Page 15 of Designed for Disaster

At least his grandmother was sweet.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I reached the door, straightening my blazer in the reflection before tucking my curls behind my ears. I pulled the heavy glass door open and marched into the lobby.

My jaw immediately dropped. A massive reception desk greeted me, walnut with brass inlays. The large glass windows flooded the space with light to highlight the curated furniture displays. The lobby was a luxury showroom with some of Saunders Furniture’s best pieces mounted on prop stages. I drew closerto one of the displays, realizing that the hand-carved coffee table was one of the very first pieces Saunders Furniture ever produced. According to the small placard that accompanied the piece, it had been built by Trent’s grandfather, Davis Saunders.

I’d seen pictures of it in my textbooks, but seeing it in person was amazing.

“Can I help you?” a voice called.

I turned to the young woman behind the reception desk. The Saunders Furniture logo was mounted on the wall behind her, dusted in brushed gold and set against a backdrop of rich purple textured fabric. Purple and gold—the colors of royalty. I was in the presence of furniture-making royalty.

Excitement ate through some of my nerves. “Uh, yes,” I said. “I’m here for my orientation.”

The woman picked up a clipboard. “That would make you…Natasha Dryer?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Perfect,” she said, climbing to her feet. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you down to HR.”

I followed her into a small room where I went through a company orientation and a whole slew of onboarding paperwork with a man named Hunter. By the time we were done, I had my IT system access, an ID badge with my photo, and a signed copy of my contract.

“That’s it for me,” Hunter said as we reached another office. “I’ll leave you in Carin’s capable hands.”

A pretty woman with a short French bob swept out of the room. “Thanks, Hunter,” she said as he took off. “Natasha.” She shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I glanced at her name plate on the door. She’d taped a pronunciation guide beneath it.Car-in. It made me smile.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people see my name and call me Karen,” she explained. “And I’m just not one of those.”

I chuckled, her sense of humor immediately putting me at ease.

“So, I’m here to give you the official office tour,” she said, leading me through the building. I’d already seen the HR department, but as the elevator ascended, we toured through Marketing and Sales, Customer Experience, Supply Chain and Logistics, Retail Operations, and Legal.

“And this is where you’ll be working,” she said, leading me down a hallway on a floor labeled Design and Product Development. Offices shot off in every direction, people hunched over drawing tablets or working away in design programs on their computers. I caught sight of a couple screens with furniture specs, and my excitement doubled.

I’d forgotten what it was like to work with a full design team.

Having the creative freedom to build my own designs and live off the income would always be my dream, but there was something to be said about being able to put your head together with a bunch of like-minded individuals and watch a project evolve from an idea to a tangible product.

Carin walked through an open door, leading me into a conference room of sorts. More offices jutted off from this room. “Good morning!” she called.

Heads popped out of doorways briefly. Then a group of people gathered in the room, staring at me. My stomach lurched.

“Everyone,” Carin announced. “This is Natasha Dryer. We’d like to welcome her to the team.”

“Hi,” I said and was greeted by an uncomfortable silence in return. I mean, it was a Monday, and I didn’t expect anyone to raise any enthusiasm at this time in the morning. Still, the silence was unnerving, making me want to squirm in my faux designer boots.

Carin carried on, unbothered. “Natasha, these are your direct reports. You’ve got Talia Rhzanova. Head of upholstery design.”

“Hello,” the woman said. She pushed her rectangular glasses up her nose, giving me a swift look up and down. I wondered what she saw. Scratch that. I could sort of guess by the way her smile thinned.Young. Too young. I’m taking orders from this girl?

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, channeling every molecule of polite, competent energy I could muster. I smiled until my cheeks hurt.

“And Brian Wilcox,” Carin continued. “Head of case goods.” That covered any furniture designed for storage. I shook his hand.

Carin moved down the line. “This is Bronwen. One of your CAD designers.”

“Ugh, Bonnie is fine,” she said. “Only my mother calls me Bronwen.”

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