29. Natasha
29
NATASHA
“ Y our teeth are chattering,” Stacy said into the phone.
“Because it’s friggin’ freezing down here!” I went across the room to crank up the space heater. The basement workshop was frigid in December, the cold seeping in despite how well I insulated the cracks around the door.
And on days like this, I paid for it. When I got into the zone of working on a piece, I’d forget about the cold…but a phone call was enough to wake me up to it again.
“So, I was talking to one of my coworkers,” Stacy said. She’d called me the moment her shift at the temp agency had ended. “From the props department…for that new show I told you about. The little one. Not the secret Broadway one.”
“Uh-huh?” I said, only half listening as I warmed my hands by the heater.
“And, anyway, he sprained his wrist.”
“That’s…not good.”
“I know! But anyway, they need some set pieces made, and they’re kind of in a bind, and I sort of tossed out your name. I know it’s not your usual level and probably doesn’t pay well?—”
“Money is money,” I said. I wasn’t really in any position to be picky with odd jobs. And hey, I could whip up some sturdy, stage-worthy props in no time. “Thanks for thinking of me, Stace.”
“Of course. Thank Benjy for spraining his wrist. I mean, not really…but you know what I’m saying.”
“I do.” I shuffled across the workshop and huddled at my desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Scrolling my inbox.” I’d neglected it for a few days, and the junk mail had built up again. Stacy was right. I needed to stop subscribing to things. Holy shit , I thought, suddenly pausing my scroll. Veronica Chase? What the hell was she doing in my inbox? Was this some kind of prank? “Oh. My. God.”
“What is it?”
I hovered over the email, on high alert. “I have sirens going off in my head.”
“Ooo,” Stacy said. “Talk.”
“I don’t know if this is junk mail or a phishing scam—but at first glance, it looks like an actual big name interior designer has just reached out to me.” If this was real, how the hell had she gotten my personal email?
“Wait, you think it’s related to the Fisher thing?” Stacy asked.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, trying not to get my hopes up as I opened the email. It was only last week that I’d finally realized what it was that bugged me about all the weird 1stDibs customers I’d been getting lately: the ones who kept demanding designs and not commissioning furniture. The problem wasn’t that they’d all sounded the same; the problem was that they were all the same. I’d finally recognized a weird typo that Fisher always made—spelling enviornment instead of environment . So every email that asked me to design “something that would fit into a luxury enviornment” had been written by him.
“You never told me what happened with that,” Stacy said.
“You mean before or after I almost threw my laptop against the wall?” I had been so pissed at myself for not immediately picking up on Fisher’s bullshit, and for sending him more furniture designs before catching on, that I’d actually screamed myself hoarse. I’d been so desperate for the 1stDibs work that even though I’d known the requests had seemed fishy, I’d never stopped and thought it through for long enough to put two and two together. But the moment I did, it all became clear. Fisher had created all those different account names in order to trick me into handing over my design ideas—designs he could pass off as his own.
“After, obviously. I know you said you screenshotted all the communication you’d had with him and his sock puppets. Did you ever email it to your old boss?”
“Yeah.” I’d sent the whole batch of messages to my former manager at Echo and told them that if Fisher had come forward with similar designs after the dates marked on the communication, then he was committing theft—and the company would be liable as well, if they chose to utilize my work without my consent. I didn’t threaten legal action because let’s face it, I didn’t have the means to take on an established and successful company. But the tone was there, and I’d hoped they would do the right thing.
“And?” Stacy said.
“I never actually got an email reply, but I heard from some old colleagues that Fisher has been fired.”
“Hell yes!” Stacy said. “That’s the least of what that asshole deserves. Too bad it didn’t happen sooner.”
I grumbled. “But you see why this email popping up in my inbox now feels…odd, right? Like, is this Fisher screwing with me, just to be petty?”
“You really think it’s him?”
“I don’t know. It seems more likely than the idea that this email could be legit. It’s from a very big deal client who would have absolutely no reason to know or be interested in me.”
“Well, you’re a big deal too.”
I snorted. “Thanks, but not compared to the Veronica Chase. If this really is her.”
“Why does that name sound familiar? Have I seen her on TV?”
“Probably. She had that home design series on Netflix.” Veronica designed spaces for some massively huge names in New York City. Anyone who was anyone in the city had Chase Designs furnishing their rooms.
“Well, what does she want? You haven’t said yet.”
I scanned the email. “Looks like she’s interested in commissioning some custom pieces after learning about me from…” The breath whooshed from my lungs. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“What?”
