“I think the house looks great,” he said. “I might have you do mine next.”
She eyed him, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m still sorry my sister…” He huffed out a breath. “She has issues.”
“You think?”
“And I can tell you this from experience,” he added. “She will come crawling back.”
Vivien scoffed. “I doubt it.”
He gave a knowing smile. “She will, but you, like all the other professionals she burns through, will say no. Can’t say I blame you, but, whoa. Now I have to decorate her house, and it won’t be pretty.”
She laughed softly, liking him despite how much she didn’t want to.
“So, let’s keep the lines of communication open, okay?” he asked. “Maybe I can secretly pick your designer’s brain, and I’ll pay you instead of her.”
She just smiled and shook her head, not sure what to make of him. “Whatever.”
“Why don’t you give me your number?” he said. “Better yet, why don’t you let me take you to dinner? It would give me a chance to tell you a little about my sister, who really isn’t a wicked witch.”
Vivien inched back, her stomach doing a completely unexpected flutter. Was the hapless handyman asking heron a dateor was he just being nice because she’d gotten fired?
“I’ll think about it,” she said, purposely vague.
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll take thinking. It’s not a no.”
“Not a yes, either.”
He chuckled. “Good. I like to have a goal. And I’ll get your number from my sister, if you don’t mind. Right after I tell her how much I love the paint and…the mirror, was it?”
Vivien exhaled another laugh. “Yes, the big one in the hall.”
“What didn’t she like about it?”
“Everything.”
He looked skyward. “Sounds like Fi. We’ll be in touch, Vivien.”
She nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat, watching him head up to the house.
What just happened?
As she drove away, she realized she wasn’t thinking about being fired anymore.
She was thinking abouthim.
* * *
It waslate in the day when Vivien pushed open the front door of the Summer House, stepping inside with a sigh so heavy it could have knocked over one of the perfectly arranged vases on the entryway table.
The cool air-conditioning hit her skin, but it did nothing to ease the heat still clinging to her after the latest disaster at Fiona Buckman’s house.
She rounded the corner to the empty living area, letting her bag slide from her shoulder and drop onto the kitchen island with a thud. She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the marble surface, slumping.
It was official. She’d lost her first big client.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shove down the sting of humiliation.You did the right thing, she told herself.You stood your ground. You refused to be a doormat. And what did that get you?
