Page 21 of Best Laid Plans

Chapter 10

Nova

The Larue Homes headquarters was a converted plantation house, an elegant reminder of the past merged with modern sophistication. The grand, white-columned façade stood proudly amidst sprawling, manicured lawns, and centuries-old oak trees draped in Spanish moss. It was very Anson.

As I stepped inside the building, I was impressed. The interior blended historic charm with contemporary design—gleaming hardwood floors, high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, and large windows that offered sweeping views of the lush grounds and the distant Blue Ridge Mountains.

"I'm Nova King," I told the receptionist, "I'm from Savannah Lace."

The blonde smiled. "Yes, Miss King, they're waiting for you." She then frowned. "Ah…you have to sign this." She put a document in front of me.

"I've already signed an NDA," I told her as I perused the sheet of paper she put in front of me.

Anson was pulling out all the stops. This contract essentially said that I was not allowed to steal anything from the office, not even a paper clip. I smiled as I signed it. If Anson thought that this would humiliate me, he had something else coming his way. The girl he knew had become a strong woman, who had learned from other strong women. I looked up to Luna, Stella, Aurora, and Nina and saw women who held their own. No one fucked with them. No one would fuck with me.

He made me wait for fifteen minutes. Instead of looking at my watch petulantly or even feeling impatient, I made myself a cup of coffee at the lobby bar, and drank it while I went through my presentation on my iPad.

I was making notes on the questions that I'd be asking the team when I heard the click-clack of heels on the hardwood floors. I didn't look up until Bailey was standing right in front of me, and cleared her throat. I lifted my eyes and smiled at her.

"We're ready for you," she snapped.

I stood up and saw the receptionist's confusion. This was not how Larue Homes employees treated guests.

I held my hand out. "Hello, Miss Hyatt."

She looked surprised and had no choice but to shake my hand. If she wouldn't be professional, I'd just push that issue. I believed in professionalism.

As Nina always said, "Your clients are just that. You don't have to marry them and take them home, make it work with them. When they go low, you go high—so you have the vantage point to take them down without hurting the business."

I followed Bailey up the original wrought iron staircases. I admired the antique chandeliers, which were complemented by state-of-the-art technology and workspaces that evidently honored the building's heritage, while driving forward into the future.

We walked through an open-plan office, which was probably the plantation's old ballroom. It looked like a space where employees could collaborate freely, and it reminded me of Savannah Lace, where only senior leaders had offices, and most of the time, they joined their teams on the floor for impromptu meetings and brainstorming sessions.

It was evident that Anson had designed a headquarters that encouraged creativity. From the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw the meticulously maintained gardens, providing a serene backdrop for outdoor meetings and events, and probably fostering a sense of community among the employees.

Bailey sashayed as she walked. She didn't say hello to any of her colleagues, though they smiled at me and nodded. I responded in kind. We were in the South, for God's sake. People on the street asked you how you were doin'.

But then Bailey had always been rude and uptight. She was still model thin; painfully skinny in my eyes. Her hip bones protruded. Her ass was flat. Her tits were big, and I'd guess she'd had them done. As well as her nose, I noticed. The fat Hyatt nose she had as a teenager was now angular. She was a year older than me but looked much older, I thought, probably because of how she dressed. It was too severe, too society-housewife-playing-businesswoman.

Savannah Lace had a two-word dress code, "Dress appropriately." That meant that we all wore what we were comfortable in without offending anyone. Luna was usually in jeans and boots, which she switched up for the summer with jeans and Chucks. Stella wore loose linen dresses with flat sandals and shoes, and hardly any makeup. Nina loved her pantsuits, and liked pull her hair back in a ponytail. Aurora was always in a sheath dress and perfectly made up.

All the women at work dressed in their own inimitable style.

I, Luna, joked, dressed like Joan Harris or as Red from Mad Men, to which I said, "I'm waitin' on Jon Hamm to show up and finally claim my fat ass."

As a kid, I didn't have money, so I wore whatever I could afford. At university, where I went, thanks to a scholarship, I had to rely on what was generously called vintage. That's where my romance with outfits from the fifties began. I loved their classic cuts and charm. They made me feel good. Once I started working, I continued to wear vintage clothes, and styled my hair in a ponytail or a bun. For a night out on the town, I'd even wear a flower or two in my hair. I didn't wear a lot of makeup, but was partial to a red lip in the evenings, and matte pink for the daytime. My perfume of choice was Jo Malone's Peony & Blush Suede, because it was subtle, and I didn't do well with strong scents. I didn't go for noisy fragrances like Miss Bailey Hyatt here, who was drowning in Dior's cloying Poison.

Bailey took me to a conference room, which I instantly fell in love with.

The original fireplace, now purely decorative, was surrounded by modern furnishings, and the table was a sleek, polished mahogany. Glass lined one wall, offering a panoramic view of the rolling hills.

"Please stay here and don't wander around," Bailey said coldly. "Given your reputation, we had you sign a contract prohibiting you from taking anything from the premises. Security will check your backpack and person—"

"No, they won't check my person," I smoothly cut in. "If this is how you treat a partner, good luck working with Savannah Lace. I'll be leaving now."

Bailey looked confused like she couldn't understand how I'd grown a spine. "I don't think your boss will appreciate you walking away from a lucrative contract like ours," she sneered.

"My boss would be disappointed if I didn't after the way you've treated me, and I've been in your offices for less than a half hour. Please let Mr. Larue know that someone from Savannah Lace will be in touch." I turned around, and saw that he stood in the doorway.

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