“It’s Trent!” I practically yelled into the phone. “Freaking Trent! That’s how she knows who I am.” I stopped reading, my fingers curling into fists. I resisted the urge to slam my laptop lid down. Rage boiled inside me.
“You’re sure?” Stacy asked.
“Yep. She mentioned him by name in the email. God, what is this? Another ploy to try and buy me?” Because that’s exactly how it felt. I’d rejected his big fancy workshop filled with the prettiest wood I’d ever laid my eyes on, and now he was using someone else to try and weasel his way back in my favor. Someone who would be a really valuable contact for me to have! Well, it wasn’t going to work. The last thing I wanted was to let him think my forgiveness could be bought. “I’ve gotta go,” I said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know…call him and read him the riot act, probably.”
“Good. Give him hell!”
I hung up with Stacy and immediately called Trent. This guy couldn’t keep screwing with me. He’d wanted me out of his life, so now he needed to stay out of mine.
A familiar ring tone sounded. It was his ringtone . It sounded like it was coming from right outside the… No freaking way ! I sprinted across the room, throwing open the door, letting in a wash of frigid air as I gaped at Trent. He stood there with his stupidly perfect face, cheeks red from the wind, his gloved hand raised like he was about to knock. I hung up my phone.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
He blinked down at me. “Getting screamed at, apparently. Is knocking on your door a crime now?”
I stomped back across the workshop away from the cold. Trent followed. I heard the door close. “Veronica Chase?” I spat out the moment he started to say something.
“She reached out to you?”
I scoffed, clinging to my fury to keep from bursting into frustrated tears. “Do you have any idea what having a client like her would mean for me?”
“I have some idea, yes.” He shed his jacket and his gloves. I tried not to ogle the way his sweater clung to his chest. Fight it , I told myself. Don’t you dare swoon! “Have you emailed her back?”
I dragged my eyes back to his face. “No, I haven’t emailed her back!” I snapped. “Why are you doing this to me? Are you purposely trying to ruin my chances of making a name for myself in the industry?”
“No,” he said. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
“I don’t understand you. Why would you give her my name? I don’t need you to do that for me. I don’t want you to do that.”
“That’s exactly why!” he said, surging across the room toward me.
I took a stumbling step back. I couldn’t be close to him and think straight.
“Because you don’t need me,” he continued. “And I wanted to prove that to you.”
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Natasha, I would love for you to come back and work for Saunders,” he said. “More than anything.”
My insides burned at his words. Why was he saying these things to me now? These were the words I’d wanted so desperately to hear that day he exploded at me in my office. Now they were just knives, driving straight through my chest. “You can’t say things like that. Not now.”
“I need to say them. I need you to know how I feel. But more than that, I need you to know what you’re worth. Because whether you choose to come back to Saunders or not, the one thing I know for certain is that you can support yourself. You told me I’d cut the strings of your safety net,” he said, voice strained. “And you were right. But you don’t need any job I can give you. You don’t need my contacts or my money or anything else.”
Was he even listening to the words he was saying? “Obviously, you think I do need your contacts, or you wouldn’t have given Veronica Chase my name and contact info,” I said, the heat of rage warring with the desire to pull him close. To fall into his arms.
“I did give her your name, but believe me when I say that Veronica values her own business too highly to work with anyone but the best. All I did was point her to your listing and let her see for herself what you’re capable of.”
“What’s the difference? You’re still the one who connected us.”
“I never asked her to reach out to you though. She decided to do that on her own. Any commissions you get from her will be because you’ve impressed her and earned it on your own merit.”
That…was a fair point. I’d been picturing something shadier, with Trent trading some kind of obscure, rich-person favor to convince Veronica to throw some business my way, but would she really risk her brand if she didn’t believe in my work? Her whole business was built on her reputation, and she wouldn’t take any chances with that. I still wasn’t thrilled about him talking to people about me behind my back, but I was maybe willing to admit that he hadn’t done it to trick or manipulate me but to help me.
And yes, I got the irony of me being mad at him for helping me without my consent.
I didn’t know what to do. Did I thank him? Throw him out and slam the door in his face? Take his hand and never let go? As much as I wanted to demand that he leave my workshop, my head and my heart were in two very different places. It was good to see him. I wanted to reach for him, to dive into his strength and warmth. I wanted him so damn bad it hurt. I turned away before I could do something stupid. “What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t come here expecting you to say anything.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I wanted to explain,” his voice softened, “why I acted the way I did. I don’t think you realize how jaded I was about love before I met you.”
