by Nita Brooks
“Good, now I can ask what I really want to know,” Valerie said.
Yvonne breathed her own sigh of relief after her mom walked out. She wasn’t ready to pick wedding colors. Hell, they didn’t even have a date yet. “What’s that?”
Valerie folded her hands on the table and cocked her head to the side. “Now that you’re engaged are you and Nathan finally going to.” She wiggled her brows. “You know?”
“God, I wish!” The exclamation was out before Yvonne could stop herself.
Valerie sat up straight. Disbelief crossed her sister’s face. “You are still waiting?”
“Yes. Not my idea. It’s his. He’s sticking to his beliefs. I admire him for it.”
Valerie raised a brow. “But . . . what if the wedding night comes and he sucks.”
Yvonne laughed and went back to the table with her sister. “He won’t suck. He’s an excellent kisser and he’s great with his hands. Believe me.” She winked. “I’ll be good.”
Her sister held up a hand. “If you say so. I would at least want to test the waters.”
She did, too. So very much. “I also respect Nathan’s wishes. Besides, we’ve built our brand on our values. We can’t go back on that just because we’re engaged.”
And Yvonne understood the importance of perception. She staged a room to convey whatever feeling a client wanted. Her and Nathan’s public relationship was no different. They’d set the stage to make their potential viewers and clients happy.
“Ah ha!” Valerie snapped her fingers. “That’s the real reason. You want to help sell the show.”
She did, but that wasn’t the only reason. She wanted Nathan. But she did admire and appreciate his willingness to wait. He wanted her. Not her body. She wasn’t just a fun pastime. She was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Yvonne’s chin lifted, and she smiled at Valerie. “Selling the show is a bonus. I’m going along with this because I’m worth waiting for.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her notebook and pen case. “Now, since Mom’s gone through all the trouble of bringing these magazines and I do need to plan a wedding, I might as well get started. Let’s go through them and—”
“Let me guess. Make a list?” Humor filled Valerie’s voice.
“Yes. It’s how I stay on track.”
“You know, one day you’re going to come across a situation that can’t be fixed with a list.” Valerie took one of the magazines and flipped it open.
“Doubtful. There are always pros and cons. Therefore, I will always be able to decide the right way to go.”
“See, that’s your problem. What happened to going with your gut?”
“Going with my gut did not get me where I am today. Now shut up, take a pen,” she tossed a pink one at her sister and Valerie caught it. “And let’s start writing down ideas to consider for what will be the happiest day of my life.”
Chapter 3
As usual, Jacob did not want to get up and move any faster than molasses in January as Yvonne got him ready for school. As she struggled to get him out of bed, argued with him again about why it was necessary to brush his teeth daily, and said get your shoes on so many times she lost count, she once again debated the idea of hiring a nanny to help out in the mornings and afternoons. Nathan’s idea.
Her interior design business had been doing remarkably well, but the recent media attention had increased her demand. The life she’d carefully orchestrated with the right balance of entrepreneur time, mommy time, and me time was becoming dramatically out of whack.
When she’d mentioned the idea of a nanny to come in and help with Jacob her mom had immediately disapproved. Her guilt trip was the reason Yvonne continued to put the idea aside. Though on mornings like this one, when Jacob moved like a stoned sloth and she had an important meeting with her new client, Sandra Covington, first thing, she yearned to have someone else there to help her in the mornings. Nathan didn’t spend the night often, and for the rest of the week he’d be working on a new project in Savannah.
She finally dropped Jacob off at school with a kiss and an I love you, glanced at her watch and swore. She was going to be late. But Atlanta’s hellish traffic surprisingly cooperated with her. No major accidents and no rain to make drivers even more spastic on the road, and she arrived at Sandra’s multi-million dollar newly constructed home in Buckhead’s Tuxedo Park ten minutes late instead of the twenty she’d texted Bree.
She was buzzed in through the gate and parked her Audi next to Bree’s Mini Cooper in the large circular drive. Grabbing her sketch pad and messenger bag filled with fabric samples, color swatches, and other materials, she hurried to the front door. Her new heels pinched her toes as she sprint-walked. She ignored the discomfort. Once upon a time she’d had a more relaxed, bohemian flair. Not a single pair of high heels in her possession. Then she’d realized designing the interiors of the homes owned by rich and privileged people meant the bohemian air had to go. She’d given up the enviable curly coils that matched her sister’s for sleek straight hair, donned stylish business suits as her armor, and gotten used to heels—no higher than four inches if she wanted her knees to cooperate.
Yvonne Cable was put together, competent, and bold. At least that’s what the write-up in Southern Living had said. She was proud of her carefully designed image. Proud of where it had gotten her. No one looked at her and saw an easy target. Not anymore.
The door was answered by an older man in a butler’s uniform. “Ms. Cable?”
Yvonne nodded and tilted up her lips in a polite smile. “I am.”
“Please come in. Ms. Covington is finishing up with her personal trainer. You can wait with your assistant in the study.”
