Page 43 of The Silver Fox Brother

Let the complications sort themselves out.

Chapter Four

Winter

Wednesday morning starts the way most Wednesdays do—early, caffeinated, and moving fast.

I’m at the studio by eight-thirty, already through my first coffee and halfway through my second by the time Maya arrives at nine. The day is packed: a potential client meeting at ten, lunch with another lead at one, and a full afternoon of design work that won’t wait for anyone’s schedule.

“Morning,” Maya says, setting her bag down at her desk near the entrance. She’s efficient as always, tablet already in hand, scanning today’s agenda.

“Your ten o’clock just confirmed. Victoria Hartwell. She’s early, actually—texted that she’s grabbing coffee downstairs and will be up in fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect. Conference room ready?”

“Staged with the mood boards you wanted. I pulled material samples for the palette you mentioned—those warm neutrals with the deeper accent tones.”

This is why Maya is indispensable.

“Great. What else?”

“Lunch reservation confirmed at Le Coucou for one PM. Your one o’clock is Eleanor Whitmore—she’s the referral from the Williamsburg clients. Looking at a gut renovation for a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Big budget, long timeline, wants to start in the spring.”

I nod, mentally shifting gears. Victoria Hartwell this morning, Eleanor Whitmore at lunch. Two potential projects, both significant, both requiring my full attention.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Fabric samples for the Williamsburg project arrived. They’re on your desk. And James called—wants five minutes to discuss the lighting fixtures for the loft’s kitchen.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back after my ten o’clock.”

Maya makes a note, then glances up.

“Also, just FYI—Architectural Digest confirmed the photographer for the West Village shoot. Next month, the fifteenth. They want you there for styling input.”

The West Village brownstone. My first AD feature. The project that’s putting Winter Hayes Design on the map in a way that feels both surreal and earned.

“Got it. Add it to the calendar.”

“Already done.”

I head into my office, scan the fabric samples Maya mentioned. They’re good—the texture and weight exactly what I specified for the Williamsburg loft’s upholstery. I make a few notes, set them aside, and pull up the file for this morning’s meeting.

Victoria Hartwell. Referred by a previous client whose Chelsea loft I designed two years ago. She’s looking at an Upper East Side townhouse—five stories, original details that need restoration, a layout that hasn’t been touched since the 1980s. The kind of project that’s equal parts challenge and opportunity.

I’ve seen the photos she sent over. The bones are incredible—original moldings, marble fireplaces, a grand staircase that sweeps up through the center of the house. But the finishes are dated, the flow is awkward, and the kitchen is a nightmare of outdated cabinetry and linoleum that should have been ripped out decades ago.

My job is to show her what it could be.

By the time Maya appears in my doorway at 9:52, I’m ready.

“Victoria’s here.”

“Send her in.”

Victoria Hartwell is exactly what I expected from our brief phone conversation—early fifties, impeccably dressed in tailored trousers and a silk blouse, the kind of woman who knows what she wants and has the resources to make it happen. She extends her hand with a firm grip and a warm smile.

“Winter. Thank you for making time this morning.”