Could she be getting fired? No, no, no.
Maybe Fiona had another job for her at one of her rental properties, she thought optimistically. Or maybe she was just a lousy texter and everything she wrote came across like she was angry.
When she pulled up to the Victorian, Vivien glanced around but saw no sign of Hapless Handy. There was a very sharp BMW sedan parked on the street, though, so maybe one of Fiona’s friends was here.
Then why would she demand Vivien come over?
Oh! That was it! New business! Fiona had invited a friend to meet Vivien, go over the work she’d done so far, and look at her portfolio. Perfect!
Lifted by the thought, she parked behind the BMW and grabbed her bag and tablet, glancing at the house and its grand but aging façade. She so badly hoped Fiona could see beyond her obsession with stripping it down to something cold and soulless.
Baby steps, though. The carpenter had finished the new molding around the stairs, removing the gaudy mahogany and replacing it with a warm light oak trim. And Vivien had left all the samples for the kitchen update on the table days ago, so surely by now Fiona had at least picked the new backsplash and pulls.
Smoothing the simple cotton sheath she’d worn, she made her way up the walk toward the front steps, eyeing the improvement in the shrubbery. Maybe Hapless had managed to figure out the irrigation system in between taking Fiona out for dinner and emptying her bank account.
She pushed the thought from her head and braced for the woman who would open the door. Glancing down, she eyed a worn doormat—and took it as a stark reminder of hownotto behave.
Vivien exhaled sharply, straightening her spine as she knocked on the frightfully showy front door. Please let a replacement be in the budget, she thought, just as the door opened.
Fiona was as impeccably put together as ever, from her sleek white bob to her crisp navy linen dress and sensible pumps. But her pursed lips and miserable scowl spoke volumes and made Vivien’s stomach sink.
Instantly, she knew she wasn’t here to be introduced to a friend who needed her services.
“Come in, Vivien,” Fiona said, stepping aside. “We have aproblem.Maybe more than one.”
Oh, boy. Here we go.
Vivien stepped into the heavily air-conditioned home, immediately regretting the decision not to wear that light sweater she was always leaving behind.
“What’s the problem?” she asked as Fiona closed the door behind her.
“You don’t listen, that’s the problem.”
Vivien swallowed and turned to the woman. “What did I not hear?”
“Apparently, everything. Let’s start with the staircase molding.”
“Is something wrong with it?” Vivien asked, stepping closer to the molding in question.
The oak blended seamlessly with the home’s original craftsmanship and looked, to Vivien, like it had always been there.
“Idespisethis,” Fiona announced, waving a hand toward the molding as if it physically pained her to look at it. “Didn’t youhear a word I said? I don’t want wood finishings! I want sleek, clean,modern.”
Vivien swallowed her frustration. “Fiona, I did listen to you. You have to have something there.”
“I don’t agree. Why can’t I just have the drywall?”
“Because it will look unfinished,” Vivien said. “I chose this wood and style because it complements both modern design and the original character of the house. It keeps things fresh without eliminating charm.”
“Charm?” Fiona scoffed. “This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast, Vivien. I don’t wantcharm.I wantclean.”
Vivien clenched her jaw. “The house will feelsterileif we strip it of all its natural warmth.”
Fiona crossed her arms. “No, it will feelclean.And that’s exactly what I want. This wood nonsense? It needs to go. Maybeyouneed to go.”
Vivien inhaled deeply, transported to a bedroom in Atlanta, looking at a bed she thought she’d made perfectly but…Maggie found flaws. Maggie looked disappointed and poor little Vivien wanted to crawl under that bed and cry.
But she wasn’tpoor little Vivien,and this woman wasn’t her mother. “I truly believe that once the entire design comes together, you’ll see how?—”
