the chance to transform their homes. From checking the forty-three-year-old out online, she’d learned that he was a respected orthopedic surgeon, affiliated with one of New York’s top hospitals.
He looked younger in person than he did in photos, with deep brown eyes and brown hair graying a little along the sides. He greeted her warmly, though she suspected that based on his demanding profession, he didn’t suffer fools gladly.
“Can I offer you a glass of wine?” he asked as he led her into the living room.
“Are you going to have one, Dr. Holt?”
“Please, it’s Keith,” he corrected her with a smile. “And yes, absolutely. It’s been a nutty day.”
He was still in a suit, a nice-fitting navy one, so she assumed he’d only just walked in from work.
“Then I will, too,” she said. “It’s been a nutty day or two for me, too.” She wondered what he’d think if he knew she’d been busy corpse-viewing at the Miami morgue rather than scooting around town with fabric swatches and floor plans.
While he stepped into the kitchen to fetch the wine, she quickly studied his place, a classic prewar apartment in a building with good bones. The design had clearly been orchestrated by a professional decorator or someone fancying themselves as one: deep red sofa, armchairs in a red and gold print, and a quality Turkish rug, in coordinating colors. More than a few nicelooking pieces of art on the wall. Holt had said on the phone that he was divorced so this might be the place he’d shared with his wife, and he was ready to expunge any traces of his former life. She’d had more than a few clients who were eager to purge the past.
“Thank you,” Kit said, accepting the wine. “You told me a little about your situation on the phone, but I’m anxious to hear more.”
“I’m just itching for a change,” he said. He’d sat down opposite from her and crossed one leg over the other. “As you can see there’s nothing wrong with my apartment—in fact, people often comment on how nice it looks—but I had it done when I divorced six years ago and I just went along with everything the decorator suggested. I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t feel like me in the least.”
There was something else that might be bothering him, she realized, without his even being aware of it. The place felt busy. She subscribed to the ideas that every room should have at least three colors but none in equal proportion. In this place the red was in constant battle with the gold, so much so that it could make your head throb.
But she’d never knock another decorator’s work to a potential client.
“What would feel like you, do you think?”
“Something far less traditional and nice. A place where the art I’m collecting could stand out. Something really gutsy.”
The word gutsy always made her heart leap. And done the right way, it wouldn’t have to induce a migraine.
For the next half hour she encouraged Holt to tell her more about himself and what he enjoyed most: He reeled off a list of his hobbies—tennis, running, eco-traveling—as if he had little patience for talking purely about himself. He was far more effusive when he discussed modern art and the type of visuals he was drawn to. When they were done talking, Kit was given a tour of the apartment.
Holt clearly didn’t have kids, she realized. The guest bedroom looked as if it hadn’t been slept in in ages, and the only photographs in the apartment showed the doctor standing with groups of fellow hikers in front of places like Machu Picchu and Kilimanjaro. A risk taker for sure.
Back in the living room, Kit explained her billing process. She also fished her iPad out of her tote bag and showed Holt several apartments she’d decorated that most aligned with what he seemed to be yearning for.
“These are awesome,” he said. “I’d love something bold like this.”
She smiled, trying not to appear overly eager. As Baby always advised, “Never seem hot to trot. Cast the client as the pursuer and yourself as the agent provocateur.” But there was no denying it would be a terrific project to snag, not only for the challenge but also for the billable hours it would entail.
“Question,” he said, suddenly looking pensive. “Is there a way to do this without getting rid of everything I have? I’m the kind of guy who preaches sustainability and now here I am