I’ve been so excited these past few days with the launch of my third novel – second in the Savvy Homes Trilogy – and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate those of you who’ve already supported my writing by purchasing a copy of BY DESIGN for yourself! I have some more exciting announcements coming up regarding this book, but for now I wanted to share a fun little sneak peek, in case you haven’t gotten your hands on the book just yet (and maybe you need a little more convincing).
Today I’m going to share with you the first chapter of BY DESIGN – and remember: if you haven’t already read book one in the trilogy, GOOD BONES, you should do that! You can download/purchase a copy of that first installment here.
Without further ado, let’s jump into the first chapter of BY DESIGN…. and if you’re hooked, you can grab your copy and dive fully into Des’s story!
CHAPTER ONE
Thirty-nine minutes.
Thirty-nine point eight, to be exact. It was a new record time for the seven-mile run, looping around Forsyth Park, up Drayton Street to Oglethorpe Avenue, and back down through Colonial Park Cemetery. Another hot, sweaty, borderline-painful lap around Forsyth, and a forceful, celebratory smack to her stopwatch just as she crossed in front of the iconic fountain. Thirty-nine point eight beautiful, exhausting, exhilarating minutes. Des Jepson gave herself a mental pat on the back as she lifted one toned leg to the fence surrounding the fountain, curving her body over it to feel the tight hamstring muscles stretch.
It was a gorgeous late-summer morning – early in September, and not even seven-thirty. It had rained overnight, and the sidewalks and streets were still damp, but the sun shone bright and forcefully enough even in the early hours to cause a healthy glimmer of sweat to form over Des’s shoulders and neck. As she moved the other leg up to the fence, felt that glorious stretch pull at every taught, vibrating muscle, she let out a satisfied sigh.
Her stomach rumbled as she glanced back down at her watch. She had ten minutes until breakfast at one of their favorite breakfast cafes on Jones Street, and the prospect of a frittata and coffee had her salivating already. After one more overhead stretch, followed by a few neck circles, she picked back up into a jog and made her way north towards Gaston Street. She was only a few blocks away, but to Des’s punctual mind, ‘on time’ for a seven-thirty breakfast would require her arriving at seven-twenty. So, working with that logic, she was already late.
She jogged easily, and though her muscles ached a little from the hard seven-mile run, the slower pace felt like a cool-down of sorts for the seasoned runner. Her lithe body and light feet made quick work of crossing the quiet Sunday-morning streets and darting between magnolias and live oaks, draped dramatically in Spanish moss.
When she arrived in front of the brick exterior of one of her favorite Savannah eateries, it was just at the same moment that Britt Steele – one of her best friends, as well as business partner – crossed Whitaker Street and tossed a wide ‘good morning’ grin in her direction. She must have made the trek from Des’s house on East Charlton, where she had been inhabiting the guest room for the last few years.
“You walked?” Des asked with an impressed lift of her brow.
“You ran,” Britt countered. Her perfect ombre waves bounced as she skipped forward for a hug. Des returned it lightly, warning that she was dripping with sweat.
“Seven miles,” Des confirmed. “A new record – thirty-eight minutes.”
Her own enthusiasm was not reflected in her friend’s doe-eyed smile.
“I run if – and only if – I am being chased by something that wants to kill me. I have no idea if thirty-eight minutes is worthy of another hug.”
“You don’t want to hug me again anyway,” Des said with a dismissive wave as she reached for the door. “Look at you, you’re showered and everything.”
They found a table near the window and placed orders for three coffees. As usual, they were waiting for one important member of their trio.
“Heard from Carlee yet this morning?” Des asked.
Britt shook her head with a knowing smile. “I’m sure Josh was over again. My guess is she’ll be at least another—”
The tinkling of the bell above the door cut her off, and they both turned to see Carlee practically dragging her body across the floor towards them. She was wearing large, thick sunglasses, and her blonde hair had been tossed haphazardly into a bun at the top of her head. She looked like she’d woken up about five minutes prior.
