“Not just dinner. It was the best friggin’ steak I’ve ever tasted in my life. And I don’t know what he did to those mushrooms, but I thought I was going to pass out.”
She laughs. “You sure they weren’t magic mushrooms?”
“Very funny. They were the normal kind, but the way he slowly sautéed them in butter with just a touch of cream ... and he had a salad with a dressing that he made from scratch. I don’t know what was in it, but ... oh, my God ... it was fantastic.” My mouth waters at just the thought of it, and other things.
“Okay,” Becky says, “enough about the food. How did it go otherwise? Did you make out?”
I grin as I flip through some fabric samples, but I can’t bring myself to share those details with Becky, because she’s Jacob’s sister. “None of your business,” I reply teasingly.
“Come on. Don’t leave me hanging.” When I don’t respond, she lets out a sigh. “Fine. But at least tell me what you talked about.”
I move from my desk to the sideboard against the wall, where I keep my paint chips. “We talked a lot about how I started my business. Hehad questions, so we’re meeting for lunch tomorrow and he’s coming to see my office.”
“Oooh. Well played. He’ll be impressed.”
“I’m not trying to impress him,” I tell her. “But I do want to help him out because he seems lost. He’s not enjoying law school, because he wants to be a chef, and he’s frustrated, which I totally understand. I can’t imagine how I would have felt if my parents tried to talk me out of this career. If my dad had forced me to go to plumbing school.”
“Oh, good Lord,” she says. “No way. Just no.”
I chuckle. “Nothing against the plumbing profession. Dad loves his work, and he’s done well for himself, but I would have been miserable.”
I lay a fabric sample next to a paint chip and dismiss the color combination.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Becky says, “do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Mark left for Montreal this morning, and I’m on my own. He’s not back until Thursday.”
“How about tomorrow night instead?” I reply. “I have that phone call with Liz Tremblay in the morning, and so I’d like to prepare.”
“Oh, I forgot about that. Let’s do dinner tomorrow, and good luck.”
“Thanks.” We hang up, and I return to my paint and fabric samples, but it’s no easy task to keep my focus when I can’t stop thinking about Nate.
Because yes. We did make out on his sofa. And sweet Mary, Mother of God, it was even better than the mushrooms.
Twenty-four hours later, I take the call from Liz Tremblay, CEO at Ten Millennium, the leading real estate agency in the city.
“What can I do for you?” I ask after congratulating her on the grand opening of the apartment complex near the children’s hospital that she and her husband had been working on.
She doesn’t mince words and leads with a compliment. “You did some design work for friends of mine recently, and I love what you did. You have great style, Sienna.”
My cheeks flush with heat, but I manage to keep my cool. “That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.”
“I’ve been obsessed with your website lately,” she continues. “I can’t stop looking at your photo gallery. You’ve got me totally inspired, which is why I’m calling—because I’d love for you to come by and discuss my decor. I’ve decided to change the whole look of my house from top to bottom, and you’re the person I’d like to help me with that.”
My belly explodes with butterflies because I know her house well, at least the exterior. It’s a giant Victorian on a massive corner lot in the South End of the city. Every holiday season, the street becomes clogged with traffic when people drive by to view their Christmas decorations, including Santa’s sleigh and reindeer in their front yard.
“I’d love to pop by and have a look,” I say. “I’m inspired already. When would be a good time for you?”
We discuss our schedules, and she’s keen to get started immediately, so we set up an appointment for the following afternoon.
“But before we hang up,” she adds, “I’d like to float something else by you as well, and you don’t have to decide anything today. We can talk about it in more detail tomorrow, but I’d like you to have some time to percolate.”
Anticipation ripples through me. “I’m all ears.”
Again, she gets right to the point. “My company could use a stager to get our properties ready for the market, but it’s tough to find good people. There aren’t many of you out there, and we can’t always get someone when we need them. Half the time they’re already booked up by Realtors from other agencies. So I’d like to offer you a retainer to be the exclusive stager for Ten Millennium.”
Ten Millennium is the agency that handles everything for her husband’s real estate development and construction firm. I’m in shock, unable to speak.
“I promise we’d keep you busy,” she adds, “and you could of course continue doing work for other clients who aren’t our competitors. By that I mean other Realtors selling houses and commercial properties.”
