20. Vivien
R ogue.
Vivien had gone totally rogue with Sherwin-Williams Alabaster when her client had asked for Pure White. Well, she’d asked for “pure white” as a description—Fiona probably didn’t know there was also a paint color called Pure White. Not that anyone with eyes or a soul would call it a color .
Standing in Fiona Buckman’s entryway, Vivien leaned back and looked up at the nearly twenty feet of freshly painted wall in the two-story center hall, thrilled with her decision to go a tiny bit rogue. Two shades of warmth, but it made all the difference in the world. The walls hugged a person now, whereas plain white was like a blinding light that screamed do not enter, do not relax , and, whatever you do, do not feel at home .
This was absolutely the opposite.
Since the interaction over the molding and samples well over a week ago, Vivien felt like she’d found a balance with her strong-willed client. She’d talked about it with Lacey, mulled it over with Tessa, and even shared her feelings with Peter—and they’d all encouraged her to speak her mind since she’d been hired for her expertise.
Vivien had made some compromises, and she’d talked Fiona into a few things, too.
Best of all, Hapless Handy seemed to have disappeared. Maybe they’d…broken up.
Right now, with Fiona gone and just workers here, Vivien could concentrate on the space around her, which was truly getting prettier with every visit.
It was still modern and clean, but not sterile. Fiona didn’t want sterile—she only thought she did. What she wanted was fresh and uncluttered, modern but still a bit organic.
Which was exactly what the Alabaster had accomplished.
She heard the hammers and electric saws from the kitchen, happy that the new counters were in—soft white quartz with delicate veining, timeless and elegant.
As she walked through the house, Vivien nodded to herself, checking out each room as she moved, peeking into Fiona’s office. That was the room they were scheduled to discuss today, when Fiona returned from a meeting at the beach.
Vivien couldn’t wait to rip out the carpet and tackle those hideous window treatments.
“Mrs. Buckman?” A man’s voice called from the front door. “I got a mirror delivery!”
Oh, the entryway mirror she’d chosen had arrived! Excited to see it, she rushed back to the front of the house, knowing this was another slightly rogue move.
“Mrs. Buckman’s not here, but I’m her designer,” she told the man as he handed her a clipboard to sign. “I can’t wait to see this.”
Fiona wanted something big, cold, and frameless. Vivien had found something big, warm, and trimmed with a beveled edge that had a vintage-meets-modern vibe she just loved. No wood, no brass, no antique anything, but plenty of impact.
She watched as the men carefully uncrated the very expensive seventy-inch-tall mirror she’d found at a sweet little design studio down on 30A. She watched and directed as they pulled the massive glass free of the packaging and leaned it against the painfully bare wall in the entryway.
“It’s perfect!” She pressed her hands together, delighted by how the curved corners fit the space and the angled edges caught the light. It was timeless, but slightly historic, simple but not at all artless.
“This is going to make such a statement,” she murmured, stepping closer as the men adjusted it.
“Want us to center it a little more?” one of them asked.
Vivien was about to respond when the front door opened behind her and Fiona came into view through the mirror.
“What on God’s green earth is that?” Her voice was as sharp as the glass that reflected her.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Vivien exclaimed, knowing that enthusiasm sometimes softened Fiona’s opinions.
But this time, she looked horrified.
“It’s…it’s…it’s not…” She closed her eyes as if she were rooting to the center of the earth for composure. “I hate it.” She marched closer to the glass, looking like she intended to smash it into oblivion for seven times seven years of bad luck. “This is not what I wanted. I loathe vintage.”
Vivien’s stomach sank. “But Fiona, it’s a statement piece. A frameless mirror would look?—”
“I want a frameless mirror.” Fiona cut her off. “Something modern. Clean. Not this… thing .”
Vivien exhaled slowly. Okay, deep breath. You can find a compromise. “I know you wanted modern, but I promise you this is going to elevate the whole space. It’s not gaudy, there’s no gold or?—”
“Vivien,” Fiona interrupted with a pointed glare. “Get rid of it.”
Vivien clenched her jaw, swallowing the frustration burning in her throat. “Okay,” she forced out. “I’ll take care of it.”
Fiona turned on her heel, walking into the house. Vivien followed cautiously, already sensing deep in her bones what was about to happen. Going rogue might not have been a good idea.
