The car door slams shut just as my phone chimes. I look down at a text message from Caprice, the woman I spent a fun and forgettable afternoon with before I hopped on the subway eight hours ago to head home.
She wants more than I have to give her. Yesterday was the second time I went to her place. It was also the last.
A heart emoji at four a.m. does nothing for me. I delete her message suggesting we hook-up again tonight.
Stroking my chin, I scroll through the hundreds of names in my contact list before I land on Julian Bishop. We haven't seen each other in years. That changes today. I make a note in my calendar to call him once I'm off the air.
Catching up with an old friend will get me back on track. Hearing about what his beautiful younger sister is up to can't hurt either.
CHAPTER THREE
Brynn
"I'm notsure pairing lavender walls with this pattern is the best way to highlight this room," I say with a smile.
I am sure that it's a horrible idea and if a picture of this Park Avenue penthouse bedroom sees the light of day, my career will be toast. It will be done when it's just begun. I'm finally starting to get recognition for my work. I won't let this purple catastrophe take me down.
"I had my heart set on that for the bedding, Brynn." Mrs. Pentlow, my client, whines. "I think the magenta in this fabric complements the color we chose for the walls."
I think the magenta in the fabric is burning my irises.
"You chose the color for the walls before you hired me," I point that out because there's no way in hell I would have even considered the hue as a wall color. I love the shade, but this bedroom is larger than most apartments. The tone isn't subtle enough for a room this size. It's overpowering. "I think if we want the room as a whole to be a statement, we need to usemuted colors and patterns for the bed coverings and accessories. Let's make the wall color the star of the show."
She thinks that over with a furrow of her brow and a scratch to the side of her nose with a periwinkle manicured fingernail.
"I have some artwork that is to die for, Mrs. Pentlow." One of the pieces is not only striking, but it's large. It's big enough to cover most of the bare wall we're facing. "I want this room to be a sanctuary that you can retreat to at the end of the day."
"Is it expensive artwork, dear?"
Money is the measure of happiness for too many people in this city. I purchased two of the pieces from Bridget Grant, an emerging artist. She recently opened a small gallery in Tribeca. Charcoal portraits are her calling and the custom pieces she did for me of Mr. and Mrs. Pentlow will make the space that much more personal. I gave her two photographs of the Pentlows I found in their living room as a starting point and she worked her magic. The finished framed pieces are expensive, but not unreasonable.
I can't say the same for the Brighton Beck painting that will cover the wall we're looking at now. That was a fortune. It stands to reason since Beck, as he's called by his fans worldwide, commands more than six figures for every watercolor on canvas he creates.
"I think you'll be pleased to know that a few weeks from now, a Brighton Beck original will be the first thing you see when you wake up."
Her husband should be the first thing she sees, but judging from the fact that every stitch of his clothing is in the guest bedroom, I'd say Mrs. Pentlow is breaking the bank to create a room-to-die-for that will accommodate just one person.
Mr. Pentlow and the glass tumbler that holds his dentures will most likely continue to reside down the hall in a guestbedroom that hasn't seen the stroke of a paintbrush since sometime in the late eighties.
I mistakenly barged into that room during my second visit to the penthouse under the assumption no one was home. A toothless and pants-free Mr. Pentlow is a sight I'll never forget.
"As I told you, dear, money is not an object." She flashes me a grin. "I'm pleased that you see fit to incorporate a Beck into this room."
I make a mental note to call Mr. Beck's assistant this afternoon to ask how much purple is in the painting I commissioned. "I have several other surprises in store for you."
I don't at the moment, but since Mrs. Pentlow is leaving for Greece tomorrow, I have two months to complete this project before she returns from her fifth honeymoon.
"Let's do a grand unveiling when the Mister and I get back from our trip." She narrows her eyes at me. "You'll have it all done by then, won't you?"
With what she's paying me, and the promise of the rest of the apartment as an incentive to stay on time and budget, I'll have this bedroom done within the next two weeks. "I promise that you'll be stunned by what you see when you get home."
"Good." She coughs, clearing her throat. "Don't put your personal life on hold for this, Brynn. A woman needs time with her man, if you know what I mean."
Sadly, right now, I don't. I haven't been with anyone in a few months. My last relationship was short lived and as boring as watching paint dry. "There's no man in my life at the moment."
"No man?" Her voice raises an octave. "We live in Manhattan, Brynn. This is the city of a million possibilities."
"I'm focused on work right now." I shrug. I get that it sounds pathetic, but the only person I have to fall back on in this life is me. It's career before cock in my book. "I don't have time to go out and meet men."
