Page 92 of Designed for Disaster

“Scrolling my inbox.” I’d neglected it for a few days, and the junk mail had built up again. Stacy was right. I needed to stop subscribing to things.Holy shit, I thought, suddenly pausing my scroll. Veronica Chase? What the hell wasshedoing in my inbox? Was this some kind of prank? “Oh. My. God.”

“What is it?”

I hovered over the email, on high alert. “I have sirens going off in my head.”

“Ooo,” Stacy said. “Talk.”

“I don’t know if this is junk mail or a phishing scam—but at first glance, it looks like an actual big name interior designer has just reached out to me.” If this was real, how the hell had she gotten my personal email?

“Wait, you think it’s related to the Fisher thing?” Stacy asked.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, trying not to get my hopes up as I opened the email. It was only last week that I’d finallyrealized what it was that bugged me about all the weird 1stDibs customers I’d been getting lately: the ones who kept demanding designs and not commissioning furniture. The problem wasn’t that they’d all sounded the same; the problem was that theywereall the same. I’d finally recognized a weird typo that Fisher always made—spellingenviornmentinstead ofenvironment. So every email that asked me to design “something that would fit into a luxury enviornment” had been written by him.

“You never told me what happened with that,” Stacy said.

“You mean before or after I almost threw my laptop against the wall?” I had been so pissed at myself for not immediately picking up on Fisher’s bullshit, and for sending him more furniture designs before catching on, that I’d actually screamed myself hoarse. I’d been so desperate for the 1stDibs work that even though I’d known the requests had seemed fishy, I’d never stopped and thought it through for long enough to put two and two together. But the moment I did, it all became clear. Fisher had created all those different account names in order to trick me into handing over my design ideas—designs he could pass off as his own.

“After, obviously. I know you said you screenshotted all the communication you’d had with him and his sock puppets. Did you ever email it to your old boss?”

“Yeah.” I’d sent the whole batch of messages to my former manager at Echo and told them that if Fisher had come forward with similar designs after the dates marked on the communication, then he was committing theft—and the company would be liable as well, if they chose to utilize my work without my consent. I didn’t threaten legal action because let’s face it, I didn’t have the means to take on an established andsuccessful company. But the tone was there, and I’d hoped they would do the right thing.

“And?” Stacy said.

“I never actually got an email reply, but I heard from some old colleagues that Fisher has been fired.”

“Hell yes!” Stacy said. “That’s the least of what that asshole deserves. Too bad it didn’t happen sooner.”

I grumbled. “But you see why this email popping up in my inbox now feels…odd, right? Like, is this Fisher screwing with me, just to be petty?”

“You really think it’s him?”

“I don’t know. It seems more likely than the idea that this email could be legit. It’s from a very big deal client who would have absolutely no reason to know or be interested in me.”

“Well, you’re a big deal too.”

I snorted. “Thanks, but not compared totheVeronica Chase. If this really is her.”

“Why does that name sound familiar? Have I seen her on TV?”

“Probably. She had that home design series on Netflix.” Veronica designed spaces for some massively huge names in New York City. Anyone who was anyone in the city had Chase Designs furnishing their rooms.

“Well, what does she want? You haven’t said yet.”

I scanned the email. “Looks like she’s interested in commissioning some custom pieces after learning about mefrom…” The breath whooshed from my lungs. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“What?”

“It’s Trent!” I practically yelled into the phone. “Freaking Trent! That’s how she knows who I am.” I stopped reading, my fingers curling into fists. I resisted the urge to slam my laptop lid down. Rage boiled inside me.

“You’re sure?” Stacy asked.

“Yep. She mentioned him by name in the email. God, what is this? Another ploy to try and buy me?” Because that’s exactly how it felt. I’d rejected his big fancy workshop filled with the prettiest wood I’d ever laid my eyes on, and now he was using someone else to try and weasel his way back in my favor. Someone who would be a really valuable contact for me to have! Well, it wasn’t going to work. The last thing I wanted was to let him think my forgiveness could be bought. “I’ve gotta go,” I said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know…call him and read him the riot act, probably.”

“Good. Give him hell!”

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