Page 115 of Saving Ren
“It’s fine, just breathing it in and getting a feel for the place.”
She stares at me for a few long moments.
“How have you been, Lauren? It’s been what, two years since you last worked on a project for us? Looks like you’ve lost some weight since last I saw you?”
I take her in as she talks, noting that she’s her usual perfectly made-up self. Big dark hair, heavy makeup, designer clothes covering her curvy body.
She’s in her mid-fifties and has obviously had a little work done, but it’s subtle and she looks as beautiful as ever.
She’s not someone you’d ever describe as cute or even pretty. She’s beautiful in that Andi MacDowell, or Sandra Bullock kind of way.
Married to an Australian radio and television personality since forever, she can afford the best of everything, including property, clothes, and plastic surgeons, but nothing is ever overdone with Karen. From the properties I’ve styled to the clothes she wears, to the work she’s had done to herself.
She screams ‘I’m wealthy’ in that way monied people often do, but it’s not in your face, and it’s always done with class.
“Yeah, I recently went through a marriage breakup, and there’s nothing like the divorce diet to help drop a few kilos,” I tell her honestly.
“Really? I’m so sorry, Lauren. I always thought you and Jason were so good together.”
Jay’s team had carried out the renovations on a number of Karen’s properties in the past, and we’d had dinner with her and her husband Nick a couple of times.
I move across to the windows, take in the sun’s position and estimate the amount of natural light the space would get as I work on my response.
“We were, and then we weren’t, and now we’re no longer together. Shit happens,” I tell her with a shrug, but not telling her how recent all of this is or the reason it happened.
I like Karen. I wouldn’t describe her as a friend, more a close acquaintance, but we’d shared stories and complained about our partners and kids when working together over the years, but I wasn’t about to spill my guts any more than I had.
“That’s a shame. I was actually going to ask you if Jason would be interested in the construction work we’ll need doing to bring this place up to spec, but if it’s going to make things awkward, we can use someone else?”
My role meant that I would occasionally cross paths and have to liaise with the tradies on a job, and as much as I would like to put the work Ryder’s way, I did not want to run the risk of bumping into Jay at any time, but most definitelynoton a job.
“I would really appreciate it if you used somebody else,” I say. My eyes still taking in the view from the window. A thought occurs to me, and I turn around to face her. “Actually, there is another company I can recommend. I’ll get them up here to give you a quote if you’d like?”
“That would be fantastic. I’m happy to work with anyone you recommend, but do you think they’d be able to fit us in? As I mentioned, we’d really like to be able to use this place by the summer.”
“Well, why don’t we have a walk around? I’ll give my thoughts on exactly what I think needs doing, and then I’ll make a call to my builder and see what we can work out?”
I’m not going to let her know just yet, that my ‘builder’ is Gabe, the man I’m living with, the man I moved in with on the same day I left my husband.
* * *
We walk through the property,I give her my ideas, show her the virtual mood board, and we discuss the order she’d like the rooms completed, the kitchen, family, and master bed and bath being priorities.
She gives me her thoughts on the colours and styles I’ve chosen, we make some changes, and I make lots of notes as I wander through, trying to get a feel for the place first before making any firm decisions, which is the way I've always worked.
When I’m close to being done, I go out to the pool area and call Gabe. He picks up on the first ring.
“Ren. You done?”
“Almost. Listen, my client needs a builder. It’s not as big as your other jobs right now, but she’s pretty high profile, and most of her reno’s end up in Better Homes magazine, so could be lucrative.”
“I’m on my way,” he says without hesitation.
Wandering back inside, I find Karen on the phone in her kitchen, so I head out to the front of the house and wait for Gabe.
My belly puts on an Olympic gold medal winning acrobatic floor show as I watch him climb out of his truck.
He’s still wearing his suit trousers and shirt from this morning, but the sleeves are now rolled up to his elbows, forearms on show, stubble covering his jaw. He’s undone an extra button at his neck, and dark hairs are visible at the base of his throat.
