by Wylie Kinson
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Destiny by Design
ISBN 9781419910913
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Destiny by Design Copyright © 2007 Wylie Kinson
Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.
Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.
Electronic book Publication May 2007
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Content Advisory:
S – ENSUOUS
E – ROTIC
X – TREME
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous.
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
Destiny by Design
Wylie Kinson
Dedication
To my best friend and soul mate—my husband, Simon—who inspired this story when he painted our bathroom in his underwear. He spoils me with love and laughter.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
American Idol: FremantleMedia North America, Inc.
Chanel No. 19: Chanel, Inc.
Cherry Garcia: Ben & Jerry’s Homemade, Inc.
Fabergé: Conopco, Inc.
G.I. Joe: Hasbro Industries, Inc.
Home Depot: Homer TLC, Inc.
Jeopardy: Jeopardy Productions, Inc.
Manolo Blahnik: Blahnik, Monolo
Mont Blanc: Montblanc-Simplo GmbH Corporation
Mustang: Ford Motor Company
Pepto-Bismol: Morton-Norwich Products, Inc.
Q-Tip: Chesebrough-Ponds, Inc.
Spidey: Marvel Characters, Inc.
Starbucks: Starbucks U.S. Brands
Chapter One
“Miss Strathmore? Hmpf! I thought this competition was exclusive to professionals,” Cynthia drawled for the benefit of her tittering entourage. The catty performance, punctuated by the click-clack of her four-inch stilettos on the parquet floor, echoed through the halls of the enormous empty house.
“Ignore her,” suggested Remi through clenched teeth. “Just take a deep breath and let it go.”
They watched Cynthia, her lackeys trailing a respectful distance behind, breeze up the grand, curving, Scarlett O’Hara staircase toward the master bedroom on the second floor.
“Cynthia’s never been easy to ignore,” Ellis replied as she stopped to admire the opulent crystal chandelier reigning over the double-story reception hall. “Her stink tends to linger long after she’s left the room.”
The five-thousand-square-foot home was completely bare. No furnishings or wall hangings, no knickknacks or area rugs—nothing that made a house a home. An elderly man in a hard hat frantically placed cardboard mats and sheets of plastic over the parquet and marble flooring. Enthusiastic design teams poured through the front doors, mindlessly bumping into burly construction workers in a race to see their assigned rooms and begin the competition. Ellis turned her attention to the unfurled floor plan in Remi’s latté-colored hands. They located the room entitled “home office” and headed for the west wing.
“Here we go,” Ellis mumbled, entering the room that would become her world for the next three weeks. She closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. She needed to empty her mind of all thoughts for this process. She liked to walk into a new room with no advance planning or preparation. No preconceived thoughts, no knowledge of the room’s history or purpose. Many designers could look at a floor plan and have the room designed before they stepped foot into the physical space. Not Ellis. She needed to feel the space, breathe the air and listen as the room spoke to her—the lines and curves, height and light, all longed to be noticed and appreciated. Each architectural element of the room wanted to stand out and it was Ellis’ job to enhance and flatter through fabrics, furniture and flow. Keeping in mind a room’s function, she would tap into its mood and infuse it with a sense of harmony.
Remi aimed his Mont Blanc at a fresh page in his notebook, prepared to jot down Ellis’ rambling thoughts as she surveyed the empty room. After two years of working together, Remi anticipated Ellis’ peculiar routine. She was like no other interior designer he had ever encountered and he was consistently awed by her talent. Ellis could walk into a raw space and absorb every detail of a room. She would close her eyes, breathe deeply and go into a trance-like state. She would run her palms over the walls and floors, trace shadows with her long, neat fingers and emit little whistling noises to hear the room’s echo. She’d mumbled ideas—colors, dimensions, placement, patterns—then turn to Remi blankly and ask, “What did I just say?” He learned shorthand very quickly lest he lose one of her ingenious musings.
Ellis knew what other designers thought of her methods. She heard what they called her—“loopy”, “wacky”, “Ellis the eccentric” and her favorite, “the room whisperer”—but Ellis refused to pay heed. She had confidence in her talent and as long as her clients were pleased, and they always were, she would continue to do her job the best and only way she knew how.
Remi’s admiration for Ellis’ unique style grew with each project they tackled, but more importantly, she impressed their clients. He never regretted leaving Cynthia Travers’ company, Afflairs, to partner with Ellis. Remi had loathed being Cynthia’s token.