“Coffee,” she whispered as she fell into a chair.
“You look good.” Des’s brow lifted as she appraised her other best friend. “Long night? No, you know what, I don’t even want to know. It’s just going to make me—”
Carlee held up a hand with four fingers extended. She lowered her sunglasses over her nose to look pointedly into both Des’s and Britt’s gazes.
“Four times.”
They stared blankly back at her, though Britt’s lips twitched with the hint of a mischievous smile.
“That dog.”
“Four long, hard, incredibly, heart-palpitating—”
“Jesus Christ,” Des groaned. “I don’t have enough coffee in me yet to hear about your sexual escapades with Mr. Gorgeous. Hasn’t the honeymoon phase ended yet? What are you two doing, still at each other like a couple of wild rabbits?”
Carlee lifted her own steaming mug of coffee to her lips and moaned seductively into it. She winked at Des.
“Not even close. The wild rabbit sex is still going strong, I’m happy to say.”
Britt sighed dreamily, sagging in her own chair. “I’m so jealous,” she whined.
“Are you kidding me?” Des slanted an unamused look in her direction. “You have sex more than anyone I know. Okay, maybe not as often as Carlee now, but that’s all with one person. It’s different.”
“Hey.” At that, Britt sat up straighter, lifted her chin defiantly. “I’ll have you both know that I’ve been having sex with the same man now for…” She took a moment to count on her fingers. “Two-and-a-half weeks.”
Carlee made a shocked face. “Is this a keeper, then?”
To that, Britt shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. I mean, no, I don’t think so. I don’t know?” She paused for a moment, considering. “Do I ever know?”
“You never give a man more than a few days to make his impression,” Des pointed out. She tilted her head, lifted her coffee back to her lips. “I envy how easily you find this whole casual sex thing. I never mastered it.”
“Me neither,” Carlee confirmed. “But man, do I love my constant, every-night-with-the-same-man sex.”
Des shot her one final warning glare, noting Britt’s giggle from across the table.
“Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Can we get to business, please?”
“Who calls a working breakfast at seven-thirty?” Carlee interjected. “On a Sunday.”
“I have a design meeting at eight-thirty at the Henry house. We’re settling on the lower-level furniture for the staging, and there’s no time to waste. Photographer’s coming on Tuesday and,” she flicked through her cell phone, navigating to her business calendar. “Open house Saturday. Early breakfast was my only option.”
“And it couldn’t have been at your house,” Carlee argued gruffly.
“You know I run in Forsyth every morning by six forty-five. It would have taken me twice as long to jog back home to meet you there, and then I’d have gotten distracted and definitely wanted a shower.”
“So you’re not showering before your meeting?”
Des leaned back in her chair and leveled her gaze. “Are you going to continue this line of questioning for the entire breakfast, or can we eventually move onto actual work?”
Britt laughed into her coffee, spewing hot liquid all over the table. Des absently handed her a napkin while Carlee swirled a spoon around her own mug.
“Fine, fine, get to it.”
“Right, so I was thinking we need to—”
“Actually,” Carlee cut her off again, lifting a hand. “Before we start, I meant to check – you’re both still coming next weekend to the cookout?”
Des lowered her phone to the table and leaned her forehead against two fingers.
“Carlee, are you serious? Are we best friends or are we best friends? The guy you love is moving in. You’ve never lived with a guy for your entire adult life. It’s the biggest day of your life. Of course, we are coming to the cookout.”
Carlee beamed, reaching for both of their hands and squeezing them with a palpable joy that was reminiscent of childhood. The cookout was planned for Carlee’s – and soon-to-be Josh’s – backyard, and would be a small, celebratory gathering of friends, as well as Carlee’s stepdad, Boone. It had been planned for weeks, ever since Carlee and Josh had set his official move-in date, working around the various renovation projects they were tackling. This Saturday was going to be their first free day in over a month, now that work on the new Bryan house was well underway and slightly less chaotic. While there was always more work to be done – always reason to work on a Saturday when you were in this business – even the hardest-working home renovators in Savannah could afford a break for such a special occasion.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Britt promised. “It’s crazy to think he’s actually going to be living with you in less than a week. How excited are you?”
“Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I felt so excited.” Carlee still had that ‘new love’ glow about her that radiated from her like a too-bright sun. Des was thrilled for her – she really was. She loved Josh, and she loved the two of them together. But there had been something unexpected that had happened inside her as she had watched the two fall in love. The previously stony heart that she had always believed occupied her cold, cavernous chest, had actually begun to ache – just a little bit.
It was safest to shake that uncomfortable feeling off whenever she noticed it, and so she plundered forward.
“As I was saying,” she continued crisply. “The three of us need to go look at the house that just went on the market off of Whitaker. There are already a number of offers on the place, but Britt really thinks it’s worth our time. Complete mess, but prime location.”
Britt nodded enthusiastically from across the table. “Gorgeous. Huge oaks in the front yard, dripping with Savannah charm. Expansive yard, picket fence, the whole nine yards. Stunning lavender Victorian.”
“That’s one of the most expensive streets in Savannah,” Carlee pointed out. “How much?”
When Britt recited the price tag, Carlee choked on her coffee.
“I know it’s a little steep,” Des put in. “But after four strong sales last month, I think it’s doable. I’ve calculated the margins, run some numbers, and I think we’d be smart to have a look.”
“There’s still the Henry house to sell,” Carlee pointed out, tapping her chest as she recovered from a small coughing fit.
“And it will,” Des countered. “You just wait until I’m finished with it. The design of the place is going to knock your socks off, like your renovation did mine.”
To that, all three of them grinned. They made a good team, and there was no denying it. Carlee’s expertise as general contractor and head of home renovation always took the shabbiest, least-appealing homes across the city and transformed them into something right out of Southern Homes magazine. Pretty as a picture and oozing the quaint charming appeal of a southern dollhouse, her homes were perfection, which Des then took over to design and stage for the market. Once her meticulous eye had roved over every inch of the place, hand-picking paint colors, furniture pieces, and artistic accents to showcase the home’s potential, the project was delivered into Britt’s capable hands to sell to just the right buyer.
After five years of the Savvy Homes team, and nearly fifty houses renovated, designed, and sold, theirs was one of the most successful and notable businesses in Savannah, and they were damned proud of that.
“What else is on the agenda, boss?” Britt asked with a teasing smile.
Des was used to her two best friends treating her like the matriarch of the group, so she smiled back.
“Just details. Let’s see.” She scrolled through the notes on her phone as a waitress came to take their orders – a full southern scramble for Carlee, green juice for Britt, and a spinach frittata for Des. Once the young girl had jotted down their selections, Des continued.
“Britt, did that advertisement for the Habersham house make it into The Savannah Tribune for this week?”
“It should be in this morning’s edition,” Britt confirmed. “I haven’t gotten my hands on a copy yet.”
“I’ll pick one up on my way to the Henry house.” Des’s fingers furiously typed the reminder as her eyes flew down her list.
“Carlee, are the floors finished at Bryan?”
“Nearly. Josh has a little more work upstairs, but the ground floor is done. You’re going to die for the herringbone in the parlor.”
“No rug, then,” Des noted with a wink. “I can’t wait to see Josh’s work.”
Josh had joined the Savvy Homes team after a brief trial period, during which he and Carlee had seriously pissed each other off and questioned their ability to work together. It hadn’t entirely been because of their head-butting, either. Anyone who’d been within twenty feet of the two of them could see the sexual tension fizzling in the air between them. They’d all known it was only a matter of time before the two tumbled into bed together, and once it had happened, the rest was history. It was a good thing that both Josh and Carlee did such good work that none of the crew minded seeing them waltz onto the job site hand-in-hand, obviously sexually satiated and bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.
