Chapter Twenty-One
CHASE
The floor-to-ceiling windowsframed a breathtaking view, their edges gleaming against the backdrop of glittering ocean. The lavish Italian porcelain tile, designed to resemble bleached driftwood, reflected the room’s elegant ambiance with its polished surface, exuding an air of understated opulence. The newly completed Franson guest suite smelled of fresh paint, new grout, and money. Lots of money. It was sleek, modern, and precisely the kind of high-end coastal luxury William Franson had demanded. Standing here now and seeing it finished, professional pride surged within me, momentarily eclipsing the exhaustion that still clung from the near disaster not so long ago.
“Magnificent, Chase. Absolutely magnificent.” William Franson beamed, running a satisfied hand over the seamless edge of the custom concrete countertop in the kitchenette area. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and right now, he looked like he’d just unwrappedthe Hope Diamond. “Better than I envisioned. That workspace integration”—he gestured toward the cleverly concealed desk area built into the custom cabinetry—“is genius. It doubles as a private work area for me and a guest living suite.”
“The goal was a seamless blend of relaxation and functionality. I’m glad it meets your approval, William.”
His wife, Claire, who had been quietly inspecting the intricate tile work in the massive walk-in shower, emerged with a soft smile. “It’s more than approval. It’s perfection. You’ve truly captured that indoor-outdoor feeling we wanted.” She glanced toward the sliding glass doors that opened onto a private patio.
“Thank you, Claire. The custom sliders were key to that.”
Marilyn, my unflappable office manager and miracle worker, materialized beside me, holding out the final completion certificates and warranty documents arranged neatly in a modern leather portfolio. Her presence was calming, her efficiency an example of the smooth operation I was trying to build with Latitudes Design.
“Just a few signatures needed here, Mr. Franson,” Marilyn said, her voice calm and pleasant as she presented the portfolio on the built-in dining nook table.
Franson waved a dismissive hand, already reaching for the offered pen. “Whatever you need. Chase delivered what he promised. On time, too, despite that little electrical hiccup.”
Little electrical hiccup.
Right. The one that had required ripping out newly installed wire, calling in emergency electricians, and working Marcus, not to mention myself, nearly into the ground for seventy-two straight hours. The one that hadutterly torched my profit margin on this supposedly lucrative project.
I kept my smile fixed, nodding agreeably. “We strive for client satisfaction above all.” Which sometimes meant eating costs that weren’t technically my fault but reflected poorly on my firm’s oversight if not handled swiftly.
While Franson signed off with a flourish, I let my gaze wander over the finished space. The cool gray walls, the warm wood accents, the subtle textures of the linens on the king-sized bed, the way the light played across the floors in the main area. Itwasgood work. Damn good work. It was the kind of project that belonged in architectural digests, the kind that could launch Latitudes Design into the next tier.
But my internal ledger kept running its own ruthless calculations. The original healthy profit margin had dwindled to something barely above break-even. It was a vivid reminder of how precarious this solo venture still was, how much pressure rested on every project, every budget line, every client relationship.
Especially the Sunset Siesta renovation.
“A pleasure doing business with you,” Franson declared with a nod at me as he capped the pen. He handed the paperwork back to Marilyn. “I’ll certainly be recommending Latitudes Design to my neighbors. Expect calls.”
“Thank you, William. We appreciate the confidence.”
Marilyn kept up a seamless stream of conversation as she walked out with them, leaving me alone in the pristine, sun-filled guest suite. The silence was abrupt after Franson’s booming enthusiasm. I walked over to the large window overlooking the water and traced the edge of the frame. It was done. A success, by the client’s measure. But the financial reality left a bitter taste. I needed more wins like this,profitablewins, to keep Latitudes afloat, especiallywith the massive undertaking at Sunset Siesta consuming so much of my time and resources.
Back in my own office at Latitudes Design later that afternoon, I stared at the Sunset Siesta master plan on my secondary monitor, the intricate lines and phases representing months, potentially years, of work—and financial interdependence. Today, my partnership stake felt less like an opportunity and more like an anchor tied to my ankles while I tried to tread water.
An email notification pinged softly, pulling my attention to the main screen. The subject line made my breath catch:Project Bid Update—Thorne Residence. This was a high-end renovation project on Little Torch Key I’d poured weeks into developing a proposal for, the one I’d been counting on to provide a much-needed financial buffer alongside Sunset Siesta.
My fingers hesitated over the trackpad. I took a slow breath, bracing myself. “Please be good news.”
I clicked it open.
Dear Mr. Ashworth,
Thank you for your detailed proposal for our residence renovation. We received several highly competitive bids, and after careful consideration…
My eyes scanned down,skipping the pleasantries, searching for the verdict.
… we have decidedto proceed with Marino Architects for this project. While your design concepts were innovative and impressive, wefelt Marino’s extensive portfolio of similar large-scale historical renovations in the Upper Keys provided a stronger assurance…
The rest blurred,but that didn’t matter. I lost to a bigger, more established firm.
“Goddamn.”
I slumped in my chair. The professional pride from the Franson walk-through evaporated, replaced by a cold wave of anxiety. The Thorne contract would have provided stability, breathing room, proof that Latitudes could compete and win against the big players. Now everything balanced precariously on the Sunset Siesta project, on the Coleridge family, on my ability to deliver flawlessly there despite corroded pipes, hidden foundations, and the increasingly potent distraction of Harper herself.
