4. Trent
4
TRENT
S ofia Garcia, Nana Dee’s homecare nurse, met me at the door of the sprawling Jamesport house Nana Dee had lived in longer than I’d been alive.
“You’re late,” she said, closing the beautifully carved mahogany door behind me.
“I’m not late.”
“According to Dee, you’re late.”
I checked my watch. I was right on time, but we both knew that as far as Nana Dee was concerned, if you weren’t five minutes early, you were late. “How is she?”
“Honestly, the morning’s not off to a great start.”
“Why? What happened?” Sofia waved me into the corner of the foyer, out of sight of the hallway. When I didn’t move fast enough, she latched onto my arm and tugged.
“She had some trouble getting out of bed,” Sofia said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure we were still alone. Nana Dee might have been getting on in age, but she still had ears like a bat and a sixth sense for when I was fretting over her.
If she spotted us, she’d tell us both off for gossiping about her. Then she’d be annoyed with me and Sofia for the rest of the day. “She also caught her cane on the oxygen tubing when we were trying to get her dressed,” she continued.
“Did she hurt herself?” I asked, worried.
“No, but she’s frustrated,” Sofia said. “And her energy is low. I could barely convince her to relocate to the living room. I don’t think there’s any hope in getting her to go for a walk after breakfast.”
I rubbed a hand down my face, watching the way the light reflected through the stained glass windows on either side of the front door, painting the wall in fractals of greens and blues.
I was forever grateful for Sofia’s patience. It seemed Nana Dee needed more and more encouragement to participate in daily activities. “Well, thanks for trying. Don’t worry about getting her up now. I’ll see if I can entice her into a walk a little later.”
I could only hope that meeting this furniture designer would cheer her up. That was the one and only reason I was willing to put up with that flake after her initial reply. Mr. Moneybags ? And that winky face! I wrinkled my nose at the memory. It was blatantly unprofessional, bordering on tacky. After reading that message, I’d been close to saying to hell with it and dropping the whole idea—but damn, her furniture was gorgeous. Whatever kind of trainwreck the creator was, she knew her craft. I’d just have to see if she could figure out how to keep herself in check, at least for long enough to make a piece or two for Nana Dee.
I was desperate to find something to rouse Nana Dee’s spirits. Since her diagnosis, she had lost her spark—it was hard to get her engaged and excited about anything. That’s why I’d dreamed up this furniture commission idea—to get her invested in a project that would bring some of her vitality back. So whether I liked it or not, I needed this furniture designer to show up.
“Just watch the oxygen tubing when she stands,” Sofia was saying. “She’s been tripping over the lines.”
“Right,” I said. We were all still adjusting to Nana Dee being put on supplemental oxygen. It helped her breathlessness when she was up and moving around, but with the dizzy spells she’d been having, it also gave her something else to potentially trip over.
The doorbell rang. The furniture designer was early. Maybe trying to make up for said unprofessional comments yesterday. I’d hoped to have a few minutes with Nana Dee to let her know what I’d arranged, but it looked like plans had changed.
“More company?” Sofia said, frowning.
“I’ve got the door,” I said. “Can you let Dee know I have a surprise for her?”
Sofia hummed. “I’m not sure she’s in the mood for that right now.”
“She’ll like this one. I’m sure of it.”
Sofia nodded, hurrying away to the living room, while I turned for the door, swinging it open just as the furniture designer was poised to knock. Only instead of the stranger I was expecting, this woman looked far too familiar.
“You!” I exclaimed at this nightmare come to life. I recognized her immediately—long dark hair, small waist, lips like a bow, bright eyes—and a scowl fit to scare off a demon as soon as her eyes met mine. She was holding a bag of bagels. What in the nine circles of hell was the world’s worst waitress doing standing on Nana Dee’s porch? I stood there, wondering if the nuisance would disappear if I closed the door and opened it again. What, was she here to dump even more coffee on me and laugh like a hyena about it? What the hell had I done to deserve this?
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said, equal parts startled and horrified. “What is happening?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growled. “Are you stalking me now?”
Her expression shifted from shocked to offended. “How the hell would I stalk you when I don’t even know who you are? Contrary to your belief, the world does not revolve around you.”
Why had the universe insisted on trapping me in a loop with this woman? “I’m still waiting for the part where you tell me what you’re doing here.”
“ I have a meeting. I was invited here. What are you doing here?”
Oh no. It couldn’t be. “You’re the furniture designer?”
“You’re my new commission?” Natasha said, repulsed. “The man who wanted new pieces for his grandmother? It’s not possible.”
Oh, was this the part where she was going to scold me for the way I spoke to my own father again? My blood pounded in my ears.
“After the way you talked to your?—”
I scowled at her. “That is none of your concern.”
