Chapter 5

I was about to make an excuse to leave when Jake dropped another task on me. "Chloe, you're an interior designer. The design and renovation are all on you."

Memories of my past life flooded back-a brutal experience that would make a slave driver wince.

Sam was impossible. She wanted American style one day, vintage the next, then industrial.

She bombarded me with hundreds of photos but never gave a clear direction. "Just show me what you come up with," was all she said.

My designs changed constantly, shifting styles, sometimes reverting to the first draft.

She made impossible demands, like asking for "a colorful black," just to mess with me.

I went back and forth 99 times before she finally approved one. When Jake found out, he patted Sam's shoulder sympathetically. "Poor Sam, you worked so hard. It's Chloe's fault for being so incompetent."

The memory makes my blood boil. But not this time. I'm done playing. Let's see what masterpiece Sam can create without her free, devoted labor!

So, I put on my troubled face again. "I sprained my hand a couple of days ago. The doctor said I need a lot of rest, so I can't draw any designs for at least two months."

Jake raised his voice, agitated. "Two months?! We can't wait that long!"

"Why did you have to sprain your hand at such a bad time?"

I put on a hurt and regretful expression, looking down, but in my head, I'd already cursed that selfish jerk eight hundred times.

Sam, looking completely confident, spoke up. "Forget it, I don't think she'd design anything good anyway."

"I'll handle the design and renovation. I'll make it so dazzling it'll blind you all!"

A few months later, Sam's renovation finally blindsided me. She had spent nearly $200,000.

The result was pure apocalyptic junkyard chic. It looked like she'd just dumped a bunch of hideous, eye-sore second-hand furniture into a bare concrete shell.

That was it? Any customer walking in would probably burst into tears from the ugliness.

But Sam proudly declared, "Look at my design style! Isn't it super cool? Super badass?"

Jake's expression was a little complicated. He awkwardly glanced around a few times before finally managing to squeeze out, "It definitely... has style..."