“Caroline, don’t say those things to me when I’m so far away.” Simon chuckled, his voice low. And still as thrilling as it ever was.
“Silly Simon, I’m simply reacting to the banging on the other side of the wall.”
“Who’s on the other side of the wall?”
“The guy with the hammer. You should see it. It’s huge.”
“I’m going to have to ask you not to talk about some other guy’s hammer.”
“Then get home and wow me with yours.” I laughed, closing the door to my office to reduce the noise. It wouldn’t be my office much longer, though. I was moving up in the world—or at least down the hall. That was the cause of the banging: renovating my new space. Bigger office, corner office, thank you very much, right next to Jillian’s, my boss and owner of. Better view of the bay and almost twice the size of my old office, with a small anteroom for a possible future intern.
I might one day have an intern. How was this my life?
“I’ll be home tomorrow. Think you can keep your thoughts on my hammer until then?” he asked. I glanced at the calendar on my desk, Simon’s arrival home circled.
“I’m gonna do my best, babe, but you should see how thick that tool belt is. No promises.” Simon groaned and I laughed harder. I loved torturing him across multiple time zones. “And don’t forget my present.”
“Do I ever?”
“No, you’re a thoughtful one, aren’t you?”
“Don’t forget my present either,” he said, his voice going low again.
“Pink nightie is ready to go; I’ll be in it when you get home.”
“And then I’ll be in it, on it, under it, I’ll—oops, gotta go, taxi’s here.”
“We’ll continue the nightie talk in person. Love you,” I said.
“Love you too, babe,” he said, and hung up.
I stared at the phone for a moment, imagining him halfway across the world in Tokyo. This year alone he’d logged more frequent-flier miles than most people accrued in a lifetime, and he was booked solid for the rest of the year.
I was still smiling at the phone when Jillian knocked and breezed in, then sat on the corner of my desk.
“Something on your mind, Jillian?” I asked, pulling a browned petal from the vase of coral tinged roses next to where she was resting her cashmere-clad bum.
“I can see something is on your mind. Was that Simon on the phone?” she asked as I grinned. “Only he can make your face light up like that.”
“I say again—something on your mind, Jillian?” I repeated, poking her ever so slightly with my pencil.
“I have something on my mind that might make your face light up even brighter—although it is an interesting tomato-soup color right now,” she teased.
“Does your fiancé find you as annoying as everyone who works for you does?”
“Way more, way way more. You ready to hear the big news, or did you want to keep sassing me?”
“Hit me,” I said with a sigh.
I love my boss, but she does have a flair for the dramatic. Like when she played matchmaker last year for Simon and me, playing dumb the entire time. But her heart was in the right place. It also belonged 100 percent totally and completely to Benjamin, a venture capitalist. They’d been together for years and were finally tying the knot in a few weeks, in a wedding that all of San Francisco was talking about. Benjamin was a certifiable dreamboat who made my best friends and me giddy and word-trippy whenever he was around. Jillian knew we all had a not-so-secret crush on her man, and teasingly used it against us as often as possible. Now she was finally marrying our dream man, and heading off for a dream honeymoon all over Europe.
“So remember the job we did last spring for Max Camden? The waterfront Victorian we did, before his daughter got married?”
“Yeah, he gave it to her as a wedding present. Who does that?”
“Max Camden, that’s who. Anyway, he owns the old Claremont Hotel in Sausalito, and he’s looking for a new design firm to update it and give it a modern twist.”
“Fantastic! Did you do your proposal already?” I asked, picturing the property. Right off the main drag in Sausalito, the Claremont had been there since the turn of the last century, one of the few to survive the Big Quake.
“No, because you’re doing the proposal. You’ll be the lead designer on this project if you get it,” she clarified. “You think I can take something like this on? Right before my wedding? I’m not giving up my honeymoon for work—I’ve given up too many vacations over the years as it is.”
“Me? No no no, I’m not ready for that, you’re not ready for that, what are you thinking?” I stammered, my heart leaping into my throat. This was big-time, baby.
“Please, you got this.” She kicked me gently. “Feel that? That’s my foot, kicking you out of the nest.”
“Um, yeah, I’ve been out of the nest awhile now, but this is different,” I protested, chewing on my pencil.