Fiona froze in the middle of her soaring two stories and stared at the walls.
And then, slowly, she turned back to Vivien, her expression unreadable. “In what universe, Vivien, is this pure white?”
Vivien lifted her chin, preparing for war. “It’s Alabaster.”
“This is not the color I picked.”
Vivien’s pulse pounded and, once again, she was thrown down a memory hole, staring at her mother, who merely lifted one eyebrow and made her kids cower. But this wasn’t Maggie Lawson!
“You hired me for my professional?—”
Fiona’s sharp inhale cut her off.
“I told you white ,” she snapped, stepping forward. “I told you exactly what I wanted, and this is not it. Pure, unadulterated, plain white. Why can’t you just listen ?”
Vivien clenched her teeth. “It is white. It’s just a softer white, Fiona. Pure white would make this house feel?—”
“I don’t care how it feels ,” Fiona seethed. “I care about what I asked for .”
Vivien swallowed hard, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. This was it. The moment. The moment where she either stood up for herself or caved like she always did.
She took a breath and straightened her back as if a ramrod held it up.
“If I’m going to design this house, Fiona, I’m going to preserve its character,” Vivien said, her voice calm but firm. “I can make it modern. I can make it contemporary. But I will not make it soulless.”
Fiona’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Then I’ll find someone else.”
The words sliced through Vivien’s chest. For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Then Fiona turned to the workers. “Stop everything. Get rid of the mirror. Repaint the walls. And Vivien—” She turned back, her voice like steel. “You can leave now and please don’t come back. We’re finished.”
Vivien stared at her, then nodded stiffly. “Understood.”
She turned on her heel, grabbed her bag on the floor the entryway, and walked out of the house without another word.
Her legs felt like lead as she made her way to her SUV, her chest tight, her hands shaking. She had stood up for herself. She had spoken her mind. And now?
She was fired.
So much for a backbone. At least doormats got a paycheck .
As she reached her car parked on the street, she heard a loud motor and spotted the BMW sports car owned—or at least driven by—good old Hapless.
He parked right behind her Highlander, shut off the engine, and climbed out. He wore a fitted and wildly expensive white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms…and that expensive watch on his wrist.
Definitely not a handyman’s wardrobe.
He flashed a smile and took off his sunglasses, as though he needed to get a better look at her.
Vivien rolled her eyes. Perfect. Just what I need. A run-in with the con artist.
She opened the driver’s door, hoping they could get away with a cursory nod, but he just kept coming, regarding her closely.
“You okay?” he asked, the tone of the question both off-putting and a little…personal.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because you look like someone just ran over your puppy.”
Vivien exhaled, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Not my puppy, just my job. I’m leaving—for good.” She added a tight smile. “She’s all yours.”
Danny tilted his head, stepping closer. “Oh, man. Did my delightful sister fire you?”
Vivien blinked, whipping around so hard she felt hair. “Your… sister ?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking surprised. “You didn’t know that?”
“She’s…your… what ?”
He laughed. “Eleven years older, but don’t tell her that. Actually, don’t tell her anything if you want to live. But I take it you learned that the hard way.”
Vivien gaped at him, her brain short-circuiting. Sister?
She replayed every assumption she’d made about him and how very, very wrong she’d been.
“Is that why you aren’t…such a great handyman?”
He threw his head back with a hearty laugh that came right from his chest—the chest she’d once seen shirtless and had admittedly stared at. The move showed beautiful straight teeth, a strong neck, and…and…
His sister ?
“I’m the worst handyman in the county, possibly the state,” he said. “However, she’s been through a dozen of them, several plumbers and electricians, three housekeepers, and two landscapers. I think there’s an underground network of service professionals who’ve blacklisted Fiona. So…” He lifted a shoulder. “I attempt to help but that’s not my, uh, thing.”
She blew out a breath. “I apologize.”
“For what?”
She studied him for a minute, not wanting to tell him what she’d assumed. The absolute worst.
“No!” He leaned forward, a mix of shock and amusement in his eyes as he figured it out. “You thought… How could you?”
“I saw you having dinner, and…”
“You thought I’m some kind of player trying to…” He cracked up. “I’m taking her to dinner right now. I do every week. Still, that’s rich. I can’t wait to tell her.”
