Everywhere and Every Way(27)

A frown marred his brow. "Want to. I think we're missing out on a  critical piece of profit in Harrington. Problem is, Cal is focused on  the building, and Dalton is mesmerized by wood."

She smiled. It must be hard being not only the middle brother but also  the business-oriented one. "Do you know that old farmhouse on Balance  Street? The one with the crappy roof and shoe-box windows?"

"Yeah."

"It's for sale."

He cocked his head. Considered. "It's a crap house."

"Exactly. Imagine what you could flip that for, since it's on a dead-end  street. A family with children would go nuts for that place."

Those blue-gray eyes flickered with interest. "Who told you it's up for sale?"

"Perry at the granite store. His sister's in real estate and said it was  impossible to sell. Seems they're looking to dump it for a song."

Tap-tap-tap. Morgan enjoyed the transformation on his face. Purpose  carved out his elegant features, and she imagined his brain was  short-circuiting with ideas. "Let me check it out. It's small enough to  renovate fast as long as the foundation and guts are still good. A  project like that can funnel money easily into the business and open up  new doors. I've been telling Cal this for a while now. Maybe it's time I  make him listen."

Morgan didn't want to involve herself in family dynamics, but it was  obvious Cal liked things the way they were. Tristan was wasting his  talent doing accounting and running back and forth to suppliers. She'd  been out with him a few times already, and his knowledge of what would  work in an empty room was pure magic. If he knew property as well,  Pierce Brothers was sitting on a gold mine and didn't even know it.         

     



 

"Thanks, Morgan. I'll let you know on the bluestone."

"Great. Good luck."

She spent the next hour organizing her materials, then finally dialed  the Rosenthals for their meeting. The screen shifted to reveal the  glamorous couple sitting on a white-cushioned lounge. Ah, they must be  on the yacht. Water sprayed from the rail. The sprawl of stark white  houses scattered on a cliff under an azure sky filled the background.  Petra's signature honeyed hair and bright red lips still managed to  startle her. Morgan thought she could be termed the most beautiful woman  in the world. Her eyes glowed almost violet, and her body was lean  muscle without being unhealthy. At over six feet, she had legs that were  insured at Lloyd's of London for millions. A white floppy hat perched  on her head, and her French-manicured fingers held a tropical drink.

Her husband, Slate, had taken Hollywood by storm for his part in a  famous gangster movie that earned him an Academy Award nomination. The  film taking place in Harrington was his next project, and critics said  it was crucial he excelled as a main lead. His dark hair and brooding  Latin looks were the perfect complement to Petra's golden aura.

"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."

"Me too. I love when they host parties and we see the houses."

"Yeah, but you're actually creating one. You have the coolest job."

Morgan beamed. "Yeah, I kind of do."

They watched the whole show, and Morgan loved being able to chat and  compare notes on her favorite vice. After an intense debate over who was  the best character on the show, Andy signed off and they flipped off  the TV.

Sydney sighed with pleasure. "I feel so much better now."