Natasha crossed her arms. “Oh really? Well, if that’s the way you treat your dad, I’m now worried about this grandmother you apparently care so much about.”
“You are so far out of line you can’t even see the line anymore.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
A car drove by. One of the neighbors in his top-down convertible. He lifted his hand to wave. I forced a smile and returned the wave. “Can you please stop making a scene on the porch? The neighbors are going to think something’s wrong.”
“Something is wrong.”
“Just get in here already,” I demanded, stepping aside.
Her eyebrows rose at the order. I watched with too much interest the way her lips parted slightly. She seemed to be considering whether she could turn tail and run instead. Then she threw her shoulders back and trudged past me into the house.
I tried not to stare at her ass, summoning the same patience I used when circumstances forced me to deal with my parents. As I closed the door, I noticed her looking around, gathering information or ammo or maybe just appreciating Nana Dee’s taste in furniture.
She came back to herself, narrowing her eyes the moment they locked with mine. “Well, I’m inside. Are you happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” I told her. “Almost as ecstatic as I was to receive your crass message.” A smile curled across my face as she visibly bristled. Ah, yes, let’s talk about that instead of my relationship with my family.
“That…was a mistake,” she said, clearly mortified by her screwup even as she tried to hold on to her anger at me. She shook her hair out, the long strands falling next to her face, but it was too late. I could see how my comment affected her.
I glanced down at the bag in her hand. “Are the bagels your apology?”
“They were,” she muttered, though she looked like she wanted to shove the whole bag down my throat, hoping I’d choke.
“You don’t have to apologize for being attracted to me.”
She crumpled the bag in her hand, and I chuckled under my breath. I had to admit I didn’t mind this shift in the conversation. It sure beat having her accuse me of whatever horrible mistreatment she imagined I subjected Nana Dee to. But also, she was hot when she was all worked up, her chest heaving, and I was enjoying that immensely.
“I’ll have you know that message was sent by my friend, Stacy,” Natasha muttered. “And I had no idea you were the recipient. So you can quit stroking your ego.”
“Stacy, sure,” I said. “And does this friend often reply to your emails?”
“No,” she said. “She was doing me a favor.”
“Right,” I said, letting her hear the doubt in my voice.
“I don’t care what you think,” she said.
“Oh, but I think you do.” I looked into her eyes, getting a little lost in the green of them. So lost I didn’t even notice Nana Dee at the end of the hall at first.
“ This is my surprise?” she asked, delighted.
I looked over Natasha’s shoulder, which wasn’t hard. She was at least half a foot shorter than me. Nana Dee was smiling bigger than she had in weeks. It was still jarring for me to see her lean on her cane for support, pulling along that small cart with her oxygen cylinder, a string of clear plastic tubing trailing along behind her. Despite being ill, she was still the Nana Dee I’d always known, her cashmere sweater wrinkle free, her short, grey hair curled at the edges, and her pearl earrings in place.
I was surprised at how quickly she made her way down the hall, rushing over to introduce herself to Natasha, who’d been struck speechless for a beat.
“You didn’t tell me your grandmother is Deana Saunders ,” Natasha hissed to me. “Of Saunders Furniture !”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“She’s been an idol of mine since I learned about her in design school! No wonder this place is so gorgeous, with all these dark woods and rich pops of color. That’s always been her signature style, hasn’t it?”
Nana Dee reached us and immediately grabbed Natasha’s hand.
“It is so lovely to meet you, Mrs. Saunders,” Natasha said. “An honor, really.”
“Oh, please call me Dee. Everyone does. I am just so delighted to meet you.”
“You are?” Natasha asked, bemused.
“It’s not every day that Trent brings a girl home.”
Oh shit , I thought at the same time Natasha’s eyes widened. She seemed to make the same realization I did. Nana Dee thought Natasha was my girlfriend . Ha! That was a laugh. As if I’d be stupid enough to sign myself up to be bait for this Hellcat. I’d sooner lock myself in a cage with an actual tiger. But also… fuck ! Dee looked so damn elated. She hadn’t smiled like that for weeks. How was I supposed to ruin her excitement when I already knew she’d had a rough morning?
“Oh, we’re not—” Natasha started to say as I jumped in.
“—putting labels on it yet.” I tucked my arm around her shoulders, squeezing even as I could feel her trying to shrug out of my grip. “We’re still getting to know each other. But hey, look—Natasha brought us bagels. We should eat them before they get cold, right?”
“Of course. Kitchen’s just through here,” Nana Dee said, leading the way.
“You go ahead and get the coffee started,” I called after her. “I’m just going to give Natasha a quick tour.”
“Don’t keep an old lady waiting,” Nana Dee insisted. “I want to hear all about how you two met.”
