CHAPTER EIGHTEEN LILLAH
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LILLAH
Tuesday morning I sat in my living room arranging fabric samples onto a mood board for a new client while waiting for Marshall to message. He'd been gone since Sunday and I was doing whatever I could to occupy my time when the phone rang.
"Hello." I sang as I answered, hoping to hear Marshall on the other end of the line.
"Miss Winters? I hope this is a good time to call. It's David Anderson. We met a few weeks back. You put on a presentation for me about the redesign of my brownstone out in Black Bay."
I put the fabric sample I was holding down and sat up straight. Mr. Andersen, the client I'd blown the meeting with and been mentally kicking myself over ever since, all because of a spilled coffee and a ruined silk blouse.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Andersen. How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you. Listen, I've been thinking about the redesign and some things you proposed.
I'd like you to come back in and show me some other options.
That first presentation was good; it had some solid concepts and interesting material choices that I liked.
I knew you were having an off day, but I'd like to give you another shot. "
I frowned. An off day. That was generous.
I'd been scattered, distracted, half-present, and he had noticed.
I knew he had, and the fact that he was going to give me a second chance was unexpected.
Clients like him don't give second chances.
I'd learned that with the first design company I'd worked for when I lost a deal.
They had too many options and little patience.
"I'd love that." I said, keeping my voice calm. "When works for you?"
"How does Thursday sound?"
"Thursday works. Thank you."
"I will send you an email in regards to the things I liked, and to the things I'd like to see changed so you can incorporate that into your presentation."
"Sounds good."
We ended the call, and I put the appointment in my calendar.
I'd closed my calendar when I noticed a text from Marshall; he must have messaged when I was on the phone.
He was in the change room about to head to practice, told me he loved me, was thinking of me and would message after the game. I messaged him back and dove into work.
I spent most of the night watching hockey while preparing for Mr. Andersen as if my career depended on it.
Getting a second chance was a gift, especially with a client in a Black Bay brownstone.
It was a home I knew would get photographed for magazines.
Landing this project would pay well and announce me to that community, opening doors I couldn't reach on my own.
After reading over his email, I'd scrapped my original mood board and started from scratch.
I sourced the reclaimed wood he'd mentioned, pulled new material selections and assembled them into a palette that balanced warmth and sophistication.
I then created a refined budget breakdown with three tiers, each one clearly labeled so he could choose whichever one he wanted without feeling pressured.
I picked out my outfit for tomorrow, rehearsing my presentation in the mirror. Then on video. I even practiced one more time in front of Cooper, who sat on my bed and stared at me as if he understood every word I'd said.
Thursday I drove to Black Bay. I went over the presentation with Mr. Andersen and now he stood beside me in the kitchen, looking over things and nodding.
"I love this second design."
"Wonderful. I'm glad."
"I think we will go with the middle-tier budget. That is a pleasant touch, by the way."
It was hard for me to contain myself as we sat down at the table and I produced my contract. He read everything over and then pulled out his pen and signed it.
"Lillah, this is exactly what I was hoping for. I knew you had it in you."
"Well, I thank you for giving me another chance." I said, taking the contract and sliding it into my folder.
"Well, you came highly recommended."
I paused, my hand resting on the folder I'd slid the contract into. "Recommended by whom?"
"Marshall Hayes. The new center on the Enforcers."
I watched as Mr. Andersen pulled out his phone and showed me a text message. It was from Marshall's number, and all it said was I hear you're looking for an interior designer? Check out Winter's Designs. She is the best in Boston.
The air left my lungs.
"I'm a huge hockey fan and a good friend of Coach Briggs.
I am a season's ticket holder, actually.
When Marshall messaged me and I saw his recommendation, I figured I'd give you another look.
I'm glad I did. I saw you had updated your portfolio on your website, and to be honest, your work speaks for itself. "
I didn't know how to feel about this, so I kept my expression neutral.
I got up from where I was sitting and told him I'd have the first phase completed in two weeks.
He walked me to the door saying something about being excited for the transformation.
I didn't catch what he'd said, so I muttered something back to him I hoped sounded right, shook his hand, and made my way to my car.
I sat in my car for ten minutes, staring at the brick wall in front of me, my hands on the steering wheel, the engine off. Breathing.
I barely remembered the drive home. The moment I was inside, I checked my email to see if I had any responses from the inquiries I'd answered and if any others had come in.
When I opened my inbox, it was close to full.
The people I'd contacted had responded, and I had a pile of new emails, all from potential clients, all mentioning my website and inquiring about my services.
