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“Showtime,” I whisper as I hurry to the door, smiling as I open it wide to see Florence, her white hair a stark contrast to her all-black attire, and her young assistant, Karen. “Welcome home, Ms. Paddington.”
“Thank you,” she says and walks inside. “I’m looking forward to this.”
“I am, too. Where would you like to start?”
“Why, the kitchen, of course.”
I nod happily and lead the two women into the kitchen as I start telling Florence about everything we’ve done.
“I especially love the exposed brick around the oven, and these countertops are just magnificent. This is one slab, which doesn’t always happen. Sometimes, they have to put two or even three slabs together, but we were able to find one complete piece for this. But this is the best part.”
I walk to the tall doors that look like a cabinet and open them to a whole second room, lined with shelves, more countertops, another fridge, and a sink.
“This butler’s pantry is going to be the envy of all your friends.”
“Hmm,” is all Florence says.
I can’t get a read on her to tell if she likes or hates it. She’s completely impassive.
But I keep going with my happy spiel about all the state-of-the-art equipment that we installed in the room.
“How lovely,” Karen breathes. “It’s even better than the drawings you sent me.”
“Thank you.”
I lead them through the new dining room, Florence’s office, and up to the owner’s suite that also went through a complete rehab.
“You could likely swim in this tub,” I say with a wink. “And that concludes the tour.”
“I see,” Florence says, looking around. Without another word, she walks out of the bathroom and out of the bedroom altogether, then heads down the stairs to the kitchen.
Karen and I share a look, and I hurry after her.
“Of course, if there’s anything you’d like to see tweaked here or there, I can certainly handle that for you.”
Florence holds up her hand, indicating that I should stop talking. So, I do. I hang back and watch as she takes a second pass through the house, silently looking around, her face completely sober.
When she returns to the kitchen, she narrows her eyes on me.
“I absolutely hate it.”
My stomach sinks. “What? But it looks exactly like the sketches I sent over to Lily, your previous assistant. She replied and said you approved them.”
Karen shuffles from foot to foot, and I have a very bad feeling about this.
“Lily didn’t show me anything,” Florence replies. “She approved it herself, based on her tastes.”
I look between the two women in shock.
“You have to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Florence demands. “I can’t believe that you would think this would be my taste. Don’t you pay attention? Look at me. Do I look Parisian?”
“I can’t believe this.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Florence says. “You’re going to fix it. All of it. I want it all ripped out, and you’ll start over. At your expense.”
“This was a quarter of a million-dollar renovation,” I remind her.
“And I didn’t approve a dime of it,” is her reply.
“Do you hate the entire design? The floorplan?”
She pauses and sighs deeply. “I don’t hate the butler’s pantry.”
Hope springs as I think quickly. “Okay. Can we compromise and keep the structure intact? I will take out all the décor and start fresh there. New furnishings, linens, wall hangings. Everything will be completely different. I can even make that exposed brick look…not French.”
Florence narrows her eyes on me. “If I still hate it, there will be hell to pay. Honestly, I expected more out of Will Montgomery’s niece. He’s such a hardworking man, a professional. And this is what I get from you?”
Without another word, she leaves the house, with Karen following after her. Karen looks back to give me a sympathetic smile.
My mind is whirling. Even replacement of the furnishings and décor will cost roughly six figures.
I hurry through to turn off all the lights and then lock up behind myself as I rush to my car and quickly leave, wanting to get as far away from here as possible.
When I’m stopped at a red light, I quickly text Gray.
Me: Can’t make dinner tonight. Sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.
I don’t want to be with anyone right now. Damn it, I worked my ass off on that job, and she fucking hates it? Why in the hell didn’t she ask Lily to see the artwork? Why didn’t she call me herself?
“And why the fuck did I believe Lily, rather than checking in with the client to make sure everything was on track?”
I hear my phone ping with a text, but I ignore it. I just want to get home, bury my head in the covers, and make this whole event disappear.
