11TH FLOOR

Silence hangs in the air as we rise. Monday-morning blues. Seems everyone has it today, not just me.

My mind goes back to the weekend and its turn of events.

The doors open, and I stride out and walk through the reception area.

“Good morning, Henley.” Jenny smiles.

“Morning, Jen.”

“Is everything all right?” she asks.

“Yes, why?”

“Blake called looking for you, said you were supposed to have a late breakfast with them but are now not answering your phone.”

“What?” I dig my phone out of my pocket.

DO NOT DISTURB.

“Fuck.” I flick off the Do Not Disturb button and call him as I walk into my office.

“Where are you?” he answers.

“Sorry, I forgot.” I shake my head in disgust and dump my briefcase on the desk.

“Since when do you forget anything?”

“Since now, okay,” I snap. “Shut up.”

“Just ordered your breakfast—get down here.”

I exhale heavily. “Fine.”

“You want a coffee?”

“They serving espresso martinis?”

He chuckles. “Good weekend?”

“The fucking best,” I mutter dryly. “See you soon.”

Juliet

I scroll through Google.

Martello Interior Design

Ariana Interior Design

Joel Marcel Interiors

I’m on my lunch break and trying to get my renovation project underway. I think Chloe is right—I do need a professional opinion.

I click on Joel Marcel, and it dials his number. He answers on the first ring.

“Hello, Joel speaking.”

“Hi, Joel,” I reply. “It’s Juliet Drinkwater calling.”

“That’s an unusual name.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “Hi, Juliet.”

“Hi.” I scratch my head while I try to think of what to say. “I’m not sure if you’re the person to call, but I have an interior design dilemma and was wanting some advice.”

“Okay, sure. Design dilemmas are my thing.”

I smile, feeling a little more at ease. “I’ve just moved into a house, and it needs a full renovation.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m doing it myself, so I need to be really budget conscious.”

“Right,” he replies as he listens.

“I want to . . .” I stop myself to try and articulate my words.

“You want a plan?” he asks, reading my mind.

“Yes. I just don’t want to start something one color and then realize six months down the road that it doesn’t go with anything else.”

“Good idea. What you need is a color consult to start with. That way we can get an overall vibe of the feel you want for the house, and then we can pick the colors and go from there.”

“Exactly.” I smile, excited. I like this guy. “How much does that cost?”

“Well, my first visit is free, and we just talk about your wish list, and then after that for small projects like this, I charge an hourly rate.”

“That sounds great. When can you fit me in?”

“Hang on, I’ll bring up my schedule.” I hear him type on his computer. “What suburb are you in?”

“Half Moon Bay, Kingston Lane.”

“Oh, nice street. One of my colleagues did a house in there.”

“It is.” I smile proudly.

“Okay, I can come two weeks from Friday.”

My shoulders slump. “That long?” Damn it.

“Too far out?” he asks.

“It’s just that I don’t even have a couch, and I wanted to order my furniture and start painting.”

“Hmm.” He thinks for a moment. “My last appointment this afternoon isn’t far from there. I could stop by on my way home. It will be late, though, around six thirtyish.”

“That would be great.” I smile.

“What house number on Kingston Lane?”

“Eleven.”

“And I can reach you on this number?”

“Uh-huh.”

“See you tonight, Juliet.”

“Bye.” I hang up feeling very accomplished. Let’s get this party started.

It’s 7:00 p.m. when his car pulls onto our street. His car creeps past my house; there’s no number on my mailbox. I turn on the porch light and walk out front and wave. He sees me and parks his car and gets out with a bunch of folders. “Juliet,” he says.

“Hello.” I smile as I shake his hand.

Oh . . .

Joel is hot.

Ha, who knew?

He looks up at the old two-story house. “So this is her?”

“Uh-huh.” I laugh. “It’s really in need of everything.”

“I did a little digging today, and did you know that this is the oldest house in the neighborhood?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, and originally the entire neighborhood was this house’s meadows.”

“Oh.” I smile up at my big old house. “I knew she was special.”

“Very special.” He smiles. “What are your plans for her?”

I love how he calls my house a her.

“I want to try and keep the old-world feel as authentic as I possibly can.”

He listens.

“You know when you go away for the weekend to a really well-kept country house and everything is modern but with an old-fashioned design?”

“You want to keep the integrity of its age?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You want it to feel like the luxurious house that it was back in the day.”

“Exactly.” I smile. “That’s exactly what I’m after. I want to walk in here and feel transported into . . . another world. I don’t necessarily want modern, but I want beautiful.”

Joel smiles dreamily up at the house. “Sounds perfect.”

The black Range Rover comes creeping up the road, and Henley looks at us as he drives past. He glares in, and I glare back.

“How long have you been here?” Joel asks as we walk up the front steps.

“Three weeks. I’m ready to get started. If we can at least work out a color design and what couch I need to order, that would be amazing.”

We walk through the front door, and he looks around at the dreary, sparse space. “Wow,” he says in surprise.

“It needs a lot of work, doesn’t it?” I wince.

“This is going to be so beautiful when it’s finished, Juliet.”

I go up on my toes with excitement. Finally, someone who sees in it what I do. He gets out a pad and pencil. “I’m just going to walk through the house and take some notes and make a quick floor plan.”

“Sounds great.”

He wanders around for a little while. I hear a knock just as we are standing in the foyer, and I open the front door.

“Henley.” I frown.