Fight or Flight

Her dark brown hair was cut short and blunt so that the shiny ends touched her chin. She had it tucked behind her right ear, revealing a large diamond stud. Her dark eyes were filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, without her having to ask.

“You should have taken today off.”

“And what would have been the point?” I approached her with my coffee. “What I need is to get back to normal. I have a ton of work to catch up on. You know, as my boss you should actually be pressuring me to do that.”

Stella snorted. “I like to think I’m a human being as well as a boss.”

I laughed as she walked back to my office with me. “You’re an anomaly among your kind.”

“Since you aren’t taking me up on my offer for time off … is there anything I can do to help?” She gestured to my office, thus indicating my work. “And by help, I mean off-load some of your work to Gabe.”

As our newest and youngest employee, Gabe worked with only one client at a time, so he technically had more availability than me, Stella, or Paul, the other senior designer.

“I’m really okay. And you know I would never off-load work to someone else. The thought makes my chest hurt,” I joked. But it was true. I was maybe too much of a control freak sometimes, but that was just who I was.

“Fine.” Stella regarded me seriously. “I want to know, however, if you can’t handle things. Not just out of the kindness of my heart either. We can’t afford for any screwups on your current projects. Both are longtime clients.”

“I know that. I’m good,” I promised her.

My boss left me to it and I booted up my computer to start working my way through e-mails. Patrice Danby, the forty-eight-year-old daughter of an oil baron and wife to a high-powered attorney, had been using Stella Larson Designs for the past six years. It seemed she had a new project for us to do every six months, whether it was personal or part of her philanthropic work. We found ourselves designing space for hospital common rooms, retirement homes, free clinics, and once even a charity-run veterinary hospital. I liked Patrice. She didn’t seem like some bored housewife who needed something to do and so turned to charity work. She genuinely appeared to care about her philanthropic projects, and while some people might be of the opinion that it was silly to put so much work into making a space look pretty, Patrice believed in the power of beautiful things. She believed the perfect space could help healing or provide comfort to people and animals. And Stella was more than happy to work with her on that.

For the past three years Patrice had worked exclusively with me after enjoying my collaboration on a retirement home.

I was also working with Roxanne Sutton aka the Shrew. This was my first time working on a project with Roxanne, because her usual designer had said he was too busy to work on her latest project. It became clear to me quite quickly that that was an excuse, and Paul had landed me with Roxanne for a reason. She was rude, demanding, and interfering. However, she had been a client for ten years, and as the young wife of Marcus Sutton, of the New England Suttons, she had more money than God. That family had their fingers in all kinds of different pies, and their wealth had accumulated for generations. They were the kind of wealthy that was difficult to wrap your head around.

My latest project with Roxanne was redecorating not one room, but the entirety of their summer home in Nantucket.

After making a few calls to the tradesman I was collaborating with on the project to see where things stood, I called Roxanne. She lambasted me for a while about being unavailable for the last few days, and although I tried to explain the situation once again, she pretended like she couldn’t hear me. Once I’d promised to send over the latest photos I’d received from the work on the house, and resend samples and drawings I’d already sent her, I managed to get off the phone.

Then I called Patrice. I was redesigning the guesthouse at the back of their property in Wellesley Farms. They had family from Europe coming to stay with them over the summer, and Patrice wanted them to feel like they had privacy, but the guesthouse hadn’t been redecorated in ten years.

“Darling, it’s so good to hear from you,” Patrice said. “I’ve been worried. I was so sorry to hear about your old friend. It’s such a tragedy.”

Did I mention I really liked Patrice? “Thank you. I’m okay. Honestly, I’m happy to be home and getting back to work. Which is why I’m calling. The seven-seater corner sofa we ordered for the main family room is no longer available in that specific dark blue velvet. Why they couldn’t tell us this sooner, I don’t know, but they have provided me with alternative fabric samples. They express-mailed them, so I can send those to you ASAP and you can decide whether you like any of the options. Depending on the change of fabric, we may have to tweak the rest of the design in that room.” We’d based a lot of it around that piece of furniture.

“Well, I’ll have a look at the samples and we can discuss. Preferably in person, darling, because I have a bit of a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?”

“Did you hear on the news about that volcano in Iceland erupting?”

That was random. “Yes, I did, actually.”

“It’s causing quite a lot of air travel disruption in Europe, and a guest of ours is a little bit stranded. Now, normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but Danby is working on a huge case and is too busy for any kind of entertaining.” She referred to her husband by his surname instead of his given name, Michael, because they had a twenty-six-year-old son who shared the same name. “As for Michael, he’s stranded in London on a business trip so he isn’t here to help keep our guest entertained either, and I’m organizing the annual Sophia Claymore Benefit for Breast Cancer next week. I am snowed under. We have no idea how long our guest will be stranded in Boston. He was only supposed to be here for four nights, but right now they’re estimating a week or two for the ash cloud to clear. I know you are so very busy, but our guest is around your age and I was hoping you might be able to see him. I want him to have a good impression of Boston, darling, and I couldn’t think of anyone better than you for him to get to know. Also, I know you’re single …”

Stunned, and cornered, and wondering how I could get out of this without upsetting a longtime client I admired, I stuttered for words. “Well … um … Are you … Is this an attempt at matchmaking, Patrice? I’m flattered, but I actually am very busy with work right now.”

“It’s not an attempt at matchmaking, I swear. I just thought it might be nice for you to have something other than work as a distraction during such a trying time. Plus, to be blunt, my other friends are either boring fusspots, functioning alcoholics, or middle-aged housewives who would hit on him. It’s only for a week, maybe two. It wouldn’t take up too much of your time. I just … thought perhaps you could show him around town, take him to dinner a couple times.”

I could practically hear Stella shouting in my head to say yes. We couldn’t afford to hurt Patrice Danby’s feelings or piss her off. And it was only for a week or two. I just had to hope that she was kind enough not to land me with an obnoxious sleaze. “Well, I’d be happy to if it would help you out.”

“Oh, you are a sweetheart!” she exclaimed happily. “Let’s meet for lunch with those samples so I can introduce you two. He’s here on business so he’s occupied during the day but did promise he could meet us for lunch if you said yes.”

“So you’ve told him about me?”

“Well, yes, your name came up. I must have been going on about how wonderful you were because he seemed intrigued.”

Great. Now he had expectations.

“That’s nice.” I winced.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, darling. He’s perfectly charming. We’ll meet at Deuxave, yes. One o’clock.”

“I’ll see you both there.”

Not five minutes later, Stella poked her head around the door. “How’s it going?”

“Patrice Danby is trying to set me up with a guest of hers who’s stranded here because of that damn volcano eruption.”