Yvonne thanked him and followed him into the home. Her eyes scanned the inside. The house was built to be flashy and impressive, exuding wealth and status rather than the air of a cozy, comforting retreat. The walls were the basic eggshell color given to the interior of most newly constructed homes. Typically, the builder had interior designers who worked with the homeowners to decorate while the homes were built. The Covington Home, as she’d labeled the place, had none of that. Sparsely furnished, no accents on the walls, no personal touches. A blank canvas. Her heart raced, and her fingers itched to stop and immediately begin sketching the ideas running through her head.
When they entered the study, Bree was walking around taking notes. There was furniture there; ornate, traditional furniture, that overpowered the space. With the placement of the windows and the morning light filtering in, the room deserved cleaner lines. Room to breathe.
The butler left them, and Bree came over. “She’s running late.”
Yvonne breathed a small sigh of relief. “She’s not the only one. Sorry about that. It was a rough morning with Jacob.”
Bree waved a hand. “Girl, my sister has three kids and always complains about the morning ritual. I would have had your back if she’d been on time.”
That was exactly why Yvonne loved her assistant. Bree thought of the things Yvonne needed before she’d realized them herself. She matched Yvonne’s style in a navy-blue business suit, but added color with a bright yellow shirt beneath that complemented her complexion.
“What are your initial impressions?” Yvonne asked.
“This house is begging for your touch. It’s a clean slate. Impressive as is, but your touch will make it magnificent.”
Yvonne put down her bag and flipped to an open page in her sketchbook. “Magnificent . . . I like the sound of that.” She grabbed a few colored pencils and walked the space.
Bree fell into step with Yvonne. “Do you think you can feature the design on your show with Nathan?”
“Our show hasn’t been picked up by a network, yet.” But she was already thinking ahead. The house would make a great feature. She wondered if Ms. Covington would be willing to let them film a little before.
“But it’s going to be.” Bree’s optimism flowed with every syl
lable of the show’s full title. “Southern Chic with Nate and Vonne,” Bree said with a flair of her hand.
Hearing the show title sent a rush of goosebumps over Yvonne’s arms. She might actually have a television renovation show. She was living this life. She wanted to pinch herself but was still afraid some major jinx would happen and mess up her perfectly patterned existence.
“Judy has a few interested networks. We may even have offers by the end of the week.” Yvonne stopped at the windows and started a rough sketch of the perfect drapes to frame the area.
“Nathan’s proposal made you guys an even hotter topic. You were trending on Twitter the night he proposed. Usually, I’m not a fan of public proposals, but you two are so in love. You’re real, you know, there aren’t many couples out there who are really committed the way you and Nathan are.”
Yvonne smiled and continued sketching. “It was sweet.”
“And you’re waiting until the wedding.” Bree placed a hand over her heart. “Who does that anymore. I think it’s super romantic.”
Yvonne stopped sketching and turned to Bree. “How did you know we’re waiting?” The decision was just made.
“It was in the statement released yesterday. Nathan and Yvonne are continuing to dedicate themselves to the values that built their relationship,” Bree said, sounding like a news anchor. “They’ve chosen to wait until their wedding night before consummating their relationship.”
“What?” A statement had gone out already? Damn, Judy. She should have known the overeager publicist wouldn’t want to wait to get the word out. Not while simultaneously trying to get the major networks to buy their show.
“I think it’s admirable.” A woman’s voice came from the door. “We don’t see many people willing to sacrifice physical pleasure to build a stronger foundation.”
Yvonne ignored the burning embarrassment in her cheeks and faced the woman in the doorway. Sandra Covington, she presumed, was younger than Yvonne had expected. Probably only a few years older than her. Tall, mahogany skin, strong brown eyes and thick hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
She walked in and held out her hand. “I’m Sandra Covington. Sorry for keeping you waiting.”
Yvonne stepped forward and shook Sandra’s hand. She had a firm grip. The butler said she’d been with her physical trainer, but she greeted them in a tasteful linen green suit. “Yvonne Cable. This is my assistant, Bree Foster. Thank you for allowing me to decorate your home.”
Sandra slipped her hands into the pockets of her pants. Her head tilted slightly to the left. Her eyes focused on Yvonne’s face. “You came highly recommended. You look just like your picture on your website.”
She’d gotten odd compliments before from clients, and she hoped this was a compliment, so Yvonne kept the pleasant smile on her face. “As advertised,” she said waving a hand in front of her face.
“Indeed,” Sandra said still studying her. “You’re . . . not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“To feel differently.”
Yvonne blinked. “Differently about me?”
Sandra’s head straightened, and she stepped back. “No, I’m just excited. About the house. My husband got to pick the layout and floorplan; I’m in charge of decorations. I don’t know where to start.”
“May I ask who referred you to me?” She liked to know who recommended her in order to send a thank you card and gift later.
“I don’t remember off hand,” Sandra said. “If it comes to me, I’ll let you know. You’re marrying Nathan Lange, right?”
“I am,” Yvonne answered, unsure about the shift in questions.
“How did you manage that?”
Keeping her pleasant smile was a little harder. “I didn’t manage anything. He asked, and I said yes.”
“Sorry, again, I don’t mean anything by that. I’m just interested in your relationship. A fairytale ending almost.”