“Yep,” I said. “We’ll be right there.”
The moment we were alone, Natasha threw my arm off her shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Okay, just hear me out.”
“Hear you out?” Her voice kept climbing higher as her indignation grew. “We are most definitely not dating. Why the hell would you make it seem like we were?”
“You saw how happy it made her.”
“So?” Natasha said, looking at me like I’d sprouted a second head.
“ So ?” I repeated. “Seriously? You say this woman is your idol, and your only response to the idea that you could make her happy is ‘so’?”
She flushed, but her chin jutted out a little, and I could tell she was digging in her heels. “So she’s in for a disappointment when she realizes I can’t stand you and wouldn’t date you in a million years,” she shot back.
“That’s quite a change from the other day,” I taunted. “What was it you said then, about your ‘assets’?”
“I told you that message was a mistake!” she hissed. “I never meant to send it.”
“Sure, you say that now …”
“Enough,” she bit out. “Clearly coming here at all was a huge mistake.” She turned toward the door.
Goddamnit . I couldn’t let her leave. Not like this. Not when Nana Dee was waiting for us in the kitchen, showing real enthusiasm for the first time in weeks. I was going to have to get real with her. It might be the only way I could convince her to play along. She needed to know what was at stake.
“My grandmother was diagnosed with congestive heart failure a couple months ago,” I stated—stopping Natasha in her tracks. Slowly, she turned to face me again.
“Is it treatable?” she asked.
“Yes, with surgery…but she’s decided against it.” Natasha’s eyes widened, and I pressed my advantage. “She’s given up on life— but I’m going to change her mind, no matter what it takes. I’ll do anything to get her engaged and interested again. Whether that means tracking down her favorite furniture designer and commissioning new pieces for her, or…”
“Or faking a relationship with someone who is definitely not your girlfriend?” she replied, though she didn’t sound quite as angry about it now.
“Or faking a relationship with someone I can convince to pretend to be my girlfriend.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Maybe , I thought, watching the way her eyes flicked past me to the sitting room. I stepped aside so she could appreciate the massive antique display cabinet that housed all of Dee’s fine china. “Yes, before you ask, it’s one-of-a-kind.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
I turned into the room, and she followed. Large bookcases lined the far wall. The rest of the space was filled with wingback chairs and a grand piano. Natasha’s eyes went right to the desk we’d messaged about. The one she’d created that Dee loved. She ran her hands along one beveled edge, like she was petting it.
“Does she have a fondness for antiques?”
“Yes. Or commissioned pieces with glass inlay or marquetry.”
“I noticed the stained glass windows,” Natasha said. “Your grandmother has fabulous taste.”
“Which she’d probably love to discuss with you,” I said. “I’m sure it would make her day to know you learned about her in design school. There’s lots you could pick her brain about. If, you know, you agreed to do me this one little favor.”
“It’s not exactly a little favor,” she muttered, though I could tell she was torn, worrying at her bottom lip in a way that was very appealing. She wanted the opportunity to talk with Dee again, to chat about furniture and designs and the commission she’d originally come here for.
“Fine,” she relented with a huff. “I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend. But only in front of your grandmother—and you’d better keep your hands to yourself.”
“Done,” I agreed, relieved she was being more reasonable than she’d been in the coffee shop. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
I escorted Natasha into the kitchen, taking her hand for show. Nana Dee smiled, and Natasha smiled back, though she pulled away the moment we sat down, leaving a good bit of distance between us.
“I didn’t tell you the best part,” I said to Nana Dee as we tucked into bagels and fruit. “Natasha was actually the one who made your desk.”
“The L-shaped one?” Nana Dee said, equal parts excited and impressed.
“That’s the one,” I said.
Natasha’s smile widened. “I really enjoyed making that piece. I’m glad it makes you happy.”
“Natasha and I were talking about some other pieces she could make for you.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Nana Dee said. “I’ve been meaning to redecorate the library.”
Natasha hummed. “I’m seeing some art nouveau bookshelves in your future. Maybe something to match your desk.”
Nana Dee beamed. “I’d love that. Do you source your materials locally?”
“As much as I can. I always try to make my furniture sustainably, so that means using recycled materials as much as possible, including repurposed wood. The glass will probably be the most difficult to find.”
“There’s quite a movement lately toward sustainable production,” Nana Dee agreed.
“It was that A-list Hollywood guy who started posting about all the furniture he was making,” I grumbled, unable to fully hide my annoyance. I glanced at Natasha. “You know the one.”
She nodded. “Kyle Landing.”
“Yes, with the hair. Puts his dogs in all his videos.”
“He definitely knows how to market his products,” Dee said. “And how to reach this sustainability crowd.”
