15. Madison
— ? —
Madison
“Ellsworth Interiors, this is Randy.”
I was at my desk when he answered, his voice carrying from the front room.
Calls came in all the time, most of them nothing, so I didn’t look up. I kept working on the sketches in front of me, rough ideas for a sunroom renovation I’d been mulling over for days.
“Yes, she’s available. May I ask what this is regarding?”
I made a note in the margin. The proportions were off. I’d need to rethink the windows.
“I’m sorry.” Randy’s voice changed. “Could you repeat that?”
I glanced up. He was standing very still, the phone pressed hard against his ear, his other hand gripping the edge of his desk like he needed it to stay upright.
“The full renovation,” he said slowly. “Yes. I understand. I’ll put you through right now.”
He covered the mouthpiece and when he turned to look at me his eyes were wide. “Madison. You need to take this.”
“Who is it?”
“A law firm. They’re representing a buyer for that estate on Bellevue. The one that’s been empty forever.” He swallowed hard. “They want to hire us. For the whole thing.”
My pen stopped moving. I knew exactly which property he meant. Every designer in New England knew it. It had been sitting empty for years, waiting for someone with enough money and vision to bring it back to life.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“Just take the call.”
I crossed the room and took the phone from his hand. My heart was beating too fast but I kept my voice steady. “This is Madison Ellsworth.”
“Ms. Ellsworth, thank you for taking my call.” The voice on the other end was smooth and polished, the kind of voice that charged four hundred dollars an hour.
“I’m calling on behalf of Coastal Heritage Holdings.
They’ve recently acquired a property on Bellevue and would like to engage your firm for the complete interior renovation. They’re calling the project The Cove.”
“The client intends to operate it as a boutique hotel,” he continued. “Sixteen rooms, a restaurant, event space.”
“That’s a significant undertaking,” I said. Randy was watching me with his hands clasped together like he was praying. “May I ask how you came to contact my firm?”
“The client reviewed several portfolios and felt yours aligned best with their vision.”
“I appreciate that. But I’m sure you’re aware there are firms in this area with considerably more experience on projects of this scale. Firms that have done this kind of work before.”
“The client is aware of that, Ms. Ellsworth. They specifically requested you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The whole thing felt unreal, like I’d wake up any moment and find myself still at my desk with the sketches in front of me.
“I’d need to meet with the client,” I said finally. “To understand their vision before I commit to anything.”
“The client prefers to remain uninvolved in the day-to-day process. All communication will go through our office.” A pause. “You would have full creative authority within the agreed parameters.”
“Full creative authority.”
“That’s correct. But the client has one request: family-friendly amenities. They were specific about wanting a children’s space included.”
“And the client’s name?”
“Coastal Heritage Holdings is a private entity. The principals prefer to remain anonymous.”
I should have pushed harder. But the number he quoted made my knees go soft, and before I knew what I was doing I had agreed to review the contract.
After I hung up Randy grabbed my arm so hard it almost hurt. “Was that real? Did that just happen?”
“I think so.”
“Madison.” His voice cracked. “This is the kind of project that changes everything. This is what you’ve been working toward your whole career.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Because I don’t know who’s behind it. And that bothers me more than it should.”
The contract arrived two hours later. I read through it three times, looking for catches, for hidden clauses, for anything that would explain why an anonymous buyer would hand this to me instead of a firm with actual experience.
I found nothing wrong. The terms were generous. The timeline was reasonable. The money was more than I’d made in the last three years combined.
I signed it. Then I called Greer.
“Randy already texted us, and all I got was exclamation points and the word ‘huge’ repeated about fifteen times.”
“Hold on, let me add her.”
I pulled Emery into the call and settled back on my couch with the signed contract sitting on the coffee table in front of me like evidence of something I wasn’t sure I believed.
“Okay, I’m here,” Emery said. “What’s happening? Randy’s lost his mind and I need context.”
“You know that estate on Bellevue? The one that’s been sitting empty for years?”
“Someone finally bought it?” Greer asked.
“Apparently. And they want me to do the interior renovation.” I tucked my feet underneath me and stared at the contract. “The whole thing. They’re calling it The Cove.”