“How many hits have we had on the house on East Park? I can’t believe that one hasn’t gone yet – it’s some of my best work.”
“It’s one bedroom, one bath,” Britt pointed out. “It has nothing to do with the design, it’s just going to take a very specific buyer.” She slanted her friend a look. “Why don’t you let me worry about the MLS and sales leads?”
“I’m just taking notes,” Des defended. “Curious. Interested.”
“Nosy.”
“Hey, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have the data at the end of the month to look back on, would we? I’m the one who organizes it all in pretty little color-coded graphs for you both to make sense of.”
“I don’t really look at the graphs,” Carlee said, quickly shooting her hands up. “I’m just being honest.”
“God.” Des dropped her head into one of her hands, stretching her neck. “Why do I bother? Why do I work so hard?”
At that, Britt and Carlee both leaned into their best friend, placing sympathetic hands on her shoulders.
“Because it’s the way you are,” Britt replied. “You’re Des Jepson – organization expert, scheduling genius, data-gathering extraordinaire.”
“Never a hair out of place or a foot wrong,” Carlee added. “You’ve got it entirely together while the two of us…” she looked to Britt, who glared back.
“Speak for yourself. I’m perfectly together. I did yoga this morning at seven.”
“Christ.” Carlee leaned back as the breakfasts were placed in front of them. She licked her lips, grabbing her fork. “I can’t relate to either of you whackos.”
Des glanced down at her watch, frowning slightly. “I have to take this to go. My carpet guy just texted and he’s on his way to Henry Street now. I need to grab that newspaper, meet this guy, then meet my furniture vendor at eight-thirty.” She rubbed her head before standing to wrap the frittata in a napkin.
“Jeeze,” Carlee muttered. “How many meetings after that?”
Des thought for a second. “Four. No, five. I have a call that I’m taking from home after hot yoga this afternoon. Britt, you still in?”
Britt nodded as she sipped her dark green drink through a paper straw. Carlee, meanwhile, looked between the two of them with a baffled expression.
“I’ll never understand you two. Running, yoga… all the yoga.”
“You’re getting good exercise these days too,” Britt pointed out. “And I’m not talking about the renovation work.”
Des threw her hands in the air. “And here we go, talking about sex again.”
“Don’t be bitter,” Carlee teased. “You, too, can have great sex every single night, if only you seek it.”
“Take it from me,” Britt said soberly. “Seek, and ye shall find.”
Des blinked at her before her eyes shot back down to her phone’s business calendar, which was furiously blinking with red appointment alerts. She sniffed, pushed in her chair, and grabbed her frittata from the table.
“Thanks for the thoughtful advice,” she said pointedly. “But I doubt I’ll have time. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, one of us has a busy day of work to get to.”
It certainly was a busy day of work, followed by a few more of the same – her calendar booked solid with meetings at Savvy Homes’s five current project houses, as well as a number of shopping trips for fixtures, throw pillows, and accent artwork. She had paperwork to do, business bills to pay, checks to cut for the company’s several employees. By the time her butt hit the couch each evening after a quick Lean Cuisine meal at the kitchen counter – as cooking had never been her specialty – she was so tired, she could barely move. And her feet screamed after being stuffed into high heels all day, as she’d never outgrown the feeling that she needed to dress immaculately for work. Her perfectly-pedicured toes paid the price.
But Wednesday evening was different, as it was every week. There was no Lean Cuisine, no mindless reality TV on the couch – with or without the company of Britt – and a solo glass of crisp Chardonnay. Wednesdays were reserved for the girls, pizza, and old movies. So it had been since the beginning of their Savvy Homes business, and they’d never skipped a Wednesday in the years since.
“What’ll it be, ladies?” Britt asked from her position on the floor near the TV as she scrolled through the streaming channel. “Pretty Woman or Ghost?”
“Ugh,” Carlee scoffed. “I don’t want to cry tonight. I vote Pretty Woman.”