They'd arrived within the past twelve hours.
I frowned. I wasn't running any ads, but something had driven traffic to my site overnight.
I picked up my phone and opened Instagram, finding the cause.
Marshall had tagged me in a post and captioned the photo with Boston's best interior designer, my beautiful girlfriend Lillah Winters.
Not biased at all. He'd also tagged my website and followed it with heart-eyes emojis and a link to my portfolio.
My stomach flipped as fire built in my chest. My body heated as I thought back to a memory I didn't want to remember.
Brett, sitting across from me in a restaurant, two years into our relationship.
I'd landed my first big client, a small boutique hotel in Dallas that I'd spent months pursuing.
I was so excited to have earned something on my own I could barely stop talking about it.
"That's cute." Brett said, not bothering to look up from his phone. "But don't let it get to your head, Lillah. This was a one off and you know they only hired you because of me. They aren't hiring you on your talent, babe. They are hiring you because of your connections."
I sat in the living room, tears filling my eyes as my hands shook while I thought about that night.
The worst part was I'd believed him, and for the entire project, I kept his words buried deep inside of me.
Every time people praised my work, I heard Brett's voice reminding me it was because of him.
I poured myself a glass of wine and then grabbed my phone, texting Marshall. I didn't care if he were about to go into a game; I needed this taken care of.
Lillah: We need to talk.
Immediately, those three little dots bounced around.
Marshall: Sorry I haven't been in touch today, still trying to get used to this sort of schedule. Is everything okay?
Lillah: I just found out that you promoted my business last night and that you also referred me to your coach's friend. That was the reason Mr. Andersen called me back and hired me, and when I got home, I had a ton of inquiries in my inbox, also because of you.
Those three dots bounced and then stopped, then started again.
Marshall: That is great. I knew people would love your work if they saw it. Briggs actually asked the entire team if anyone had a designer, so I figured I'd just pass your name along. I'm proud of you, babe.
I stared at my phone, at the words he'd written. Then I read it again and again.
Lillah: Yes, but I didn't ask you to do that. I don't need your help, I can handle my business on my own.
I waited. I could picture him sitting there trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, and the rational part of me felt guilty for causing that confusion. He wasn't Brett.
Marshall: Okay, noted. Sorry, I wasn't trying to undermine you, I thought I was supporting you.
Lillah: I know what you thought, but this is something I really need to do on my own.
I put my phone down on the table in front of me and leaned back on my couch, flipping the TV on. I flipped through the channels, found something to watch. I sat there, jaw clenched, eyes burning from frustration.
Marshall was not Brett. He had not promoted my business to make me dependent on him.
He hadn't done it to establish ownership of me or to create a debt I'd owe him.
He'd done it because he loved me and was proud of me.
His intentions were pure, the exact opposite of anything Brett had ever done for me, but the feeling inside me was the same.
Cooper scratched at the back door, so I got up and let him out. Then I sat on the back porch watching him as he sniffed the fence line. After he finished, we headed back inside and curled up on the couch together. Usually lying with Cooper calmed me, but not tonight. I wasn't sure anything could.
I hated the fact that Marshall had done this without asking me.
That he'd used his platform and his name to promote me.
The good intentions didn't change it. The prospective clients who had messaged me were only there because of him, not because of my work.
Mr. Andersen had only called me back and given me another chance after Marshall had vouched for me.
No matter how many times I'd thought about it, all I could see was the old wound Brett had carved into me. That I wasn't enough, never was, and that I'd always need someone's name attached to mine to matter.
It was after midnight when I felt my phone vibrate against my leg. Cooper and I were still lying on the couch watching TV, so I grabbed it, looking at the screen.
Marshall: I'm alone in my room. Could we talk?
I had half a mind not to bother answering, but I knew he'd see I'd read his message.
Lillah: Not tonight, I need some space.
Marshall: Okay, I'll be here when you're ready.
I stared at his message, reading it over three times.
He didn't argue with me, didn't tell me I was overreacting.
He let it go and gave me the space I'd asked for.
Brett never would have given me that space.
He'd have turned my feelings into a problem so that he could end up feeling like the good guy. Marshall gave me what I was asking for.
I buried my face in my hands and cried. I sobbed, letting the frustration escape. I cried until I was so exhausted that the only thing I wanted to do was climb into bed, which was what I did.
I climbed in under the covers, Cooper joining me on the bed, resting his head on my legs. I scratched behind his ears and listened as his breathing changed as he relaxed. I'd deal with this tomorrow. Tonight I needed to feel it and know that the present is not the past.