Chapter 2
Lila
The blast of cool air hit me like a refreshing wave as I escaped the sweltering Miami sidewalk and ducked into Café Azul. My skin was already dewy with sweat from the short walk over from Samantha Grace Interiors, where I worked as a junior designer.
An espresso machine hissed behind the counter as the familiar scents of Cuban coffee and garlic wafted through the cozy space. I scanned the room for Samantha, my boss and friend, usually parked at the corner table by the window. But before I could spot her, a guy stepped into my path.
“Hey, do we know each other?” he asked, brow furrowed in curiosity.
My stomach clenched, and my palms went clammy. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry.”
“You sure? You seem really familiar,” he said, squinting at me.
“Positive,” I replied, the word coming out sharper than I meant.
Without waiting for a response, I brushed past him, heart thudding in my ears, and spotted Samantha at her usual table. I made a beeline for her, trying to shake the unease still clinging to me.
“Who was that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as I slid into the seat across from her.
“Nobody. Just some guy who thought he recognized me,” I said, aiming for casual.
“Or maybe he was hitting on you,” Samantha teased, eyes gleaming with amusement as she sipped her water.
“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” I deadpanned, reaching for the menu. Eager to change the subject, I leaned forward. “Anyway, how’s your day going? You said you wanted to talk about something?”
Samantha heaved a sigh, absentmindedly rubbing her pregnant belly. “I think I’m going to have to fire Marlowe.”
My eyes widened. “Really? I mean, yeah, she’s kind of a slacker, but...”
“Kind of? The girl spends more time texting her friends and making TikToks than actually working. Prestigious design program or not, she’s got zero work ethic.”
“True,” I agreed, remembering all the times I’d covered for Marlowe while she was ‘busy’ playing Candy Crush. “So you’re giving her the boot?”
“Tomorrow. I feel bad, but I can’t carry dead weight forever.” She took a sip of water. “And I need a replacement before I go on maternity leave.”
Our waitress arrived, and we placed our orders. Samantha shifted in her seat, both hands resting on her belly.
“Speaking of changes, Lila, we need to talk about the next few months.”
I grinned. “How are the twinsies treating you? Still using your bladder as a punching bag?”
“Ugh, constantly.” She pulled a face. “Between that and the back pain, I’m officially counting down the days. Which reminds me...” Her tone shifted. “Despite what I told you, I’m going to need to scale back earlier than expected.”
“Of course. You’ve got to take care of yourself and those babies.” I leaned in, voice softening. “Promise me you’ll actually slow down?”
“That’s where you come in,” she said, eyes twinkling above her glass. “I’m hiring someone new to replace Marlowe, someone who can pull their weight. But I want you to start taking on bigger projects. Some of your own.”
I blinked at her, stunned. “Wait, seriously? You really think I’m ready for that?”
“Definitely.” Samantha’s smile was warm and sure.
“You’ve grown so much these past three years, working with me, being my right hand.
I know you didn’t study design in college, but you’ve got an eye for it.
The kind that can’t be taught. Remember that beachfront condo last month?
The client loved your suggestions more than mine. ”
I smoothed my napkin over my lap. “That was just luck.”
“That was talent,” Sam said firmly. “And it’s time we put it to good use. We’ll need to cut back on some projects while I’m out, but I know you can handle what comes our way.”
Pride and anxiety tangled in my chest. Running my own projects sounded thrilling... and terrifying.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you for believing in me, Sam.”
“You’re quite—“ She broke off with a wince, her hand flying to her side.
“Sam? You okay?” Panic crept into my voice.
She tried to smile, but it twisted into a grimace. “Just the babies doing the cha-cha on my bladder. I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. Be right back.”
Minutes passed. Too many. I kept glancing toward the restroom, unease growing with every tick of the clock.
Finally, Samantha emerged, her face pale, eyes wide and glassy.
“Lila... I’m bleeding.”
Fear seized my throat as I shot to my feet. “Oh God, Sam. We need to get you to the hospital. Now.”
“Lila, what if…” Her voice cracked. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “What if I’m miscarrying?”
“Shh, don’t think like that,” I said, even as my heart raced. “Everything’s going to be fine. Let’s just get you checked out, okay?”
I grabbed my purse with shaking hands.
“Lila, you have to stop him!” Samantha’s voice was a mix of desperation and amusement as I stepped into her living room and found her husband arranging pillows around her like he was building a fortress.
Sam huffed. “Eric, for the last time, I’m not going to spontaneously combust if I move an inch.” Her curly hair was twisted into a messy bun, and her belly looked like it could qualify for its own zip code. The twins were definitely making their presence known.
“I’ll give you some space.” Eric’s eyes flickered toward me. “But promise you’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t let her get up.”
He left us, and I handed Sam the smoothie I’d brought before settling into the chair beside the couch.
“How are you holding up, Sam?”
She fixed me with a glare that could melt steel. “I’m going insane in this couch prison. Eric won’t let me move an inch. I swear, if I have to watch one more episode of House Hunters, I might scream.”
I patted her arm. “Doctor’s orders. That placenta tear is no joke.”
“Partial tear,” she corrected. “But yeah. It’s no joke.” She leaned back, sinking into the nest of pillows. “I won’t do anything to risk the babies, but this isn’t how we planned it. I never even got to fire Marlowe, and now you’re juggling everything by yourself.”
