Renewed, page 13
part #1 of Chance Brothers Series Series
“This she-shed of yours gives me serious workspace envy,” I joked.
Marisa's sly smile mirrored my appreciation for her haven. “I know. Levi convinced me it was a worthwhile investment, allowing me to spend more time at home with Jack. Plus, I get to make it truly my own.”
“When I grow up, I want to be just like you. Seriously, being here makes me want to work with you even more. I've always admired your work and design taste from what I've seen on the network. And now, I'm not just a fan. I'm a devout convert.”
She invited me to sit at a table that resembled a workstation but with stools. I pulled out fabric samples, tiles, and a board displaying various looks to set the desired ambiance. Marisa observed silently as I accessed the renderings for the design on my iPad's Dropbox.
Her eyes darted between the samples, the board, and renderings done on my computer.
A slight smile broke from her focused gaze. “You completed all this in less than four days? Damn, that's impressive. No wonder Rebecca insisted on getting you on our team.”
Pleased with her confession, I blurted, “I was highly motivated to get it right. I understand the difference between creating a style for selling purposes and one for a homeowner.”
“Well, I like what I'm seeing. So that you know, we need to present the clients with a detailed breakdown of the decor costs in case they decide to keep it. After all, it's all for the show,” Marisa explained.
“I completely understand. It's the same with my home staging projects. Buyers love the finished look, and sometimes they even want to negotiate buying the furniture and decor, though it doesn't come cheap.”
“I can imagine. Clients have no clue what it takes to make a home look finished.
“You won't believe this, but one client actually walked into a staged apartment and bought it on the condition that everything remained the same. It took some negotiation, but she was determined to have it. And small world that this is, I find out later that she’s Rebecca’s childhood best friend, Karina.”
Marisa shook her head and said, “Ugh, yeah, that doesn't surprise me. Karina is a force to be reckoned with, especially in PR situations. I can't think of anyone better to have in my corner, speaking from experience. If not for her, my career in media could have gone in another direction.”
From her somber tone, I gathered it hadn’t been an excellent memory, and I didn’t push.
“I never asked what she did for a living, but she had enough to buy that pricey South Beach apartment. And that was great for me since she insisted that it be sold furnished if the deal was to go down.”
“Which was great for us since now you’re going to be a wonderful asset for the show.” Then, her demeanor changed to one of all business.
A prickling fear began in my stomach…did she know about Marcos and me? Did she believe I had my priorities messed up? I stayed rock-still and silent.
“But I have to warn you, the community of decorators at your level is small,” she continued. ” And the network doesn’t tolerate much that might affect its image.”
Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I was slightly alarmed at her words. “Where is this coming from? Did someone accuse me of something?”
Marisa's expression darkened momentarily, a fleeting shadow of concern. “Word travels fast in this industry,” she began, “I heard Kimberly Pressfield is stirring the pot about you. But I've figured out that her noise is likely just professional jealousy and nothing more.”
I released a sigh, massaging my temples. “I appreciate the heads up, Marisa. Kimberly… she's my persistent ghost from the past. She was my first mentor in home design.”
“Lucky you,” she responded her tone a mix of irony and sympathy.
“I can hardly believe it myself,” I admitted ruefully. “I thought ignoring her would suffice. I need to reconsider my strategy.”
Marisa paused, sipping thoughtfully from her water. “Sometimes a good offense is the best defense. But remember, there's a fine line between standing up for yourself and inciting more drama. Kimberly's actions reflect more on her than on you.”
Her words held a certain wisdom that grounded me. “I'll keep that in mind. I didn't sign up for drama, Marisa. I love what I do and want to help change how people perceive interior design.”
She nodded a firm resolve in her eyes. “That's the spirit we need. Let's focus on the work and let the results do the talking. Remember, we're a team; no one can undermine us without our consent.”
A wave of relief washed over me at her words. “I couldn't agree more. Shall we get back to business?”
Her eyes lit up with renewed vigor as she refocused on the samples I'd brought. “Let's dive in. I believe we have a lot to discuss, especially about the Moroccan rug sample. I think it's perfect for the foyer.”
As the day progressed, we immersed ourselves in the project, with each detail and idea discussed meticulously. Amidst it all, a certainty anchored me: I was where I belonged, doing what I loved. I wouldn't let anyone, not even Kimberly Pressfield, disrupt that. A newfound resilience bubbled within me, a reinforced determination to hold my ground. I would be ready to pick it up if Kimberly had thrown down the gauntlet. But for now, it was time to prepare for the grand reveal of the Renovated show's home. The show must go on, and I was fully committed.
16
Marcos
The phone's shrill ring jolted me awake at five in the morning—a portent of impending trouble because who on earth would be calling this early if there wasn't an issue? Still groggy from a sweet replay of the night before with Jenni, I found myself hoping for a second chance if she was willing. The hesitant voice of my foreman on the other end of the line snapped me back to reality. “Sorry, boss, didn't mean to wake you.”
I stifled the inkling of dread starting to churn in my gut, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don't sweat it. What's up?”
“I wanted to catch you before you got the day rolling—wasn't sure if you had something scheduled.”
