then pushed send.
“Just calling to say that most of your installation materials are in,” Jessica said when he picked up. Her heart beat harder just hearing the sound of his voice. She couldn’t help it. But she made sure her voice sounded all business, because that was what this was—business. No more, no less.
“Oh, that’s perfect. When can we start?” he said.
Did she hear a note of anticipation in his voice? Maybe, maybe not.
“January fourth?” Jessica asked. “That’s when my demo crew will be back from the holidays. We can start at nine a.m., if that’s okay. They like to get on it early.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Jessica waited for him to say something else, anything else, like why he hadn’t called? Her hands grew slick in the waiting. It felt so up in the air. But all he said in the end was goodbye. Then he hung up as she curled her lower lip and sighed. Men. She could never figure them out.