Thankfully, I’d been assisting Sam for years. Finishing her projects wasn’t the hard part.
“As long as we don’t take on anything major while you’re out, I can manage.”
She sighed, fidgeting with her wedding ring. “Speaking of new projects...”
“Sam. Tell me you didn’t take on something new. You’re on bed rest until the twins arrive, and after that—“
She waved a hand, eyes sparkling. “This client is too good to pass up. Besides, you’re going to be the lead designer.”
My heart skipped. “Me? Are you sure? I mean, I know we talked about it, but the circumstances—“
“I’ll be right here to guide you. From the couch.” Her smile turned serious. “Lila, this could be huge for us.”
Excitement and panic jostled for space in my chest. “Okay... tell me about this client?”
“He’s an out-of-towner. Just bought a swanky condo in one of the most exclusive buildings in Miami. Apparently, money’s no object.”
My eyebrows shot up. Landing a client like that could be a game-changer for Samantha Grace Interiors.
“A friend of mine referred him,” Sam continued. “If we knock this out of the park, it could open doors. Real ones.”
No pressure or anything.
I straightened, trying to look like the picture of confidence while my brain ran through every way I could screw this up.
“So... what’s the scope?” I asked, pulling out my phone to take notes.
Samantha grinned mischievously. “So, I spoke with the client to get a feel for his style, and let me tell you, this guy has some... interesting tastes.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “Interesting how?”
“Well,” she said, trying not to laugh, “he wants the living area to look like a rustic cabin had a wild night with a tacky gift shop and vomited everywhere.”
I frowned. “So, lots of plaid? Wood accents? That kind of thing?”
Sam shifted on the couch. “Think louder. This guy is all about maximalist cabin kitsch.”
“In a modern Miami condo?” I nearly choked on my iced coffee. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I am. Picture faux log paneling, jackalopes in sunglasses, an antler chandelier, throw pillows shaped like pine cones... bear motifs everywhere. Think National Park gift shop.”
“Sounds like a lumberjack’s fever dream,” I said. “What’s next, moose-patterned curtains?”
“Actually, yes!” she giggled. “Plus a bearskin rug and a coffee table made from an actual tree stump.”
“Wow. Talk about commitment to a theme.” I shook my head. “This has to be a joke.”
“Nope. He already paid the deposit, and his budget’s fantastic.” Samantha’s grin was pure evil. “You’re going to crush this.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, equal parts horror and awe. “Sam, how am I supposed to make this look... good? Where would I even find that stuff?”
“Leave that part to me.” She patted my hand. “I’ll scour the internet for the most gloriously tacky cabin decor known to man. It’ll keep me entertained in couch prison. I just wish I could be there to see it come together. Promise you’ll take lots of pictures?”
“I’ll take photos, but I doubt they’re going in my portfolio.”
Her expression turned sly. “Oh, and just wait until you hear what he wants for the master bedroom.”
I leaned in, wary. “Please tell me it’s not more of the same.”
“Quite the opposite,” she said, lowering her voice. “He wants it modern. Very South Beach. But also... a little spicy.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”
She glanced around like someone might be listening. “Mirrored ceilings. Stripper pole. Neon lighting. A bed with a built-in restraint system.”
“Restraint system? Like... bondage?” My cheeks flamed. This was so far outside my comfort zone it might as well have been another planet.
“Exactly. I know it’s unconventional, but we need to keep this client happy. He’s a big deal.”
I blinked. Hard. “Sam, I don’t know the first thing about... any of that. How am I supposed to design it?”
“That makes two of us,” she admitted. “But hey, learning experience, right? We’ll do some... tasteful research.”
I sighed. “Guess I’d better Google ‘how to install a stripper pole.’”
“Welcome to the glamorous world of high-end design, darling.” She winked. “This client is too important to disappoint. We have to nail this. No matter how unconventional it might be.”
I took another sip of coffee. “So, this mystery client. What do you know about him?”
Samantha, propped up on her pillows, shrugged. “His name is Gideon. From what I can tell, he’s wealthy and demanding. He knows what he wants, and he isn’t afraid to ask for it.”
“A rich, demanding businessman who’s into kink,” I muttered, a shiver running through me. “Sounds like a nightmare to work for.”
“Oh, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She picked at the corner of her blanket, half grinning.
“I’ve spoken with Gideon a few times on the phone.
He’s always been charming, funny, polite.
I wouldn’t worry. In fact…” She paused as though choosing her words.
“He mentioned being excited about exploring the nightlife in South Beach and meeting some cute guys.”
“Wait, so Gideon’s gay?” I asked slowly, trying to piece everything together.
“Gay? Possibly,” Samantha said with a shrug. “But I don’t want to assume. People are complicated, right? It doesn’t change things for us. But I thought you should know.”
“Got it. So, wealthy, demanding, charming, and possibly gay. This should be interesting.” I tapped my chin. “A man who knows what he wants. And that man wants a mash-up of ‘Grizzly Adams meets Magic Mike.’”
Samantha burst out laughing, then winced and clutched her belly. “Well, whatever floats his boat. As long as he likes what we do, and he sends all his wealthy friends our way.”
This project was going to push me out of my comfort zone. For sure. Still, beneath the anxiety, a spark of excitement flickered.
“Alright, Sam,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I’m in. Let’s give Gideon the cabin-chic strip club of his dreams.”