Etruscan pals to notice.”
It wasn’t professional to kick your coworker during a meeting at Joyce Alexander’s house, unfortunately. Teddy had to settle for an evil glare, which Romeo avoided by staring at the crystals in the fireplace. Coward.
Time dragged on. Was this how product pitches usually proceeded, at least when the pitchee was a slightly eccentric celebrity? And what exactly was Joyce doing? Maybe she was deep in consultations with lawyers and accountants. Or maybe she was on the phone with Lauren, chewing her out for sending such a pair of incompetents.
He poked gently at his messenger case, in which his brochures and spec sheets huddled, unwanted and unloved. They were pretty great too, with witty wording and with color schemes and graphics that referred to Googie design concepts without pushing the theme too hard. He’d even included a couple of sly, subtle hints of Joyce Alexander’s aesthetic in hopes to influence her subliminally.
Teddy couldn’t sit a moment longer. Although Joyce hadn’t ordered them to keep their seats, she also hadn’t invited them to leave the room. So, hoping he wasn’t making a terrible breach of etiquette, Teddy rose and wandered the room, pausing to visually examine the decorations. Every one of her crystal doodads was worth a fortune, and that didn’t count the luxurious piano and designer furniture. Teddy had never particularly entertained dreams of wealth—he wanted comfort and relevance, not decadence—but he paused for a bit to consider what he might buy if he had piles of money at his disposal.
A bigger home, a car instead of a scooter. A huge closet filled with clothes. He’d still haunt thrift shops, because that was more fun and challenging and sustainable than buying new. Mmm, but he’d probably buy a bunch of new footwear, like those amazing boots he’d spied in a store window last week. Gorgeous things with—
“What are you doing?” Romeo hissed from his chair.
“Nothing. Just looking.”
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I’m not six years old, Romeo. I can control my impulses, and I know how to look with my eyes and not with my fingers.”
The skeptical look in response deserved a retort, but getting into an argument in Joyce’s house wasn’t wise. It could wait until they were back at the hotel, hopefully after Joyce’s promise to back the project.
After a few more tours of the room, Teddy sat down again. He unlocked his phone and opened Instagram, wondering how Gregory would react if Teddy posted a photo from Joyce Alexander’s house. Except Gregory didn’t follow him on social media, so he’d never know. He tucked the phone away and picked up his teacup and saucer instead, seeking some neutral activity for his hands.
At long last Joyce returned, holding a slim silver pen and a small notebook covered in one of her signature fabrics. Teddy couldn’t read her expression as she sat down, arranged her skirt, and opened the notebook.
“I have concerns,” she said. The pen point hovered over a page.
Teddy’s stomach clenched into a queasy ball. Concerns was even worse than complications. He waved feebly at his messenger bag. “I can show you some of the results from our focus groups. We gathered a lot of good feedback there.”
“I have all the specs,” Romeo offered. He waved his phone. “And the video with mock-ups of the software.”
But she gave her head a tiny shake. “My concerns aren’t about the vase itself. They’re about the two of you. I have no doubts you’re each very talented, but together? In order for a design to work, the patterns must complement one another. I’m fearing that you simply clash.”
While Joyce seemed distressed by her announcement, and Romeo was looking down at his own feet and scratching his lip, Teddy felt like he might burst into tears or throw up, or possibly both. He lurched to his feet and unsteadily set the cup and saucer on the table beside the stupid antique pot that would probably cost him six months’ rent.
“I’ll, uh, call for a Lyft,” he mumbled and started for the door.
Joyce stood, blocking his way. “Wait! You mustn’t give up so easily.”
“But—”
“I said I have concerns. And I do. But that’s not the same as rejecting the project altogether. I need more information.” She nodded toward Romeo. “More data, yes? Then I can make my final decision.”
Teddy’s lungs eased enough that passing out seemed less of a possibility, although puking was definitely still an option. “Data?” he squeaked.
Joyce broke into a wide smile. “Gentlemen, I propose a test.”
Chapter Eight
Teddy had