“I vote Patrick Swayze,” Des countered. “But I don’t know if I want to cry either. How about Dirty Dancing?”
“We watched that last week,” Britt reminded her.
Des leaned her head back against the couch, taking another mouth-watering bite of veggie pizza. “I swear I could watch that movie every day of my life.”
“The soundtrack is incredible,” Britt agreed. “I’ve been humming ‘Hungry Eyes’ and ‘The Time of My Life’ since last Wednesday.”
“Okay,” Carlee sat up decisively. “I think we can all be convinced. Dirty Dancing it is.”
Britt laughed as she clicked the remote decisively. “Two weeks in a row.”
“It’s never too soon to watch a hip-gyrating, tight-pants-wearing Patrick Swayze.” Des reached for another slice of pizza from the coffee table. “Oh, I’m excited now.”
“Yeah, and much as I love him in Ghost, I’ve had enough of those for one day.”
Des and Britt both lowered their own pizza slices to look at Carlee, who chewed absently before swigging her Bud Light.
“You going to elaborate on that one?” Des prodded. “Are you talking about the Bryan house?”
Carlee finished chewing slowly before replying. “There’s something there. I don’t care what anyone says, and I know we’ve worked our fair share of haunted houses here in Savannah, but my God – that house is different. There’s something…” she visibly shivered as her words trailed off.
“What happened today?” Britt asked. “I have to tell you, a ghost is going to make my work a little harder once it’s on the market.”
“And it’s not like you can skirt around it,” Des added. “People buying in Savannah always ask about ghosts. Most haunted city in America.”
“I can’t imagine anyone’s going to be too thrilled to live with this one.” Carlee made a face. “It’s not just me, either – my whole crew is hearing a voice. A growling voice coming from upstairs. It sound like a woman, though we can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s like this thing doesn’t want us there. It’s pushed some of my crew a few times. Never me – just the guys.”
“Pushed them?” Des choked. “It’s actually touched people?”
Carlee shrugged. “Yeah, but what are we going to do? Not work on the house? I keep trying to laugh it off whenever one of the guys mentions her. Mind over matter, right? Act like you’re not freaked out, and maybe the ghostly bitch will leave us alone.”
“But it’s not,” Britt added. “You said it’s happened a few times.”
Another chill appeared to run through Carlee as she took another sip of beer. “It’s a little unsettling, but the work won’t take much longer. I’m guessing we’ll be done in October.”
“And then it’s mine,” Des put in drily. “Lucky me.”
Carlee tipped her beer bottle in her friend’s direction and winked. “The sooner we can get this one off our hands, the better.”
A cell phone vibration interrupted all of their thoughts, and Carlee’s eyes fell to the iPhone in her lap. Her suddenly stony expression told them everything before she even lifted the phone.
“Roger.”
“Leave it,” Britt offered from her place on the floor.
“Deal with him tomorrow,” Des agreed. “Or never.”
Carlee’s eyes turned icy as she stared down at the phone for a moment longer. She ignored the call, tossing it to the opposite side of the couch and sinking back into the cushions.
“I like the idea of never,” she replied. Des knew that Carlee hadn’t spoken to her biological father much – if at all – in recent months. Clearly, she had no intention to, and Des gave her a mental fist bump in support. The man was a colossal ass.
She and Britt exchanged a look while a frozen-faced Patrick Swayze stared at them from the TV, waiting for them to push play. Carlee did the honors, grabbing the remote and forcefully setting the movie into action. And at the sight of her suddenly bothered, hardened expression, Des found herself thinking – not for the first time – that she was grateful not to have any family around.
No parents, no boyfriend, no sex. No responsibilities, no drama, no distractions.
Life was a hell of a lot more straightforward without all the nonsense.
Order BY DESIGN at Amazon today to continue reading Des’s story! Available in e-book and paperback formats.
Latest 5-star Goodreads review: “Great book, that leaves you wanting more! Can not wait to see how this all wraps up. I didn’t want it to end!“
STEPHANIE KLINE 