Rusty Nailed
Page 4

“So remember the job we did last spring for Max Camden? The waterfront Victorian we did, before his daughter got married?”
“Yeah, he gave it to her as a wedding present. Who does that?”
“Max Camden, that’s who. Anyway, he owns the old Claremont Hotel in Sausalito, and he’s looking for a new design firm to update it and give it a modern twist.”
“Fantastic! Did you do your proposal already?” I asked, picturing the property. Right off the main drag in Sausalito, the Claremont had been there since the turn of the last century, one of the few to survive the Big Quake.
“No, because you’re doing the proposal. You’ll be the lead designer on this project if you get it,” she clarified. “You think I can take something like this on? Right before my wedding? I’m not giving up my honeymoon for work—I’ve given up too many vacations over the years as it is.”
“Me? No no no, I’m not ready for that, you’re not ready for that, what are you thinking?” I stammered, my heart leaping into my throat. This was big-time, baby.
“Please, you got this.” She kicked me gently. “Feel that? That’s my foot, kicking you out of the nest.”
“Um, yeah, I’ve been out of the nest awhile now, but this is different,” I protested, chewing on my pencil.
Which she plucked out of my mouth. “You really think I’d give this to you if you weren’t ready? And tell me the truth, aren’t you even the slightest bit intrigued?”
She had me there. I’d always wanted to do a project this big. But to actually be the lead designer on an entire hotel redesign?
“I realize I’m asking a lot—you’re already going to be running the show around here while I’m on my honeymoon. Do you truly think this is too much to bite off at one time?”
“Wow—I just—wow,” I answered, taking a deep breath. When she’d initially asked me if I’d keep things running while she was on her honeymoon, it was things like making sure the alarm was set each night and that Ashley made sure to order coffee creamer. The list had steadily grown larger as projects stacked up, but still very much manageable. Now this?
I let the idea sit for a moment. Could I do this? Jillian seemed to think so.
“Hmm . . .”
I pictured the hotel: great light, great location, but needed a major overhaul. I was already thinking about potential palettes when she tapped me on the head with her pencil.
“Come in, Caroline. Hello,” she said, waving her hand in front of my face.
I grinned at her. “I’m in, let’s go for it,” I said, my head already full of ideas.
She grinned back and offered me a fist bump. “I’ll let the team know you’ll be presenting.”
“Presenting my vomit, most likely,” I said, only half kidding.
“Just make sure it matches the drapes and we’re in the clear. Now, let’s celebrate by choosing a song to walk down the aisle to.” She pulled her iPod out of her pocket and started scrolling through.
“Is that in my job description?”
“That you indulge me? Yes, check your contract. So when I walk down the aisle, which song should I . . .”
There was no stopping her once she’d put on her Wedding Hat, so I relaxed a bit, even though my mind was spinning. This was big-time baby, but I had this.
Right?
• • •
I spent the afternoon framing out the beginnings of a pitch to Max Camden. As I pulled archival photos of the hotel and the surrounding area, ideas were beginning to present themselves. Not fully formed yet, but hinting at what might be an approach interesting enough to take a chance on a young designer. I knew that the strength of my ideas would be bolstered by Jillian’s reputation; anyone who was good enough to work for her was usually granted wider berth. However, it still came down to whose ideas were best—and I wanted this concept to be epic.
Still musing over the project as I turned my key in my front door, I heard a distinct thump, followed by a click click click padding toward me.
Clive.
Pushing through the door, I was greeted by my wonder cat, my own little piece of feline heaven. In a burst of gray fur, my ankles were surrounded by purrs and insistent nudges.
“Hi there, sweet boy, were you a good boy today?” I asked, leaning down to scratch his silky fur.
Arching up into my hand, he assured me that yes, he was in fact a sweet boy, and also a good boy. Berating me for leaving him alone for a thousand years, he cooed and chirped, herding me toward the kitchen.
We talked as I readied his dinner for him, which of course I’d been put on earth expressly to do, and our conversation covered the normal subjects. What birds he’d seen from the window today, whether any dust bunnies had emerged from under the bed, and whether I’d find any toys buried in the toe of my slippers. He was noncommittal on this last question.
Once his kibble was in his bowl he ignored me completely, and I headed back to the bedroom to put on some comfy clothes. Untucking my turtleneck, I went to the mirrored dresser to grab some yoga pants. While pulling my arms out of my shirt, my heart leapt into my throat when I saw the reflection of someone sitting on my bed. Instinct kicked in and I whirled, fists clenched, a scream ready to let loose.
My brain only processed that it was Simon after my fist was flung.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell, Caroline!” he yelled as he grabbed his jaw.
“What the hell, Caroline? What the hell, Simon! What the hell are you doing here?” I yelled back. Good to know if I was ever actually attacked, I wouldn’t freeze.
“I came home early to surprise you,” he managed, rubbing his jaw and grimacing.
My heart was still racing in my chest, and as I tried to calm down, I noticed the suitcase in the corner. The one I’d missed when I’d come into the room. I looked down and saw the turtleneck still hanging around my neck like a scarf.
“I could just kill you!” I yelled again, charging him and pushing him back onto the bed. “You scared me to death, you idiot!”
“I was planning on calling out to let you know I was here, but then I would’ve missed that entire conversation with Clive. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He grinned underneath me, threading his hands around my waist and in and out of my belt loops.
I blushed. “Traitor!” I yelled down the hallway. “You could have let me know someone was here—you’re a terrible watch-cat!”
A disinterested meow floated back.