Pillows, fabrics, and things. I have my own company, but I mainly do consulting work.”
“Would I have bought any of your stuff?” Lynn asked, and Phoebe could tell she was curious.
“Sort of,” Phoebe answered.
“Sounds like another story.”
Phoebe sighed. Not even tequila could make this story better. “I told a client that she had the taste of a hillbilly.”
“A client?” Lynn was puzzled.
“I was hired by a certain celebrity, one with her own cooking show, to help her develop a line of dinnerware. She and I had different ideas on what things should look like,” Phoebe said simply. The taste of that defeat was still far more bitter than what had happened with Garrett. She had gotten what she asked for when she dated an actor. But the breakup of her professional relationship had come out of left field.
It had hurt when CallieSue Owens hadn’t bowed to Phoebe’s far superior design sensibilities. And that manufacturing company, the one paying Phoebe’s fee, had chosen CallieSue’s white-trash design sensibilities over her own.
“You don’t mean CallieSue…” Lynn started to guess.
“Shh. No one is supposed to know she’s not designing it herself. But yeah, I mixed it up with a gal from Texas and guess what?”
“What?” Lynn asked.
“You really don’t want to mess with Texas,” Phoebe said.
Lynn hooted with laughter. The blond guy in the fleece was starting to make his way over to them, and Phoebe decided she didn’t care if he came over or not. Perhaps a preppy guy in fleece was just what she needed to block the thoughts of Chase out of her mind.
“Did you get another job?” Lynn asked.
“No, not at the moment. I am clientless.” Phoebe only hesitated for a moment. CallieSue Owens had made sure of that. Phoebe had underestimated the amount of pull the woman had and, now, no other celebrity would touch her. Dean, CallieSue’s agent and a friend of Phoebe’s, was trying to smooth things over, but she was pretty sure that it was a long shot.
“Then what were those sketches I saw you working on?” Lynn asked.
Phoebe hesitated. She had, in between consulting gigs, been working on her own designs, her own lines. It had been sort of a sideline, the pillows, but the designs had started to take off around Los Angeles. Someone she knew, an interior designer, had used a few in a client’s home, and that home had made it into a style magazine and Phoebe had gotten credit. She had a website, of course, and before she knew it, people were trying to order pillows from it.
So far, Phoebe had done everything through phone and email, but now that she had no other commitments, she was thinking that perhaps it was time to get serious about it, about her own line of home goods. Still, the decision was so new that it felt weird talking about it out loud. But if there was one person who would certainly not judge her, it was Lynn.But if anyone was certain not to judge her, it was Lynn.
“No, I’ve been working on a business idea. I think I was getting tired of coming up with all these great ideas and having other people take the credit for it. Quitting my job, taking care of Savannah, coming here—it all feels like maybe it’s a part of a journey, some journey to find what I really want to do with my life.” Phoebe stopped.
“Well, Queensbay is about as small and real as it gets. Not that we don’t have our little society here. There’s the Garden Club and the Yacht Club—Friday night barbeques, not to be missed…” Lynn gave a laugh. The guy in the fleece, joined by a friend in a ball cap, was edging closer.
“I guess it wouldn’t be such a bad place to try and blend in,” Phoebe said, twirling the stem of her oversized margarita glass. She realized that she was really considering the thought. Sure, Ivy House needed work to make it fit for habitation, but not that much. After the renovation, she could keep working on it while living there and running her business.
“You
“Would I have bought any of your stuff?” Lynn asked, and Phoebe could tell she was curious.
“Sort of,” Phoebe answered.
“Sounds like another story.”
Phoebe sighed. Not even tequila could make this story better. “I told a client that she had the taste of a hillbilly.”
“A client?” Lynn was puzzled.
“I was hired by a certain celebrity, one with her own cooking show, to help her develop a line of dinnerware. She and I had different ideas on what things should look like,” Phoebe said simply. The taste of that defeat was still far more bitter than what had happened with Garrett. She had gotten what she asked for when she dated an actor. But the breakup of her professional relationship had come out of left field.
It had hurt when CallieSue Owens hadn’t bowed to Phoebe’s far superior design sensibilities. And that manufacturing company, the one paying Phoebe’s fee, had chosen CallieSue’s white-trash design sensibilities over her own.
“You don’t mean CallieSue…” Lynn started to guess.
“Shh. No one is supposed to know she’s not designing it herself. But yeah, I mixed it up with a gal from Texas and guess what?”
“What?” Lynn asked.
“You really don’t want to mess with Texas,” Phoebe said.
Lynn hooted with laughter. The blond guy in the fleece was starting to make his way over to them, and Phoebe decided she didn’t care if he came over or not. Perhaps a preppy guy in fleece was just what she needed to block the thoughts of Chase out of her mind.
“Did you get another job?” Lynn asked.
“No, not at the moment. I am clientless.” Phoebe only hesitated for a moment. CallieSue Owens had made sure of that. Phoebe had underestimated the amount of pull the woman had and, now, no other celebrity would touch her. Dean, CallieSue’s agent and a friend of Phoebe’s, was trying to smooth things over, but she was pretty sure that it was a long shot.
“Then what were those sketches I saw you working on?” Lynn asked.
Phoebe hesitated. She had, in between consulting gigs, been working on her own designs, her own lines. It had been sort of a sideline, the pillows, but the designs had started to take off around Los Angeles. Someone she knew, an interior designer, had used a few in a client’s home, and that home had made it into a style magazine and Phoebe had gotten credit. She had a website, of course, and before she knew it, people were trying to order pillows from it.
So far, Phoebe had done everything through phone and email, but now that she had no other commitments, she was thinking that perhaps it was time to get serious about it, about her own line of home goods. Still, the decision was so new that it felt weird talking about it out loud. But if there was one person who would certainly not judge her, it was Lynn.But if anyone was certain not to judge her, it was Lynn.
“No, I’ve been working on a business idea. I think I was getting tired of coming up with all these great ideas and having other people take the credit for it. Quitting my job, taking care of Savannah, coming here—it all feels like maybe it’s a part of a journey, some journey to find what I really want to do with my life.” Phoebe stopped.
“Well, Queensbay is about as small and real as it gets. Not that we don’t have our little society here. There’s the Garden Club and the Yacht Club—Friday night barbeques, not to be missed…” Lynn gave a laugh. The guy in the fleece, joined by a friend in a ball cap, was edging closer.
“I guess it wouldn’t be such a bad place to try and blend in,” Phoebe said, twirling the stem of her oversized margarita glass. She realized that she was really considering the thought. Sure, Ivy House needed work to make it fit for habitation, but not that much. After the renovation, she could keep working on it while living there and running her business.
“You
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