“Please don’t. She already hates me and every decision I ever made.”
His smile faltered. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault I didn’t listen to her on paint. And the mirror. And…everything.”
“I think the house looks great,” he said. “I might have you do mine next.”
She eyed him, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m still sorry my sister…” He huffed out a breath. “She has issues.”
“You think?”
“And I can tell you this from experience,” he added. “She will come crawling back.”
Vivien scoffed. “I doubt it.”
He gave a knowing smile. “She will, but you, like all the other professionals she burns through, will say no. Can’t say I blame you, but, whoa. Now I have to decorate her house, and it won’t be pretty.”
She laughed softly, liking him despite how much she didn’t want to.
“So, let’s keep the lines of communication open, okay?” he asked. “Maybe I can secretly pick your designer’s brain, and I’ll pay you instead of her.”
She just smiled and shook her head, not sure what to make of him. “Whatever.”
“Why don’t you give me your number?” he said. “Better yet, why don’t you let me take you to dinner? It would give me a chance to tell you a little about my sister, who really isn’t a wicked witch.”
Vivien inched back, her stomach doing a completely unexpected flutter. Was the hapless handyman asking her on a date or was he just being nice because she’d gotten fired?
“I’ll think about it,” she said, purposely vague.
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll take thinking. It’s not a no.”
“Not a yes, either.”
He chuckled. “Good. I like to have a goal. And I’ll get your number from my sister, if you don’t mind. Right after I tell her how much I love the paint and…the mirror, was it?”
Vivien exhaled another laugh. “Yes, the big one in the hall.”
“What didn’t she like about it?”
“Everything.”
He looked skyward. “Sounds like Fi. We’ll be in touch, Vivien.”
She nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat, watching him head up to the house.
What just happened?
As she drove away, she realized she wasn’t thinking about being fired anymore.
She was thinking about him .
* * *
It was late in the day when Vivien pushed open the front door of the Summer House, stepping inside with a sigh so heavy it could have knocked over one of the perfectly arranged vases on the entryway table.
The cool air-conditioning hit her skin, but it did nothing to ease the heat still clinging to her after the latest disaster at Fiona Buckman’s house.
She rounded the corner to the empty living area, letting her bag slide from her shoulder and drop onto the kitchen island with a thud. She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the marble surface, slumping.
It was official. She’d lost her first big client.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shove down the sting of humiliation. You did the right thing , she told herself. You stood your ground. You refused to be a doormat. And what did that get you?
Canned .
“That doesn’t look good.”
She straightened and turned, finding Peter standing just outside the open sliders to the deck.
“Oh! Peter. I didn’t know you were here.” She’d been in such a fog, she’d driven right past his parked car.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He came a few steps closer, setting a bottle of water on the counter, regarding her closely. “Are you okay?”
Vivien let out a sharp, humorless laugh and ran a hand through her hair.
“Not really. I just got fired from the Fiona Buckman job. Apparently, I can’t take direction. Even though the direction was terrible, ugly, and soul-destroying, and I simply couldn’t bring myself to ruin a perfectly good house with it.”
Peter winced sympathetically. “Oof. Sounds like you dodged a bullet.”
Vivien shook her head and walked to the fridge, reaching for the first bottle of wine she saw. “Is it five o’clock somewhere?”
“Here, actually,” Peter said, watching her carefully. “You’re better off without her, though. You know that, right? I mean, yeah, this sucks, but you’re not the kind of person who can just slap some paint on the walls and call it design. You care too much about your work to be a ‘yes’ woman for a rich tyrant with no taste.”
Vivien sighed, pulling a plastic cup from the cabinet, then grabbing another. She turned to him with a questioning look. “Don’t make me drink alone.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Eli and I are going to the gym, if he ever gets off a client call.”
She nodded and poured a generous glass. “You know, if I were a ‘yes’ woman I’d still have this client.”
“You’ll bounce back. You’ve got too much talent not to. I mean, look at what you’ve done with this place.” He gestured toward the house that had started off with super perfection décor. Now, with all these people and the possibility that they wouldn’t sell, it looked like…a home. A beach house for a happy family.
