The Ivy House

chapter 43

“Phoebe Ryan?” Phoebe answered her phone, only half paying attention. She was thinking of packing, trying to sort through the things she might want to take with her and the things that could go into storage. She had already contacted the real estate agent about the possibility of renting Ivy House out again and someone at an auction house about making a full catalog of Savannah’s stuff. The money could go to charity, Phoebe thought.

“This is Robin Smyth from Hot Style.” Phoebe perked up. Hot Style was one of her favorite reads, filled with all sorts of up-and-coming designers and products.

“I wanted to discuss featuring your line of pillows and accessories in an upcoming issue and on our website and TV segments. Your work recently came to our attention, and I think it would be a great fit in our next issue.”

Phoebe stopped what she was doing, trying to breathe. “You want to feature me?”

“Yes, we just love your stuff. Plus, I heard you’re restoring an old house. And that it belonged to Savannah Ryan. Listen, I was such a huge fan and was so sad when I heard your grandmother passed away. I just think that since you do such great stuff and if we can tie it in with her work, well, then it would be like the artistic torch is being passed from one generation to the next—even if the medium is different. What do you say, are you interested?”

Phoebe smiled and she could almost hear Savannah’s raspy voice saying, “You finally got your big break.”

“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with all the rumors going around now, does it?”

There was a pause. “Well, to tell you the truth, I got a call from at least four other designers who told me that they just had meetings with Serena about working on a collection together.”

“Oh,” Phoebe said.

“I guess her agent and manager are really shopping around. I am sure it would be a great opportunity for you, but I really like your stuff, even without someone else’s name attached to it.” Robin emphasized the word “your,” and Phoebe felt her heart beat a little faster.

“Plus, I am a sucker for cute little Victorian house with water views.”

Phoebe laughed. “Apparently, I am too. So, no matter what happens with the Serena deal, you want to feature me?”

She could hear Robin shuffling some papers. “Yes. And between you and me,” she said, dropping her voice, “I hear she’s a total nightmare to work with. And a total attention hog. Listen, it’s your business, but something similar happened with her clothing line. She went to ten different design teams before she found one that she stuck with, and they have a total non-disclosure agreement. They can’t tell anyone who they work for. And worse yet, they can’t put out anything of their own.”

Phoebe let that all sink in.

“Great. Now,” Robin continued, “I’m not promising anything, but many of the new designers and companies we feature, they see quite a jump in their business. Are you prepared to handle that?”

Phoebe looked around the study and her big workspace. Her sketches were spread out on it. She had been sorting through them, deciding whether any of them were worth keeping. There was a decision to be made here.

“I’m ready to handle it,” Phoebe said.

<<>>

Lynn had come over with a bottle of champagne when she heard the news. “I am so excited for you.”

Phoebe was nervous, but she could feel the adrenaline and the champagne kicking in. Excitement. Purpose. There was a chance that nothing would come of it, but she had to be true to herself.

“I think, maybe, I’m being manipulated.” She told Lynn what she had learned from Robin Smyth.

“I don’t think Chase would do that,” Lynn began.

Phoebe shook her head. She had done a little more research after getting off the phone and realized that Robin had been right. Supposedly, Serena was not known for sharing credit for design ideas. And once Phoebe had looked a little more closely at the press release about her collaboration with Serena, she saw that the language was intentionally vague about how committed Serena was to Phoebe.

“Not Chase.”

It took Lynn only a moment to put it together. “Oh, you think Dean is trying to get you away from here and Chase. I knew he was the villain.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes at Lynn’s dramatics. “Not a villain. Just being pretty aggressive in pursuing me. I think he’s doing what an agent does, spinning the media to make the situation work to his advantage.”

“So, you’re not going to get me backstage passes to a Serena concert?”

Phoebe shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I still know a few people. But I don’t think I’m going to be working with her. It’s my life, my terms this time.”

“This means that you’re not leaving?” Lynn’s face broke into a smile.

“No, I’m not leaving,” Phoebe assured her, knowing in that moment that she really did belong here, that she wanted to be here, to give this a real try.

“I’m glad. I would’ve missed you,” Lynn said, and, impulsively, Phoebe hugged her.

“This means more margarita nights at Augie’s.”

“I can handle it if you can,” Lynn said.

Phoebe took a sip of her champagne, savoring the bubbles. She would need to tell Dean her official decision. But not now. For now, she just wanted to savor the moment.

“Imagine, a major magazine wants to do an article on me…” Phoebe said, feeling her toes tingling.

“So cool. And you don’t care that they’re going to mention Savannah?” Lynn asked.

Phoebe shook her head. She had thought about this too. “It finally feels right. Like the editor said, an artistic torch being passed from one generation to the next. I think Savannah would have been proud. And happy.”

“Have you told anyone else?”

“I haven’t talked to Dean yet.” Phoebe shook her head. She wanted to keep him out of this opportunity.

“That’s not who I meant,” Lynn countered.

Phoebe turned to face her. “It doesn’t matter if I stay or go. Chase and I want different things. I want to settle down and, well, I don’t think he’s the type.”

“Did you ever tell him that’s what you wanted?” Lynn said, taking a sip of her champagne.

They had nearly polished off the bottle of champagne and were digging into a bag of potato chips when Phoebe got the text.

“Ugh, it’s Dean. He wants to see me. I guess he wants his answer.”

“Can’t you text him back?” Lynn suggested, licking the salt off a chip before eating it.

“No. I think a part of him wants to make sure I’m back in Los Angeles. Unless I can explain it to his face that I plan on turning down this amazing opportunity and why, he’ll think I’m delusional.

“Are you rational?” Lynn asked, gesturing to the half-empty bottle of champagne.

“I poured you more,” Phoebe said with a snicker.

“Ahh, no wonder I feel all floaty and wonderful. I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. Have you got a TV yet?”

Laughing, Phoebe tossed her the remote. She texted Dean back and ran upstairs, changing into a sundress and a pair of high-heeled sandals. Using her sunglasses as a headband, she fluffed her hair, grabbed her bag, and was ready.