Sandra’s eyes were sharp and interested as she watched Yvonne. A reminder to be careful with what she said in front of the woman. Sandra didn’t engage in malicious celebrity gossip on her show. She spent most of the time counseling the callers who came to her for advice. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t use Yvonne’s relationship with Nathan as an example of a couple to “analyze” on her show.
“Almost.” Yvonne lifted her sketchbook. “Do you have ideas for the house? We can walk around, and you can tell me what you think while I take notes. Draw a few sketches, preliminary of course, then come back with more concrete ideas later.”
Sandra smiled. “Sure, let’s start with that.”
They toured the house which was even more impressive as they went through. She and Bree took notes along the way. Instead of telling them what she’d like to see, Sandra continued to throw personal questions out to Yvonne.
“Your mother, she’s from Atlanta?”
“Yes.”
“What about your father?”
“Not around.”
“You have one sister, correct? And you have a son, too, is that right?” Sandra asked as they walked down one of the stairs to the front of the house. “How does he feel about the engagement?”
Yvonne stopped at the bottom. She’d hidden her annoyance when she was asked about her past, but Jacob was off limits. He was her baby, and she didn’t discuss him with anyone outside of her family. If this was what it would be like to work with Sandra, then maybe the job wasn’t worth the effort.
“With all due respect, Sandra, I don’t like to discuss my son with clients.”
“I meant no disrespect. It was an innocent question.”
“Still, I like to keep a line between myself and my clients. I respect your privacy and the privilege you offer by allowing me in your personal space. If you can’t do the same for me, then you may need to find another interior designer.”
Sandra’s brows raised. “You do know that my show has a large listening audience?”
“I do.” She really wanted to be known by that listening audience, but not if it meant revealing her personal life to Sandra. Between Celebrity Housewives and a statement about when she’ll finally have sex again, her personal life had enough publicity.
“Some of the most successful and influential people in the city listen to my show and look to me for advice.”
Sweat ran down Yvonne’s back, but she didn’t back down. The client pool she’d get from working with Sandra would make her the name in interior design even without the television show. But leaving Jacob out of her professional life was a hard line and one she couldn’t understand why Sandra wouldn’t let go.
“I do, but you also need to understand that my professional life is very public. It’s about to become even more public as Nathan and I continue to work together and possibly have a television show. Keeping my son out of that spotlight is the most important thing to me.”
Sandra watched her for several more seconds. Bree fidgeted with her pencil in Yvonne’s periphery. After several long seconds, Sandra relaxed and smiled.
She held out her hand. “Have it your way. But I do hope that as we work together, you’ll learn to trust me. I’d like for us to become friends.”
Shocked but also grateful Sandra hadn’t taken offense Yvonne relaxed and shook her hand. “That would be nice.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Yvonne still couldn’t get the conversation with Sandra Covington out of her mind. She didn’t think she’d been rude. Typically, conversations with clients about her family were easy to keep generic. But Sandra had pushed past the superficial, or maybe she was extra sensitive after Bree mentioned the statement.
The world was about to be in her personal life. She had to keep something to herself. Still, had she pushed too far?
“Hey Bree,” Yvonne called.
“Yeah,” Bree called back. Her desk was right outside of Yvonne’s office. They frequently had conversations via shouting across the hall.
“Can you come here for
a second?”
Keys on Bree’s keyboard clicked. The sound of a chair rolled against the floor before Bree stood in Yvonne’s door. “What’s up?”
“Was I too sensitive with Sandra and her questions this morning?”
“No. That lady was all up in your business.” Bree said in a rush as if the words had been longing to come out sooner.
Yvonne nodded. “So, it wasn’t just me?”
“Nah.” Bree crossed her arms and leaned on the door frame. “I get the general ‘are you from around here’ questions, but asking about your mom, dad, and Jacob was too much. You were right to set boundaries.”
“I wonder why she was like that.”
“Probably so she can try and save your soul.” Bree’s casual reply.
Yvonne laughed at the off the wall response. “What?”
“You know those self-help types. Gotta fix everybody.”
Yvonne considered it. Sandra had probably viewed her as a good conversation topic for her show. “You’re right,” she said. “As long as she’s cool, I’ll be cool. Besides, her point about making connections from her show is true.”
“Why are you worried about connections? You and Nathan are about to go big time. You don’t need connections.”
But she’d always need her own money. Her own security net. In case Nathan tossed her aside the same way. She cut the thought short and took a deep breath. “I’m not shutting down Yvonne Cable Designs. Never hurts to keep the connections.”
Yvonne’s cell phone rang. “It’s Judy.” Bree nodded and backed out of the office. Yvonne answered the call. “Hey Judy.”
“Yvonne, how are you?” Judy’s voice was pleasant, as always, but something about her tone put Yvonne on edge.
“I’m good. Is everything okay with you?”
“Yes. Things are great. In fact, that’s why I’m calling you. We’ve gotten an offer. A really generous offer.”
Yvonne’s concerns over Judy’s tone flew out the window. She stood and walked to the window. She’d never been good at hearing important news sitting down. “That’s fantastic. What network?”