Ellis did a complete turn in the empty fifteen-by-eighteen-foot room and smiled with anticipation. The Oak Ridges Development Competition was an opportunity to really prove her moxie. Only ten designers were chosen to showcase their talents in the model home of this exclusive enclave. Ellis was still considered a novice and barely had enough in her portfolio to qualify for entry. She was as surprised as Cynthia that Strathmore Interiors had made the cut.
Each designer had been given a room or room-combination in the show house to decorate. The two-story house featured five bedrooms plus master suite, formal living and dining rooms, a massive kitchen in the rear that extended the entire length of the house, a home office, and a family room cum recreation center in the basement. The grand-prize winner, chosen by a panel of judges from the National Design Guild, would have the opportunity to design the interiors of the next three houses in the development, working directly with the contractors and clients as the homes were constructed. The winner would have an enviable client base that would ensure referral work for years and years to come.
She may have been chosen for the competition, but Ellis wasn’t experienced enough to get one of the “wow” rooms like the formal living room, the kitchen or master bedroom, the latter of which went to Afflairs.
No, Ellis was assigned the home office with an adjoining half bathroom. In other words, she didn’t have a chance in hell at winning. Offices were meant to be practical, not artistic statements. Bookshelves, drawers and computer cables didn’t lend themselves to flash and sass. Ellis’ ingenuity would truly be put to the test and she was eager to begin transforming the small, unassuming little room into a quirky but functional showstopper.
“Remi, please go find out what crew we’re working with while I finish up here.” Ellis stood and stretched her back and legs. They’d been sitting on the floor in the middle of an empty room for almost four hours, discussing endless design possibilities. She was grateful for Remi—for his patience, his ability to define ideas that were foggy notions in Ellis’ creative brain and his energy. He made her laugh, he kept her focused and best of all, took care of the business end of things. She had considered herself very fortunate when he made the risky move of following her own departure from Afflairs. She couldn’t have asked for a better assistant.
Ellis sorted through their mound of scribbled drawings and hasty notes, pleased with what they’d accomplished. This wasn’t going to be a traditional home office. Oh no. Ellis had done some research and discovered that women, more than ever, were working from home, so her design was going to cater to the working mother. She planned to install a visual monitor with a link to the nursery so that mom could keep an eye on a sleeping baby, and an enclosed area for safe play so children could be in the room while she worked, paid bills and managed the household. She and Remi had come up with a purpose-built entertainment center that she was hoping could be custom made by the construction firm’s carpenters. It was going to be difficult to do all that she’d envisioned on the assigned budget but experience had taught her how to spend wisely, and on what materials she couldn’t, and shouldn’t, compromise.
Ellis was returning the colored pencils back into their case in precise order when Remi returned with a short, stocky olive-skinned man in tow.
“Ellis, this is Marco. He’s a foreman with Callon & Son Construction. His crew is assigned to work with us.”
“Hello Marco,” Ellis offered her hand.
“My pleasure, miss,” Marco replied in an Old Country accent Ellis couldn’t quite place.
“What’s the earliest we can meet, Marco, to go over our needs?” Ellis smiled politely.
“I’ll be available first thing Thursday morning. I’ll need a fairly good idea of what you want so I can schedule the workers accordingly.”
“Thursday?” Remi asked, biting a ragged thumbnail. They had barely three weeks from concept to completion and that didn’t give them a lot of time. “Is that your earliest time?”
“With all due respect ma’am, it’s already Monday. We’ll need drawings for any custom work, you know. Are you sure you’re going to know what you’ll need done in less than three days?”
“Oh yes. I’m sure we’ll have our concept all figured out by then, won’t we Remi?”
Remi smiled and nodded, knowing perfectly well that the room was already complete to the last detail in her mind.
“One last thing, Marco. Could I have your pager number? In case I have any questions.”
* * * * *
Ellis sat at her scarred oak desk, which was perfectly positioned against the west wall of her Strathmore Interiors office for optimum sunlight, and sorted through swatches of fabric. Stripes, solids and florals all had a turn being paired with a series of two-inch painted squares.
