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Our whirlwind romance quickly led to marriage, and while my mother adored Victoria, she always thought I was playing with fire by hitching my wagon to someone who disdained my birthright. I was the sole heir to my parent's fortune, so naturally, after my father’s death, a year after our marriage, I was the new CEO of the family’s oil conglomerate. Victoria initially didn’t mind my new role, and I thought marrying into my family would have softened her harsh perspective on oil and global warming. That was not the case. It didn’t take long for the kinks in the armor to start showing in our marriage. It was like a festering wound that would not heal, causing us stress and anxiety.
As I sat in my study, thinking about Victoria, I couldn’t help but feel some relief. I missed her and was unsure how to move forward without her, but I also felt a weird comfort in knowing this ended the ongoing cause of stress in my life. I quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind; this was making me feel guilty. Instead, I tried one more time to remember what had happened last night. Still nothing; this was a bit concerning. I wanted to explore the memory gap, but I knew I had more important things to worry about. The sadness started a slow descent into my thoughts, and I was too tired to fight. I sat frozen in my Vincent Van Duysen leather chair positioned perfectly in front of a wall of windows, staring out at both stables’ miles away from the main dwelling. The massive structures were captivating most days, today it blended into the lush lawn as I sat frozen in grief.
Spiraling about my head were two related questions:How could any of this be possible, and more importantly, how would my five-year-old daughter handle the news?
* * *
CHAPTER 2
SAMANTHA
Iwoke up feeling happier than usual. It was early spring, and in Texas, that meant it was time for spring cleaning. My phone would start ringing soon; no more laying around watching HGTV. I planned to make it to my small office in Grapevine that I shared with my niece Lizzie. I hadn’t ventured to see the place in the last six months. Most of my work was done at home, when I had any, due to the pandemic.
Fortunately, Lizzie ran a staffing agency that also supplied me with clients. Lizzie and I grew up practically as sisters. I was almost twenty-five years younger than Lizzie’s mom, my sister Ann. My mother and Ann were both pregnant at the same time. Lizzie was two months older than me and treated me like her younger sister. When Lizzie started her staffing agency, I was already an interior designer. I worked for a small boutique firm in Dallas but soon discovered I did not thrive well amid office politics and drama. I just loved making spaces beautiful and having sex with John Stein, the owner of the firm, so I could get the Madison account never seemed to make much sense to me.
As I floated around my eight-hundred-square-foot apartment, I bumped into the sharp edge of my coffee table. Hitting my shin was no less painful now than the five hundred times I did the same thing in the past two years. One of the things that motivated me to be successful was the thought of finally moving into my own house with at least two thousand square feet. Hitting my shin was just the wake-up call I needed to get my ass in the office and start cold-calling leads to kick the season off.
* * *
I wassurprised when I pulled into the parking lot to see Lizzie’s car. She worked from home a lot these days, mainly for convenience, so I wondered what she had going on.
“Good morning, Lizzie,” I called as I pushed through the front door. “What brought you all the way across town today?”
Lizzie looked up, and I could see the excitement in her eyes. “I was just about to call you! I just got off a call with the estate manager for Christopher Brooks, CEO of Brooks Energy.”
“Okay. What did he want?”
Lizzie continued, “They’re looking for an interior designer to complete a renovation on his kitchen, master bedroom, and art room.”
I was doing summersaults inside waiting for Lizzie to tell me when I could start. I wasn’t one to exploit family, but working for a billionaire changed my stance on nepotism.
“Well, what are you going to do?” She paused, smiled at me, and said, “Do you want to work for a billionaire or what?!”
I grabbed Lizzie by the hand and pulled her from her chair. I hugged her so tight she could barely breathe as we broke into a happy dance in our tiny office space.
“Give me all the deets. How long is the contract for? When do I get to see the space? How did they even get your number?!”
Lizzie responded before I could get another question out, “Well, I was referred to his estate manager by my college friend Kiara. Mr. Brooks needs an interior designer that isn’t connected to his inner circle, so she sent my business card over. Something about discretion and privacy. I wasn’t very focused on anything other than the amount of money they offered me to find someone who could start tomorrow.”
“I am your girl,” I said. “What do I need to know and how much will I be paid!?”
“Let me draft up the contract and send over the figures. Feel free to counter the offer but I need the amount you want back within the hour. I want to give them a response before noon.”
I smiled at Lizzie. “I am on it, and I love you.”
Lizzie was always mature and responsible. She was 5’ 6” and her curly brown hair hugged her freckled face. She was not strikingly beautiful at first glance but her business savvy and ambition oozed confidence that kept men lined up to be in her presence. I admired her strength as well as her undying commitment to winning. Despite being the only child of a drug addict, Lizzie was a success. My sister was in and out of Lizzie’s life for most of her early childhood and this still causes a host of problems for her to this day. I don’t know how she made it through all that drama without racking up thousands of dollars in therapy bills.
Hitting my shin regularly on the edge of my coffee table was enough encouragement to find a nice comfy couch to vent on. Lizzie seemed immune to the constant stress of life, and I often wondered if she was just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Keeping pent-up frustration inside wasn’t healthy for anyone. Sitting at my tiny desk facing the single restroom in our space, I waited anxiously as my ancient Windows laptop booted up. I wanted to see the figures for the project.
I had been dreaming about this moment since leaving the firm in Dallas. My big break was here, and I was ready for it.
As soon as my system booted up, I rushed to my email to review the proposal. I looked at the scope: nothing crazy; the eight-week timeline was sufficient. Then the price: holy shit! I was going to be rich! I had never seen so many zeros in my life on a contract. There was no need to counter. Lizzie did not disclose her fee for being the middleman; I hoped it was as generous as my offer and put the thought out of my mind. I quickly accepted the proposal and returned the signed documents.
I was ready to start but had to wait for the final contract to come back from Lizzie with all the final language and the property address. I sat at my desk, staring at the computer screen, trying to stay busy. The only thing I could focus on was how I would spend my new wealth. The email notification jolted me back to reality. I quickly opened the documents and started to skim through the details. I
had to get drawings done for the master bedroom, kitchen, and art room; I also needed to get permits started and approved. The master bedroom needed a facelift. New paint and carpet should do the trick. The owner wanted to get his wife’s clothes boxed up and the massive one thousand square feet master bedroom closet re-organized. I had so many ideas going through my head, and the dimensions of each room were overwhelming.
The kitchen cabinets, counters, and floors needed to be replaced. The kitchen also needed to be painted and all new appliances installed and new dishes, pots, pans, and utensils bought. This was the first time I had attempted a project this big. The art room was the most challenging, every single surface was getting touched and everything that was in the room was being boxed up and sent to storage. Despite my apprehension, I knew I would do a fantastic job. This project would be easy with the $1,000,000 discretionary budget and the client's limited direction. I kissed Lizzie on the cheek before heading out to see the property.