Vivien smiled and raised her glass to him. “Thank you, Peter. It’s nice to see you.”
He held her gaze with a smile of his own, letting her feel that tiny new connection they were forming.
Peter McCarthy was good in every sense of the word. Disarming and genuine and…yeah, good. So why was she still thinking about the gleam in Danny Sullivan’s silver-blue eyes when he asked her on a date?
Vivien took a long sip, letting the crisp wine soothe her frayed nerves before setting the drink down. “Well, looks like I was totally wrong, by the way.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “About?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Danny. The hapless handyman.”
“Let me guess—he’s not actually a con artist.”
“Nope. Turns out he’s her younger brother. He’s helping her, not sleeping with her.”
Peter’s jaw dropped slightly before he let out a laugh. “Her brother? Now that I did not find out.”
Vivien drew back, not following. “Find out…how?”
“I’m a detective, remember? I did a little digging into one Daniel Sullivan, who resides in a house on Four Prong Lake, a few miles from here. That’s when he’s not in his Tribeca condo in in New York City. He’s a successful hedge fund manager, apparently on the up and up, and I assumed he might be handling Fiona’s investments.”
Vivien’s eyebrows shot up. “He might be, but mostly he’s handling her sprinklers and broken outlets because apparently she burns through professional service people like a bonfire on a windy day.”
“Like I said, people aren’t always what they seem, Viv.”
She sipped the wine, thinking about…Danny. The way Danny had looked at her in the driveway, how easy his smile had been, how non-judgmental and even concerned he’d been by her firing. How…charming and handsome.
A hedge fund manager. Eesh .
“Anyway,” Peter said, grabbing his water bottle. “I was going to fill you in on all that, but as you walked in, I could see something was wrong.”
Vivien sighed and waved him off. “I’m okay. Really.”
Peter gave her a long look. “Good, because I think your day might be about to get worse. Or better. Not sure yet.”
“What? Why?”
He gestured toward a thick white envelope on the dining room table. “Since Eli was on the phone, I answered the door, and it was a courier. I, uh, think those are from a lawyer.”
Her stomach flipped. “My divorce papers.”
“It’s never easy,” he said softly. “I know.”
“Thank you.” She walked to the table, staring at her name on the front of the package.
She reached for it with slightly shaky hands, sliding her finger under the flap and pulling out the stack of crisp, neatly typed pages.
Ryan had signed everywhere. Every dotted line, every finalization, every piece of their life together.
The only thing missing was her signature.
Peter came closer, watching her carefully. “How do you feel?”
Vivien exhaled, sitting down heavily in a chair. “Like I just lost my marriage and my first big job in the same day.”
“That’s rough, Viv.”
Vivien traced a finger along the edge of the papers. “But also…” She bit her lip, looking up at him. “Like it’s a good thing, a new season, as they say. I didn’t want this, you know. I didn’t ask for a divorce, but now that it’s done, I’m okay with it. Really.”
Peter leaned on the back of the chair across from her. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Vivien took a deep breath. “I’ll sign it later.”
“Hey, Pete, sorry about that.” Eli’s voice came from the back office and in a second, he walked in, dressed like Peter for a workout. “Oh, hi, Viv. What’s that?”
She let the stack of papers hit the table with a thud. “The end of an era, big brother.”
His expression softened and he came right to her, pulling her up and into a hug. “Oh, Viv. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be.” She eased back and smiled at him, then at Peter, knowing she had tears in her eyes but also knowing they understood. “It hurts to fail at something that big, but I know there are good men in this world—great ones, even—like the two in this room.”
They made some kind of self-deprecating joke, but she didn’t hear it. Instead, she took her wine glass and backed away, leaving the stack of papers for later.
“I’m going to go upstairs for a while. I need…space. Thank you both for being so understanding.”
Holding her wine, she slipped her bag on her shoulder and walked up the stairs slowly, her heart heavy.
Just as she got to her room, her phone hummed with a text. Setting down the wine on the dresser, she fished out her phone and frowned at the screen, which said she had a text from an unknown number.
Now what? Could this day get any worse? Bracing, she tapped the screen.
Fiona will re-hire you, but I’d make her work for it if I were you. Oh, the mirror is gorgeous…and so are you.
Oh, my. She certainly wasn’t expecting that .