“How about we see the plan for some guest rooms,” Simon said. He didn’t even bother to level Jordan with a look this time. He simply didn’t look at her at all while their family home dissolved into a Crate-and-fucking-Barrel.
Jordan kept her mouth shut as the rest of the design plans flipped by in a blur of white and gray, porcelain and glass. After all, that was clearly what her family wanted from her, even if the design, lovely and modern and bright as it might be, was horribly wrong for the Everwood. But at the end of the day, what did she know? She was simply an out-of-work carpenter with a penchant for setting things on fire.
Chapter Five
FINALLY, THE CAMERASshut off, the lights went down, and Emery declared they were done for the day.
Astrid was sweating, her pits like a Florida swamp. She just hoped that no one could tell. She wiped at her forehead, taking her time putting her iPad into her bag. Everyone around her stood up, chatting about plans for the rest of the afternoon, but she needed a minute.
She needed days.
Granted, the sooner she got out of here, the sooner she could fall onto her couch with a bottle of wine. She wasn’t even sure she needed the glass.
“Demo starts on Wednesday, people,” Emery called out. “Lots to do before then, including cleanout with the family on Monday.”
As the crew gathered to discuss details, Astrid couldn’t help but think this was all so surreal, everything edged with a dreamlike haze. Granted, Jordan Everwood and her clear dislike—hate?—for Astrid’s design wasn’t helping.
No one had ever hated her designs before. True, the Everwoodwas unlike any home she’d ever worked on. Most of her clients were of her mother’s ilk, and they wanted their spaces to reflect what they saw in magazines and on TV. They wanted Reese Witherspoon’s living room and Nicole Kidman’s bedroom.
Luxurious. Bright. Modern.
Astrid had always delivered. She’d grown up in that exact kind of house, after all, decorated by Lindy Westbrook herself. But more importantly, this style was what Simon and Pru wanted. Jordan could just shut up and build the cabinets.
Astrid winced at the uncharitable thought, but honestly, she was running out of steam here, and quickly. She stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder. She was heading toward Pru to say goodbye when Natasha called her name.
“Astrid. Jordan. Could we have a moment?” the host said, nodding her head toward where she and Emery were standing next to the truly heinous fireplace, all brass and soot stains.
“Yes, of course,” Astrid said, walking their way. She felt Jordan behind her and braced herself.
“What’s up?” Jordan said, spreading her legs wide and folding her arms. Jesus, the woman exuded confidence. Astrid would adjust her posture, but she knew it was already ramrod straight.
“So,” Natasha said, smiling at the two of them, “how do you feel about the first shoot?”
“Fine,” Astrid said automatically, because she certainly wasn’t going to say what she was really thinking, which was somewhere along the lines ofshit show.
Jordan, however, had no such reservations. “Meh,” she said.
“Tell me more about that,” Natasha said, and Jordan laughed.
“Okay, Dr. Rojas.”
Astrid clenched her jaw, the familiarity in Jordan’s tone setting her on edge. This wasNatasha Rojas, for god’s sake.
But Natasha just laughed back. “Nothing wrong with therapy.”
Jordan held out her fist for a bump, and Natasha happily reciprocated.
Astrid’s jaw tightened again. She’d be sleeping in her mouth guard tonight, no doubt.
“The design isn’t what I expected,” Jordan said when all the warm and fuzzy camaraderie was finished.
“You don’t like it,” Natasha said.
“No,” Jordan said, glancing sideways at Astrid. “I don’t.”
Astrid’s fingers tightened on her bag. If she were a rubber band, she would’ve snapped into several pieces by now.
“It’s what Pru and Simon asked for,” she said firmly.
