Chapter 7
Devon
1:00pm – Cabinet review @ Peach Ridge w/ Trey Rhett
- From Devon’s schedule, August 12th
“This is a new low,” Bea drawls, looking up from her computer and tossing her voluminous brown hair over one shoulder. “You’ve got to come over here and see this. You know how Trina Boatswain keeps on coincidentally ending up with projects that were supposed to be ours?”
My stomach drops. What could she have done now?
Bea spins her computer screen, so I can see it over her shoulder when I reach her desk. “Read this.” She points to an email on her screen.
Beatrice,
We at Trina Boatswain Design have become aware of the sensational work you’re doing for Devon Blake. We’d like to invite you to interview for a position with us where your talent can truly shine…
The email goes on to list all the benefits of working for a bigger design team, Trina’s many design awards, and their four most recently published projects. Three of which, I did the lion’s share of the work for.
Would Bea want to work for Trina? She is a far more established—
“Isn’t that the most outlandish thing you’ve ever heard?” Bea scoffs. “She’s so clearly only interested in interviewing me so she can get some dirt on you or something. She’s so slimy.”
That isn’t clear at all.“Bea, you are a phenomenal designer. Maybe she—”
“Devon,” Bea spins in her chair to face me, placing a hand on my wrist and arching the brow with a thin vertical scar running through it, “I would never work for her. I lived in Palm Springs with an interior design degree for years and never once applied there. Did you ever wonder why that was?”
“When you first expressed interest in working for me, I was curious,” I answer.
“I don’t trust her,” Bea states, moving her mouse and deleting the email. “Something about her never sat right with me.”
“You’re more perceptive than I was,” I admit, remembering the rose-colored glasses I viewed Trina through for years as a young designer. I wanted to be just like her and I wanted her approval so badly.
“Oh, stop it,” Bea tsks, sipping on her second Turbine coffee of the day. “If you hadn’t moved down here to work for her, Allie wouldn’t have either. I wouldn’t have either of you in my life, and Palm Springs wouldn’t have Turbine, Voyeur Café, or Friday West. What’s meant to be, always works out.”
“Wait a second.” I cock my head. “Did she call you Beatrice?”
“Sure did.”
“That’s not even your name.” A smile creeps over my lips.
“Nope!” Bea exclaims. “Sure isn’t. Don’t worry, boss lady. You’re going to be stuck with me for a long time. I’m not going anywhere.”
My stomach twists. I have to keep Friday West afloat for both of our sakes.
When I get back to my desk, I see my phone has a text from Rhett.
Rhett: Have I ever told you how much I love your plans?
At my irritated sigh, Bea shoots me a questioning look that I shrug off.
Me: What do you mean, my plans?
Rhett: Your cabinet plans, mama. No one else’s are as good as yours. They’re easy to work from.
Rhett: You design beautiful stuff.
Me: Don’t call me that.
Rhett: I would stop if you didn’t love it so much.
I type out I do not and realize this is starting to read like an argument between children, so I delete it and get back to work. Ten minutes later, I flip over my phone to see if he’s texted again, and I’m disappointed to find that he hasn’t. I sigh again, this time in frustration at myself for caring.
Shutting my computer, I look across the office at Bea. “You want to go have lunch at Allie’s?”
Bea shuts hers too. “I thought you’d never ask.”
We check the mail on the way to the car and find the latest edition of Noon magazine, which I tuck in my bag to peruse over lunch. Shortly after, Bea, Allie, and I are sharing bites of our sandwiches under the covered patio in front of Turbine Café.
Allie’s eyes light up when she sees the magazine sticking out of my handbag. “Is that Noon?” she gasps. “I haven’t seen one of these in so long.”
“You know this is Devon’s absolute all-time favorite magazine?” she asks Bea, reaching for it to flip through the pages. “Some kids have posters of band members or cars or athletes or whatever on their walls. Not Dev, she had a massive corkboard filled with all her favorite modern architecture.”
“There is nothing about that that surprises me.” Bea scoots around the table, so she can see the magazine too. “Ooh, let’s see if we can guess which house is her favorite now.”
They give me a minute to flip through and make a choice before turning each page and discussing the virtues and downfalls of each design. Allie’s convinced that as my best friend of more than fifteen years she’ll win, but Bea exerts that as a designer who works closely with me, she’ll know better.
“This one is so gorgeous,” Allie coos, pointing at a wooded two-story cabin.
“Devon would never choose anything with more than one story,” Bea tsks.
“I was saying I think it’s gorgeous. Also, I happen to know that Devon’s all about a split-level,” Allie teases.
Bea looks at me in question and I shrug in apology. “They’re impractical, but I have a soft spot for them.”
Ultimately, it turns out my favorite is extremely predictable, because they both pick the correct one, a modern, ranch-style home with floor to ceiling windows covering at least fifty percent of the exterior walls tucked into nature with no neighbors for miles.
This magazine is part of the reason I wanted to be a designer in the first place. For decades they’ve featured modern design. Clean lines, natural light, minimal detailing, a few smart, functional, custom details. It’s my favorite style to live in and design, and having my work published in Noon has been a lifetime career goal. Flipping through it with my friends has me feeling more determined than ever to achieve it.
“It’s coming, Dev,” Allie squeezes my hand, “and until then, I’ll just keep pulling out the pages with Trina’s stuff on them.”