“Morgan, darling! I cannot wait to hear the updates on the house. It’s like a big Christmas present I’m dying to unwrap.”
Morgan smiled. “I’m confident you’re going to love it. We’re right on schedule, and I’d love to go over some samples.”
Slate leaned over his wife and waved his hand in the air in dismissal. “We’re on the Greek islands for the next few days. I’d like to spend as much time as possible with Petra before we begin shooting, so let’s keep this short. Besides, that’s why you’re the best. You already know what we want.”
Petra laughed. “Slate is afraid I’ll become overwhelmed with such a project and ignore him. Silly man.”
“Slate is right. There’s no need for you to stress about anything. I guarantee you will love your new house,” Morgan said confidently. She pushed the array of samples out of the way from the screen. “I’m moving ahead with no troubles. Just wanted to touch base to see if you had any questions or concerns.”
“We’re doing complementary shades of blue for the bank of guest suites, correct?” Petra asked.
Morgan paused. She’d picked out coordinating green for the three suites and had even placed orders. Blue? How had she missed that—she’d been sure green was Petra’s signature color. “Yes, of course we’re doing blue,” she confirmed. Her stomach twisted. She’d never gotten a color palette wrong. It was one of her strongest skills. Okay, no need to panic. It was just one tiny error easily fixed.
“Wonderful. Oh, I attended a party at Anne Hathaway’s friend’s and went simply crazy over her entertainment room. Minimalist decor. Red walls, sleek black furniture, clean sculpture. I’d love to reflect the tone but make it unique. Lord help me if she visited and discovered we tried to copy her! But you’re probably doing something similar, right, darling? You know how I adore that type of sharp expression.”
Her heart began to pound. She’d missed this, too. How? She’d done a complete and thorough profile on her clients, and that type of scheme wasn’t even in her notes as a possibility? They were as far from minimalist as a hippie was from a CEO. Were they kidding? Sweat pricked her forehead. Her mind sifted through the design mock-ups and furniture she’d placed on hold. Maybe they’d just changed their mind after seeing someone else’s house. Sometimes clients thought they wanted a look even though it didn’t fit them to live with it long-term. She couldn’t doubt herself now. They’d sense doubt and go in for the kill like a shark.
“I have it covered,” she said smoothly.
Petra clapped. “Thank you, darling, I knew I didn’t have to worry. I’ll let you get back to work, and we’ll check in next week. Kisses.”
Morgan said her good-byes and clicked off.
She was in deep trouble. Her gut was so clear and visible for this project, yet they seemed to be going in a new direction. Should she scramble back and redo? Or keep with the original plan with the hope they’d adore it when they walked into the house?
Morgan pulled out her dossier and samples and got to work. Re-sifting through every decision made so far, she threw out the green color scheme and researched blue. The curtains would need to be reordered, of course, and the French antique side table would be too fussy for them. Minimalist?
She had a damn headache.
Morgan worked through the next few hours, placing calls and contacting her various suppliers. The sun sank and the light bled away. Everyone had probably gone home by now, but she still needed to wait for one more call. Stretching out her cramped muscles, she spotted the TV on the sliding shelf and checked her watch.
No one was around. No one would know.
Morgan grabbed the remote, turned to her favorite channel, and poured herself a glass of sparkling water.
Anticipation ramped up as the beginning credits rolled and she sank into the leather lounge with a happy sigh.
Her favorite guilty pleasure.
The Real Housewives of Orange County.
Or New York. Or Atlanta. Of course, Jersey was one of her favorites, but it didn’t really matter. The drama and catfights and sleeping around was pure deliciousness. Million Dollar Listing was too close to work.
Oh, Lord have mercy, it was the reunion show, part two! How had she missed part one?
In gleeful amusement, Morgan let the arguments wash over her, loving the way Andy Cohen delicately balanced the job of host with his other job to score as much drama as possible from his cast. She was having such a good time, she didn’t hear the knock on the door until it was too late.
“Morgan? I’m the last one out of here tonight, so I wanted— What are you watching?”
Morgan jumped up like she’d been caught in a sex scandal and blocked the TV. “Nothing! Just flipping through the channels while I wait for my final call. Goodness gracious, it’s late. You should’ve left a while ago.”
“I could say the same for you.” Sydney tilted her head to peek at the TV while Morgan tried to fumble with the remote. “Oh, my God. Tell me you are not watching the trashiest show on television.”
“No, of course not! I was looking for CNN, and—”
“I love the housewives!” Sydney squealed. “It’s the reunion show! They’re the absolute best, and Andy is brilliant. Can I join you?”
And just like that, Morgan realized she’d made a new friend.
“Yes. As long as you keep my secret.”
Sydney dropped into the matching leather chair and slid off her shoes with a groan. “Are you kidding? The men in this place would crucify me. They call this a complete nonfeminist show, but I don’t give a crap. I love it.”