Chapter 21
When we arrive back at the apartment, I lead Sam straight to the bedroom.
There’s no small talk. No flirting. We’re naked on the bed and in each other’s arms practically before the front door has time to close.
We don’t even bother turning on the light.
Our lovemaking is frantic and full of need, at least on my part.
It’s almost like I’m trying to reclaim my fiancé from Kalina, or maybe I’m trying to prove to myself that I’m just as attractive. That Sam is lucky to have me.
Afterward, while we lie in the darkness, Sam asks, “What did Catherine want tonight at the cocktail party? You were gone for a while.”
“She wants to hire me,” I reply. “The board are thinking of opening a coffee shop, and they want me to do the interior design.”
“Seriously? Jordan, that’s fantastic!”
It is fantastic, and not just because we could use the money, now that we have the expense of living in the Glendale. “I’m excited to put a client on my résumé who doesn’t go to lunch with my mother.”
“The first of many.” Sam slides across the bed and puts an arm around me. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as a weary silence descends upon us. Sam’s body presses against mine, warm and firm.
That’s how we fall asleep.
The next morning, I’m woken early by movement from Sam’s side of the bed.
It’s 6:45 a.m., and he’s getting up for work.
I watch with half-closed eyes as he pads through the bedroom toward the main bath.
A moment later, I hear the shower running.
Ten minutes after that, he steps back into the bedroom, his beautiful body still damp, dark skin shimmering in the soft light spilling out from the bathroom.
He dresses quickly and then he’s gone. I stay in bed for another hour, wrapped in the sheets, before I slide out reluctantly from under the covers and pull on a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt.
I’ve been thinking about the coffee shop project ever since I woke up, and I have some great ideas. I’m eager to put them down on paper.
After making coffee and grabbing a bran muffin from the fridge, I go into the office and settle in front of my laptop.
My meeting with Catherine and the board is at 2:00 p.m. It feels like a lot of time but ends up passing in a blur as I work feverishly to get my ideas for the coffee shop out of my head and into a presentation that will wow them.
Eventually, I rise and go back into the bedroom to shower and change into something more professional than sweatpants.
Then I grab my laptop and head down to the library.
When I walk in, the members of the board are already there. Dr. Burgess observes me with an unblinking stare. I briefly make eye contact, then quickly look away, a blush reddening my cheeks as I remember the awkward conversation in which he compared my hair to lava.
“Right on time,” Catherine says, motioning for me to take a seat. “We can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”
“And I can’t wait to show you,” I say, overcome by a weird sense of déjà vu.
This feels very much like the interview we attended after we applied to live at the Glendale.
The same intense stares from the members of the board, which makes me wonder if any of them ever smile.
I wish Sam were here now for moral support.
Despite Catherine’s assurances the previous evening that the board wants to hire me, I can’t shake the notion that this is an audition.
“Whenever you’re ready,” she says, leaning back in her chair and fixing me with a deadpan stare.
The gesture does nothing to ease my raging nerves.
Until now, my presentations have been mostly informal events, like chatting about faucets and floor coverings with one or the other of my mother’s friends.
I wriggle in my seat, then stand up, remembering the advice my father gave me about dominating a room.
I force my arms to my sides, resisting the urge to cross them—which he claims is a defensive gesture.
Then I launch into my spiel without allowing myself time to think.
My idea is simple. Create a warm and welcoming space where people will feel at home and want to linger.
Like a sort of communal living room. I’d dispense with the usual hard chairs and tables and go with more comfortable love seats and plush chairs arranged around low tables.
I want to use mismatched yet complementary furniture to invoke a sense of effortlessness, even though the style and placement of each individual piece will be meticulously curated.
Every item of furniture should be unique and visually appealing.
The same applies to the decor. I’m thinking repurposed objects carefully chosen to provide maximum interest. Best of all, this approach will lend itself to a tight budget.
Lastly, I talk about my vision for the fixtures.
I suggest mixed metals. Brushed brass and chrome with touches of oil-rubbed bronze.
Ideally, I would love to go vintage with fixtures that have some age and patina.
When I’m done, there’s a brief silence, and I start to think they hate my ideas and I’ve blown it, that I’ll be right back to designing bathrooms for my mother’s friends. But then Catherine finally smiles.
“Wow! Great job. This is exactly what we’re looking for,” she says. “I love it.”
The other board members nod approvingly.
Her husband, Ron, clears his throat. “We would like to open the doors before summer next year. Do you think that’s doable?”
That feels like a long time away, since it’s only September. I tell him that it’s doable.
“Wonderful.” Ron smiles. “Now all we need to do is talk about your compensation.”
“Did you give it any thought?” Catherine asks.
I have . . . sort of. My dad would push for an hourly rate, but I don’t feel comfortable with that because it lends itself to overbilling, especially since there will be no quantifiable way for the board to figure out how many hours it will take to complete the project.
A flat rate feels fairer. That way, I’ll be motivated to get the job done without delay.
The only problem is, I have no idea what that rate should be.
It’s not like I have much experience beyond my mother’s social circle, and the internet wasn’t much help, since every new piece of advice contradicted the last. It made me realize that in my zeal to become an interior designer, I’ve focused more on the fun side—like picking paint colors and fabrics—than the structure of my business.
I should know what I’m worth, but I don’t.
I take a deep breath, hoping I’m not going to price myself too high. “I was thinking four thousand dollars?”
There’s another uncomfortable silence. The members of the board exchange glances. Crap. I really have blown it. I’m about to speak up, tell them that it’s negotiable, that I’ll do the job for less, when Ron speaks again.
“That simply isn’t acceptable.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands pressed together with interwoven fingers. “I’m afraid that your fee is way off.”
“Oh.” My heart falls.
“My husband is right,” Catherine says. “You’re undervaluing your services. We have fifteen thousand in the budget for consultation and design fees. I believe that to be a more equitable figure.”
I stare at them in mute disbelief. Fifteen grand? That’s a lot of money for a job that probably won’t take more than a month.
When I don’t reply, Catherine speaks up again. “I trust that amount will be acceptable?”
“Yes,” I say before anyone can change their minds. “It’s more than acceptable.”
Catherine looks pleased. We spend the next hour discussing the project, including the total budget, which turns out to be a hundred thousand.
That doesn’t seem like a large amount for opening a coffee shop.
I’ve done some research since she showed me the space, and apparently there’s a lot of equipment to purchase, like espresso machines and coffee grinders and a water filtration system.
Then there are the mugs, plates, silverware, and all the other sundry items that will quickly add up.
Not to mention the cost of materials for the build-out.
But thankfully, those things aren’t my concern.
All I need to worry about is making the space inviting.
Finding the furnishings and decor. I have no idea where to get those items, especially since my design brief calls for using vintage pieces wherever possible. But Catherine is way ahead of me.
“I wonder if I could borrow you for just a little while longer,” she says when the meeting ends. “There’s something you need to see.”