My heart sank further when I picked up on the uncertainty in his voice. “No, nothing on the agenda today… Just got the Havens property to look into.” He hesitated as if about to say something else, then fell silent. That pause tightened the knot in my stomach. Construction, what a job. It started the day before dawn, and already there was a snag. Rubbing my weary eyes, I sat on the edge of my bed. My foreman was the handler of my side gigs, which didn't cut the big projects I did with my brothers. Every month, the loan seemed to stretch further, the interest gouging deeper into my profits.
“Supply chain issues again.” He sighed. We knew this could set us back months and cost us a fortune. The email informed us that all the appliances and fixtures were back ordered and asked if we wanted to change course.
Taking a deep breath to buy time before answering, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Give me a couple of hours. Before I decide, I want to assess the whole situation and down some coffee. I'll call you back later with an answer.”
“I hate to bug you with this so early, Marcos,” he apologized. “I’ve got another project to wrap up today.”
“I know,” I replied, starting to come to full consciousness.
“No one likes being the bearer of bad news. All right, I'll call you soon.”
With that, I hung up the phone and realized there was no point in trying to catch more sleep. Might as well face the day. My mother's hefty, nine-year-old bull mastiff, Kira, was snoring loud enough to rouse the dead, but when she noticed me getting out of bed, she let out a hefty sigh and started stretching. Having inherited her after Mom's passing, we all had formed a bond with Kira. She’d stood by Mom during her long battle with cancer. I met Kira at my kitchen door, scratching under her chin as her tail thumped out an excited beat. Her robust dog scent hit me.
“Woah, you stink. I can't take you anywhere until I bathe you.”
At the word “bath,” she bounded away from me. Grabbing a towel and shampoo from the mudroom, I chased after her, trying to wrangle her into the makeshift doggie spa I'd set up in my backyard.
“You’re lucky that I’m even taking you along,” I told Kira, now ensconced in the passenger seat of my truck and smelling distinctly of oatmeal-based dog shampoo. I tried to bring Kira with me when I wasn’t showing properties or on-site—the guilt of leaving her alone, mixed with my brothers' fondness for her, made the decision easy. But today wasn't going to be a typical day. I was headed to the Chance Construction offices to meet Jenni and share some not-so-good news about a house she was staging for me. Our family business, Chance Construction, had expanded from a makeshift office in a trailer on my parents' property to a spacious warehouse in Saltview after my dad's passing. Each of us brothers managed a part of the operation—I found the locations, Jeremy handled the budget, Dale was our cabinetry and woodwork expert, and Levi, our eldest, was the CEO who orchestrated the whole thing.
Upon arrival, Tamara, our resident office superhero, looked up from the invoices on her desk. “Good morning! You're here early,” she commented, indicating the mug on her desk. “I just made a fresh pot. Want some?”
“You know I never say no to coffee,” I responded, holding the door open for Kira, who immediately headed straight to Tamara for her customary doggy treat.
“Didn’t expect you today. Jeremy and Levi have a meeting later with some new clients. They've given us the green light on the project and want to finalize the contract,” Tamara remarked as she handed me a steaming mug.
“I should probably check my schedule then. When's the meeting?” I asked, pulling up my supplier files on the computer.
“It’s scheduled for around ten. I’m compiling the contracts and the payment schedule right now,” she replied.
I was still wrestling with suppliers an hour and a half and four phone calls later. My phone pinged—a message from Jenni letting me know that Rebecca had scheduled a meeting between her and Marisa and to look at my email for my project's renderings and cost breakdown.
My reply suggested we meet in person instead. She teased me about my “animal magnetism” and being “hard to resist.”. The banter brought a hint of a smile to my face, but the reality of my morning—tackling the property problem had stolen most of the joy from it.
When Jenni had messaged me that she was nearly done with Marisa, I'd asked her to wait for me and that I’d be there in less than ten minutes. Arriving at Levi's home, I found Jenni and Marisa sitting under the Poinciana tree in the front of the house. My sister-in-law had made it a mission to finish refurbishing this grand old house after she’d moved in with my brother. She'd modernized it while retaining its old-world charm—a feat that had inspired a book and a TV series.
As I walked over to them, Marisa called out a greeting, “Hey, where’s Kira? I was looking forward to seeing her.” At Jenni’s curious stare, she pauses to fill her in on how Kira had been our mother's faithful companion through her battle with cancer and had been adopted by all of us brothers in our mother’s absence.
Jenni touched her forehead with her index finger and said, “That explains the massive dog pillow in the kitchen. I was wondering why there wasn't a dog around.”
Marisa laughed. “I get it! We're wired to pick up on the tiny details others miss.”
Jenni nodded. “Absolutely. It's all about the details.”
Marisa drew Jenni into a side hug, “I'm glad Rebecca insisted we bring you in. You're going to be a wonderful addition to the team.”
Marisa stepped back, unclipping a baby monitor from her waist. She watched her son, starting to pull himself up in his crib-turned-toddler bed, on the tiny screen. “Got to run, Jack's waking up.” She began to stride back towards her house but pivoted suddenly back to us. “Before I forget...Jenni, I loved your ideas. We're definitely on the right track.”