“Wait.” Emery’s voice went sharp. “The whole thing? Madison, that place is massive.”
“Sixteen thousand square feet.”
“Your biggest project was what, four thousand? That beach house you did last year?”
“Thirty-eight hundred.”
“So this is more than four times that size.” I could hear Emery moving around, probably pacing the way she did when she was working something out.
“I love you and I think you’re incredibly talented, but I need you to explain to me why anyone would hand you something this big over firms that have been doing this kind of work for decades. ”
“I asked the same question. The lawyer said the client reviewed my portfolio and specifically requested me.” I picked at a thread on the couch cushion. “But here’s the thing. It’s a shell company. The client wants to stay anonymous. All communication goes through the lawyers.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
“You think it’s Ford,” Greer said quietly.
“I don’t know what I think.” I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the harbor. “It doesn’t feel like his style. If he was behind this, wouldn’t he want me to know? Wouldn’t he want credit for it?”
“The Ford we knew would,” Emery said slowly. “But people change when they’re desperate. They try different things.”
“Or maybe it’s completely legitimate. Maybe someone just saw my work and liked it and I’m being paranoid for no reason.”
“Is there any way to find out?” Greer asked. “Can you trace the shell company somehow?”
“I could try. But even if I found a name, what would that change? The contract is solid. The money is real. Am I supposed to turn down the biggest opportunity of my career because I’m suspicious?”
“No,” Emery said firmly. “You’re supposed to take the job and do incredible work and prove that you belong there. This is your chance to show everyone what you can do without being a Harrington.”
“She’s right,” Greer added. “Whatever’s going on behind the scenes, this is still your opportunity. Don’t let paranoia talk you out of it.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window. They were right. They were both right. But the question kept nagging at me, picking at the edges of my excitement like a loose thread.
“I already signed the contract,” I said.
I could hear the smile in Emery’s voice. “This is going to be amazing, Madison. I know it is.”
“We should celebrate,” Greer said. “Dinner this week. My treat. We’ll get drunk and talk about how you’re going to be famous.”
“I’m not going to be famous.”
“You’re going to be a little bit famous. Just accept it.”
I laughed, and it felt good, felt real in a way that nothing had for weeks. “Fine. Dinner sounds perfect. I could use a night where I’m not thinking about…”
A knock at the door cut me off.
I went to the window and looked out. Ford’s car was in my driveway.
“I have to go,” I said.
“What? We were just getting to the celebration planning.”
“Ford’s here.”
Silence. Then Emery: “Do you want me to come over? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“No.” I was already moving toward the door. “I can handle it. I’ll call you later.”
Hanging up before they could argue, I stood there for a moment with my hand on the doorknob.
I didn’t want to see him. But part of me, the part I was trying very hard to ignore, had noticed his car in the driveway and felt something that wasn’t quite relief but wasn’t quite dread either.
I opened the door.
Ford stood on my porch with his hands in his pockets. No flowers. No gifts. No obvious play.
He looked better than the last time I’d seen him, showered and shaved, wearing clothes that actually fit. His eyes met mine and I watched him take a breath like he’d been holding it.
“Madison,” he said. “I know you don’t want to see me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” He didn’t move toward me, didn’t try to push past. Just stood there. “I know I don’t have any right to show up like this. But I needed to know that you were okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
“I’m working. I just got a big contract. I’m doing great, actually.” I kept my hand on the doorframe, ready to close it. “So you can go now. You’ve seen me. I’m fine.”
“What kind of contract?”
“Why do you care?”
He flinched like I’d hit him. “I care because I care about you.”
I stared at him.
“You should go,” I said.
“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “I’ll go. But I want you to know that I’m thinking about you. That I hope you’re doing well. That’s it. That’s all I came to say.”
He turned and started walking back to his car. I should have closed the door. Should have gone back inside and called Greer and Emery and told them he’d shown up and I’d sent him away. That’s what I should have done.
“Ford.”
He stopped. Turned around.
“It’s a renovation project,” I said, and I didn’t know why I was telling him. “The biggest I’ve ever done.”
Something moved across his face. “That’s good. That’s really good, Madison. You deserve it.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what I deserve.”