A crowd that had grown massively, thanks to the actor’s star power making sustainability the hot trend. Now all the big companies, Saunders Furniture included, were scrambling to catch up. We’d had more meetings about it lately than I could count. I wasn’t about to leave money on the table by leaving a sizable new market untapped—but that didn’t mean I had the right people in place yet to move anything forward.
“I think it’s great,” Natasha said. “He’s bringing a lot of visibility to the issue.”
“And a lot of pressure to the market,” I pointed out. “Touting sustainability works fine when you’re making one-off pieces, like him or you. But it’s a lot harder for a company like ours that has to deliver at a much higher volume.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” Natasha challenged.
“Do you have any idea how many pieces we make a year? What, do you think we have the time to go out and find recycled wood for every one?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But just because you’re a large company doesn’t mean you can’t make significant changes to your design and production processes to reduce waste.”
I raised a brow. “As CEO, I think I know?—”
“Do you?” she challenged. “Have you considered offering natural fibers in all the upholstery materials? Or getting your wood from tree farms rather than from forests?”
“Tree farms are far more expensive.”
She waved off my concern. “You’re in a luxury business. It’s not like anyone comes to Saunders Furniture looking for a bargain. They come looking for quality . They already pay a premium for that—and I have no doubt they’d be fine with paying even more for a product they can feel good about. Show off to their friends. Brag about on social media.”
“Like Kyle ,” I said with a grimace.
“Why not?” Natasha shot back. “If it’s working for him, why not make it work for you too?”
Nana Dee laughed, delighted. I had to fight to keep from jumping. I’d been so wrapped up in my debate with Natasha I’d…kind of forgotten she was there. “Oh, sweetheart—you’re just perfect,” Dee said, reaching out to pat Natasha’s hand. “You’re exactly what Trent needs. And I’d say you’re what Saunders Furniture needs too.”
“Wh-what?” Natasha asked, looking thrown.
“I’m talking about Trent hiring you, of course,” she said, throwing a wink my way. “You’re just what he’s been looking for to sort out the new product line.”
What a horrible thought. I tried not to shudder. Work with Natasha?
“Oh!” Natasha said. “No, that wouldn’t be good for either of?—”
“Trent?” Nana Dee said, giving me an expectant glare.
I wanted to tell her that she was out of her mind, that it didn’t make any sense at all to bring Natasha on at Saunders Furniture…but the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. Natasha did have the know-how I needed. Imagining being around her every day had me wanting to throttle something—but I could put my feelings aside if it was what I needed to secure the future of Saunders Furniture.
“Sustainable designs aren’t what we’re known for. Not just in the materials we choose, but in our whole aesthetic.” When my parents had been in charge after Nana Dee’s retirement, they’d taken the company in the direction of very modern, sleek, minimalist designs. That was still our bread and butter, so I’d never consider getting rid of it, but starting something new with a sustainability slant meant a pretty big paradigm shift, and no one I’d met had the vision I needed. Everyone I’d brought in for interviews kept trying to appeal to me with designs that were very similar to what our company already had. Either they didn’t grasp that I wanted new ideas or they were too afraid of me to push the envelope.
For all her faults, Natasha was definitely not afraid of me.
I gritted my teeth. “Can I see more of your portfolio?”
“Uh…” She frowned. Nana Dee looked at her hopefully, and Natasha pulled out her tablet, showing us some simple sketches she’d put together after this meeting was set to brainstorm ideas for what would go well with the desk Nana Dee already had.
Damn it. They were gorgeous.
We wrapped up breakfast shortly after, with Nana Dee claiming she was tired, and I walked Natasha to the door.
“So, you can start on Monday.”
She stared at me in confusion. “Start what?”
“I’m offering you a job with Saunders Furniture.”
“Are you?” she said. “Sorta sounds like you’re telling me I have a job.”
“What’s the difference? We both know you need the work.”
She stepped onto the porch, turning to face me so I could get the full impact of her glare. “Again, thanks to you.”
“And now thanks to me, you are no longer unemployed.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Please don’t act like you have any better options.”
Natasha stiffened. “I can think of plenty of better options that do not involve working for you. If I want to make eighty thousand dollars with a side of bullshit, I’ll just go back to working three part-time jobs.” She turned for the steps, but I caught her arm.
“Okay. What do you want?”
She pulled away and crossed her arms, clearly annoyed with me. “From you? Nothing.”
“I mean it. Name your price.”
“Fine.” She smirked. “One hundred and fifty thousand starting salary.” She pursed her lips. “And a yearly bonus based on the performance of the new product line.”
That’s it? Those were her terms? “Done. I’ll have the contract drawn up by the time you arrive for work.”
She stared at me. “Wait…what?”
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you, boss.’ See you Monday.” I closed the door on her completely stunned expression. I really did like it best when I got the last word.