Jenni's face lit up with pride. Despite all the praise and accolades she received online, she remained humble.
Jenni responded gratefully, “Thanks. When I return to the office, I'll create a schedule and render my recommendations with a budget.”
“Levi said he'd pick up Kira from the vet,” I called out to Marisa before she disappeared into the Spanish colonial.
Marisa’s face broke into a broad smile. “Your nephew is going to be over the moon. Kira always sleeps at the foot of his bed when she's here.”
After a final wave to my sister-in-law, she closed the door of her home. Left in the fading light, Jenni and I stood by our respective vehicles.
“So…is this what they call the awkward silence?” she joked, her eyebrows lifting in amusement as a playful smile tugged at her lips.
The hint of chemistry was unmistakable and, I admit, pretty hard to resist. The day might not have started well, but at least it seemed to be improving.
17
Jenni
A beautiful twenty-five acre plot, inherited from a great-great-grandparent nearly a century prior—what a marvel. I had never imagined such a humble, down-to-earth pair could be land-wealthy. Marisa had shared this secret gem when I'd asked about her home's secluded locale. With the windows of my car rolled down, the sea's salty kiss on my cheek, and the distant sound of crashing waves serenading me, the journey was already a feast for the senses. Sprawling palm trees and towering spruces bordered the narrow road, the alternating landscape a picturesque frame. A captivating pink Victorian house with intricate gingerbread cutouts teased my aesthetic sensibilities. The urge to pause and capture its charm was strong, but with Marcos's truck a few yards ahead, I resolved to keep moving.
Marcos was my guide in this unfamiliar terrain, his truck acting as my beacon. I let my eyes dance over the views, my gaze settling on a small, serene body of water that hinted at a connection to the Everglades. A sunbathing crocodile claimed it as its territory—an exotic sight. Marcos signaled a right turn, leading me to a two-story modular home, its surrounding vegetation meticulously cleared. It appeared more suited to grace the cover of “Homes and Gardens” than exist in this expansive compound.
He parked and waited by his SUV, a courteous gesture I found endearing. I turned off my engine, and the new environment lured my gaze as I disembarked. His welcoming words, “Welcome to my humble abode,” accompanied by an embrace and a soft kiss, had me melting against him. This warm reception surprised me, especially after our restrained professional encounter at Marisa’s. The fine line between professionalism and intimacy seemed blurred.
We entered his home through hefty oak double doors, stepping into a bare foyer leading into an unmistakably masculine retreat. My decorator's eyes swept the space, noting the enormous television, the oversized cloud sofa, and the hefty oak cocktail table filled with resin—a quintessential bachelor pad.
“Did you just move in?” I ventured, my eyes drifting over the sparse space.
He returned my question with a sheepish grin and a shake of his head. “No… I built this from scratch with my crew three years ago. Just haven’t managed to fill it with stuff yet.”
I kept my observations to myself, silently admiring the clean lines and the potential for interior design. “Well, if you ever want a consultation, I charge top dollar to decorate strangers' homes,” I joked, following him into his kitchen. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as he went to a stainless-steel paneled fridge that stood by an equally sizeable standalone freezer and pulled it open. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Water’s fine, thank you.” As he served us from the dispenser, my curiosity led me to ask, “Whose Victorian did we pass on the way over?”
“That was my parents’ home, but my brothers Noah and Carlos are the only ones living there now. Soon, it’ll just be Carlos. Noah’s finishing the construction on his land down that road to the right.” He pointed in the opposite direction from which we came in.
“Beautiful. I had wanted to stop and take it in but was afraid I would lose sight of you on the road.” I sat on one of the three stools on his island, and he came and took the chair beside mine.
“Does every Chance brother live on this property?”
He nodded. “Every one of us, at twenty-five, each inherits an equal portion of the land here to build our own home. My father had put that in his will when he died.”
“Each of us wanted our unique design, a space representing us. Levi, the traditionalist, restored and extended the original home. The rest of us went for more modern styles, building from scratch. We've been tossing around ideas about what to do with Mom's house once Carlos moves out,” he shared, his eyes sparkling with fondness and nostalgia.
We both leaned against his immaculate, sparkling white kitchen island, absent of clutter except for our two water glasses. The faint scent of lemon and cleaning products lingered in the air. The conversation flowed naturally as he filled me in on his family's unique land inheritance and home construction tradition. His hand brushed against mine, sending a jolt of warmth up my arm, which sparked a hopeful anticipation of what was coming.
“Something seemed off last time we spoke. Did you manage to resolve those issues you were facing?” I asked, recalling the tension on his face outside Marisa’s house. I had meant to ask him earlier, but the thought had slipped my mind.
“Yeah, the usual supply shortages. My contacts warned me it could drag on for another six weeks or so,” he explained, a hint of frustration tinging his voice. He was upset, and it showed. His shoulders had slumped, his brows were furrowed, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. He raked a hand through his hair as he sighed deeply, his gray eyes so intense they seemed to pin me in place. All I could do for a moment was stare into them before he finally broke the gaze.
