Page 33 of Designed for Disaster

“Sure,” I said, twisting back around as she disappeared, facing that scandalous sketch of me and dream-Trent. My phone beeped, and I looked down to find a notification from 1stDibs. I usually ignored these messages until I was back home, but I needed something to clear my head.

I opened it, grateful for the distraction as I scanned the message.

Good day, I’m looking for something one-of-a-kind. Would you be able to design me some pieces that reflect…

My heart sank.

I stopped reading. This was a new client, but it sounded an awful lot like the jerk customer that liked to commission a piece, make me waste hours of work, and then ghost me. Even the wording was familiar. One-of-a-kind my ass! I deleted the message without responding and closed the application, irritated. I didn’t need to waste my time drafting things for someone who was never going to end up buying my work.

I huffed, finally crumpling the sketch of the chaise and throwing it away. The last thing I needed was anyone else seeing it. Sheila might have thought I was good for Trent, but that was because she thought we had a relationship that didn’t exist. I was here for the paycheck, nothing more. And I needed to remember that.

10

TRENT

The U-Haul rumbled beneath me, and I gritted my teeth, tightening my hands on the steering wheel. It felt like I’d sat my ass in the middle of an earthquake. I fully expected this absolute garbage excuse for a vehicle to crap out in the middle of the road any second. The guy behind the desk at the rental place had assured me it was a reliable box truck, but every time I checked one of the mirrors, I expected to see a plume of black smoke gushing from the exhaust. The last time I’d rented a U-Haul, I’d been moving into my apartment after college. Never in my life did I think I’d be doing this again. I tightened my grip, cranking the wheel hard to make the turn at the next traffic light.

Why the hell was the wheel so sticky?

I rounded the corner and honked at a couple of pedestrians that went darting out in front of me. This was not the vehicle to be playing chicken with, and I wasnotin the mood. The company I’d hired to deliver the old church materials Natasha had selected to her workshop had gotten their dates mixed up, and with no trucks available this weekend, I’d opted just to make the delivery myself. I could have called around for another companyor waited for the movers to give me their next availability, but this was for Nana Dee, and I wanted to get the materials to Natasha as soon as possible.

The truck trundled down the road into a neighborhood of tall brownstones and streets lined with trees, some of the leaves already yellowing in the early October weather. It would be a lovely image, if the truck wasn’t sputtering so damn bad and I wasn’t trying to keep the wheel from pulling left and veering into a parked car.

At the next four-way stop, I dialed Jimmy, putting the phone on speaker and listening to it ring as I drove across the intersection. I figured it was best to keep both hands on the wheel.

“C’mon, little brother,” I muttered, looking at the house numbers. “Pick up.”

I shook my head when it went through to voicemail. “You’ve reached Jimmy Saunders. Catch you at the beep!”

“Hey, it’s me,” I said. “Again.” I let a little annoyance seep into my tone. “I’ve tried to reach you a few times over the past couple of days. Not sure if you’re just out or what, but call me back when you get this. I just want to hear how it’s going.”

With Jimmy away at Princeton, I wanted to make sure everything was all right. I knew the transition had been tough, and I was hoping to hear that he was finally settling in. I hung up the phone, spotting Natasha’s building. I pulled along the side of the street, wincing as the tires bumped along the curb. God, I hated this truck.

I cut the ignition and hopped out, heading around to the back of the U-Haul to lift the roll-up door. As I did, Natasha appeared wearing ripped jeans and a plaid shirt. She came hurrying upa short set of stairs, slowing as she spotted me. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun, a couple stray curls falling down into her face. A pair of safety glasses had been wedged into the bun—it was disarmingly sexy. She leaned against a black railing, crossing her arms.

“Heard that thing rumbling all the way down the block,” she said, gesturing to the truck.

“Pretty sure it’s one pothole away from exploding,” I grumbled.

The corner of her mouth quirked. “That day when I came by to pick out what I wanted from the warehouse, I thought you said you had a moving company that would handle the delivery. Was that a lie, or do you moonlight as a mover?”

“Nah, this is what all the CEOs are doing nowadays.”

“I see. Getting hands-on experience.”

I touched my hand to my chest. “I personally like to understand every aspect of my company from the ground up. Gives it the personal touch.”

She smirked. “I assume the movers you hired fell through?”

“Yeah, double-booked or whatever. So you’ve got me instead.” For a moment I thought I saw her blush, then she turned away, heading back down the stairs.

“You can bring it through here,” she called over her shoulder.

I grabbed the first piece of lumber, carrying it down into the basement for her. She’d said she’d converted it into a workshop, but I hadn’t expected anything so elaborate. There were projects in various stages of completion and materials and power tools everywhere.

“Uh…where do you want this?”

She pointed across the room. “Leaned up against the wall over there if you can. Be careful of all the cords.”

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