Eschewing the notion that one had to follow fads and trends, Ellis took her color combinations very seriously. The science of color had fascinated her for as long as she could remember. Black is usually associated with evil, but it also implies submission. Men of the cloth wear black robes to signify submission to God. White is associated with sterility or pureness. Red, the most emotionally intense color, stimulates a faster heartbeat and breathing, yet when white is added to make pink, the result is tranquilizing. Ellis once heard of a sports team painting the walls in the visitors’ locker room pink so their opposition would lose energy. Colors, hues, tones…they all had profound psychological effects that few people considered when decorating.
This is also why Ellis chose to wear neutral colors when on a job. She didn’t want her wardrobe competing with the energy of the room she was designing. Cynthia, a walking fashion show, could never understand this and often belittled Ellis’ poor sense of style.
For her show-house room, Ellis chose an analogous combination of warm oranges, with a few complimentary hues for accent. Orange increases oxygen to the brain, produces an invigorating effect and stimulates mental activity. It’s also a kid-friendly color, icing on the cake, but she was careful with tints and shades. Darker orange could illicit feelings of distrust while reddish-orange corresponded to desire, sexual passion and aggression. Not an ideal profile for a child-friendly work environment. Ellis was looking for golden undertones. Gold evoked feelings of prestige, wisdom and wealth. It was the perfect palette for a home office.
“Cynthia was pretty surprised to see us,” she said to Remi, who was sorting through two sizeable plastic storage cupboards.
“And she’s probably taking full credit for our being there,” Remi shot back.
“No doubt,” Ellis agreed, aware of Cynthia’s penchant for deception. “Let’s just try to stay out of her way for the next few weeks. The less we see of her, the calmer I’ll be.”
“We can try, but I predict she’s going to be especially difficult on this project,” Remi warned.
“According to your crystal ball?” Ellis jested.
“No girl, according to the latest and hottest gossip from my peeps.”
Remi had an enviable position on the grapevine.
“Remington,” Ellis mocked. “You know how I feel about idle gossip.”
“You want the short or the long?”
“The long! Definitely the long,” Ellis urged as she pasted and pinned samples on the mood boards she was creating. By putting color and texture options together, she could see how the paint, fabrics and wood finishes would create harmony in the room. She intended to put a few together before testing them out on location, to see if her mood boards looked and felt the same in the show-house office.
Remi, meanwhile, had taken on the tedious task of organizing what he affectionately referred to as Ellis’ Essential Decorators’ Toolkits, scheduled for temporary relocation to the show house. Most interior designers did the bulk of their work from their studios or workshops, but not Ellis. She liked being on-site as much as possible, to see her work take shape in front of her eyes, to work alongside the homeowner or construction crew—hence, her Essential Decorator’s Toolkits.
Each bin was compartmentalized, housing everything she could possibly need on the job—hanging implements like picture wire, anchors and push pins; attachment things like glue guns, twist ties, needles and thread; cutting tools like scissors, utility knife and light handsaw; measuring devices, everything from tape measure to t-square; and an assortment of basic tools, including hammers, c-clamps and screwdrivers.
Remi did a quick visual inventory and began the process of restocking as he related his recent acquisition. “Do you remember the accident last year?”
“Vaguely. I was in England for my cousin’s wedding. By the time I got back the dust had settled.” Ellis drew her brows together trying to access her memory. “Did someone get killed by a falling picture or something?”
“One of Cynthia’s interns,” Remi filled in. “But she wasn’t killed and it wasn’t a picture. It was so tragic. The poor girl was making the bed, fluffing the throw pillows, that sort of thing, and the mirror that had just been installed on the ceiling fell right on top of her. She was cut up pretty badly and suffered some head injury. Anyway, the girl isn’t quite right anymore, if you know what I mean,” he said, tapping his temple.
“How horrible,” sympathized Ellis. “But it was an accident, right? It had nothing to
do with Cynthia…”
“Aha,” he said, finding the staple gun he’d been rummaging for. “I haven’t told you the interesting part yet.
“According to my sources, the mirror wasn’t installed correctly. Cynthia wanted a bigger mirror than the one originally planned for in the design—you know her, bigger is always better—but the supports weren’t strong enough. She was on a pretty tight deadline, not to mention budget, so she bribed some poor immigrant worker, who has since been deported, to install the bigger, much heavier mirror.”
“Don’t tell me,” Ellis interjected. “They couldn’t prove who was at fault so nothing happened.”
“That, and Cynthia’s a force to be reckoned with in this town, so no one dared point the finger at her. There was also rumor of a payoff, but who knows.”