Page 13 of Waves of Time
Rodrick’s eyes widened. “Do you think? I think it’s atrocious. That’s part of the reason you’re here. My ex-wife hired a horrific designer to put the space together, and I can’t tell you how much I disagree with some of the choices.”
Hilary suppressed a laugh, eyeing the chandelier that glinted over the dining room table in the room alongside the one in which they currently sat. Oh, she hated chandeliers and had always thought they were tacky and stupid. Although this one wasn’t a knock-off, like Sam’s had been, it was still gaudy, as though Rodrick’s ex-wife had wanted to create a “French castle” feel. She couldn’t respect that at all.
“I see you’re looking at the chandelier,” Rodrick said suspiciously.
“I hope it doesn’t bother you that I want to immediately remove it?” Hilary said, testing him. “And maybe destroy it on the way out?”
Rodrick dropped his head back and howled with laughter. “Take it away immediately! I should call a trash guy to come right this second and throw it in a dump. You would be surprised how many arguments I had with my ex-wife about that very chandelier. Maybe it was the reason for our marriage ending?”
Hilary laughed at the joke. “I couldn’t marry a man who liked chandeliers,” she explained. “Then again, I’ve never been married. Maybe my standards are too high.”
“When we talk about chandeliers, Mom always says, ‘Wait, didn’t we outgrow the French monarchy a long time ago?’” Aria chimed in, sounding charming and playful.
Rodrick continued to laugh. “I can already tell we’ll get along swimmingly.”
Hilary removed her phone from her purse— a designer Birkin bag, one she knew impressed people like Rodrick, and asked if she could record their conversation.
“Aria and I want to get a sense of your personality and needs,” Hilary said. “After that, we can create a plan for your home that suits you best.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Rodrick said with a wave of his hand. “Record away.”
Over the next two hours and thirty-nine minutes, Rodrick gave Hilary and Aria a feel for his personality, all right. The man was incredibly verbose, frequently breaking off into side stories about his previous lives in Rome, Tokyo, and a tiny mountain town in Montana. He wanted the apartment to feature his past in unique and beautiful ways, as a way to remind him of all he’d done. “But I want it to make room for the future, too,” he explained. “I will become something else after this divorce. Something incredible. And this apartment will be the stage for that development!”
Hilary and Aria were careful not to make eye contact during this ridiculous exchange. Beyond anything, Rodrick was quite helpful for their mission, and they’d already begun to make notes about color schemes, furniture, and plants. Hilary shivered with excitement at the potential of such a well-lit place. It had been a few years since her work had been featured in a major interior design magazine, and she was hungry for that accolade again.
At seven o’clock, the doorbell rang. Rodrick leaped to his feet, still hanging onto his dog, and said, “Who could that be?” And then: “Is it really already seven o’clock?”
The butler answered the door and led a man Hilary had never seen into the living room. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with deep-set eyes, a muscular abdomen, and legs that seemed slightly too long for the rest of his body— his only flaw, if that could even be considered one. Hilary’s heart did a cartwheel as she stood to say hello and tried not to think about the fact that he was, in nearly every way, her “perfect man.” Visually, at least.
“Frank Wilmington, as I live and breathe,” Rodrick said. “You’re back in town?”
“Just for tonight,” Frank said, his voice deep and confident. “I thought I’d stop by and see you. It’s been a long time.”
Hilary eyed Frank, then Rodrick curiously.Were they business associates? Old friends?It was difficult to say. Although Rodrick had feminine tendencies, word on the street was he was a serial monogamous in the heterosexual department— and had no interest in men. Frank Wilmington, of course, seemed about as straight as they came, like a cowboy from a western film in better clothing.
“Frank, I’d like you to meet friends of mine,” Rodrick said. “Hilary and Aria Coleman are here to help me with my redesign. I have a hunch they’re the only women in the world who can do the job right.”
“Rodrick is very particular,” Frank said.
“We appreciate a man who knows what he wants,” Hilary replied, then thought to herself,was that a stupid thing to say?
Oh gosh. She hated when she met people who made her second-guess herself. She was too old for this.
“Please, Frank. Sit down,” Rodrick instructed, pointing to a chair on the other side of him. “We have more wine. Don’t we, Sean?” He called out to the butler.
The butler returned moments later with another glass and a bottle. Hilary and Aria had hardly touched their first glasses, as they were in professional mode, but Rodrick had made his way through most of the first bottle and didn’t seem eager to stop now.
“Frank is from your neck of the woods,” Rodrick said. “In fact, I believe he was the first one to show me your work.”
Hilary eyed Frank suspiciously, surprised that a man like him knew anything about interior design.
“You’re from the east coast?” Hilary asked.
“I am. Just bought a place in Nantucket, in fact,” Rodrick told her.
Hilary’s lips parted with surprise. “What are the chances?”
“It’s a marvelous island,” Frank said. “I moved in about a month ago and have spent most of my time out on the sailboat.”