“Trent,” I groaned, running my hands over my face.
“Let me explain, Natasha. Please .”
Against my better judgment, I nodded, meeting his dark eyes.
“I’d really started to believe that every relationship boiled down to what two people could get from each other. And because of that, I always tried to be the one in control, the one who provided so that my partners would always need me more than I needed them. I was able to get by for a lot of years without getting too invested in any of the women I dated. But you changed everything. You came along, and you didn’t want anything from me…except maybe for me to go away.” He laughed a bit under his breath. “You didn’t want my money or my contacts. You wanted to make something of yourself all on your own, and I never told you how much I respect you for that.”
“That’s nice, Trent, but?—”
“Wait, please. Let me say this…” His voice trembled like he’d been holding onto the words for too long. “You didn’t need me—but I needed you. I was crazy about you. Am crazy about you. Everyone could see it. I didn’t even realize how deep it went until my mother was standing in front of me, telling me that you were using me. It hit me like a Mack truck. I needed you, desperately, and that put all the power in your hands, since you didn’t need me at all. So I threw up my walls to protect myself, saying whatever I could to push you away. I know that in doing that, I hurt you. And I am so, so sorry for that.”
His voice, his words, washed over me, trying to settle between my ribs, close to my heart. This was all I had wanted from him. Not just an apology but understanding of why he’d said the things he did.
“I was wrong,” Trent said, drifting closer, staring into my eyes. It almost made me smile. How many times in his life had this grump of a man admitted that out loud? “I wish I could go back and erase the things I said to you, but I can’t. The only thing I can do is move forward and try to make it right.”
“By lining up work for me?” I said, an edge to my words.
He shook his head. “By letting go of the idea that you need anything from me—and hoping, instead, that you might just want me…for me .”
My breath caught in my throat.
“ If you could still want me,” he amended.
I looked up at him, my jaw trembling. “Of course I still want you…you big Coffeezilla idiot! I never stopped wanting you.”
“Good,” he said breathily. “Good. That makes this next part a lot less awkward.” He dropped down to one knee in front of me, pulling out a small jewelry box from his pocket.
Okay, what the hell was happening? “Trent?—”
He popped the box open, revealing a gorgeous ring. I didn’t know a damn thing about diamonds, but I knew this one was breathtaking. “I’m asking you to take a leap of faith,” Trent said. “To trust me. To trust that I will be here for you. That I will be something stable and dependable in your life. That I’ll be…” A cheeky smile tugged at his lips. “I’m trying to think of some witty wood-related metaphor.”
I chuckled, my thoughts caught up in disbelief and some sort of internal screaming. “The floorboards beneath my feet?”
“That’ll work.” He reached for my hand. I gave it to him, feeling a wave of longing as his hand eclipsed mine. “I’m asking you to commit to the idea that we could actually be happy together. Because I want to make that commitment. I want to take the leap and tie the two of us together forever. I want something real and lasting with you that you know you can rely on—that you never have to doubt.”
I sniffed, trying to hold it together.
“I know my track record isn’t great, but I promise to be someone you can count on. I can learn to trust the future as long as I know that my future has you in it.”
When my thoughts caught up, I had a moment of clarity. We’d only known each other a few months, had hooked up and broken up, and now he was down on one knee? We hadn’t even had make-up sex yet. “Isn’t this all moving awfully fast?”
“It is,” he agreed. “And we can be engaged for as long as you want. I won’t rush you down the aisle. But what I want to give you is my commitment. If you take me back, I need you to know that I’m all in. Permanently. You’re never going to be left hanging, worrying about a safety net, ever again.”
My jaw trembled, and a few tears slipped down my cheek. “It’s a beautiful ring.”
Trent grinned at me, and that was beautiful too. “It was Nana Dee’s. She gave it to me years ago and said that she hoped I’d use it when I found the love of my life.”
“Oh, Trent,” I said softly.
“She said she hoped it would bring me as much happiness as she found in her marriage. I put it away because I never thought I’d find anyone who fit the bill—but then I found you. You’re it for me, Natasha. Period. End of the story. So if any part of you wants to share a complicated, messy, amazing life with me, I’ll wait as long as it takes for the rest of you to feel ready.”
“Go on then,” I said, hardly holding back tears. “Ask me properly.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “Really.”
The corner of Trent’s mouth curled up a bit higher. “I love you, Natasha Dryer. More than anything. Will you marry me?”
Trent was already on his feet, sweeping me into his arms as I cried, “Yes!”