“Nope. He’s a con man, a grifter, and a scumbag. Always was, always will be.”
“I agree, but… whatever. We don’t want the association with… him… or the defunct company.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “But what’s the second reason?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“It’s obvious that it’s my name. But… why?” I repeated. “And what’s with the plus sign? Never mind. We’ll get to that. Why change it to just my name? The company is both of us.”
Wren glanced at Trip.
“Dude, I hate to play down my own importance, but I’m…” He searched for the right word and winced. “I don’t wanna say I’m ‘irrelevant’ to the company, but I’m not the reason people are going to hire us.”
“The hell you aren’t,” I said.
“Thanks, but… I’m not. I’m the reason we’re going to make a profit. Also the reason we’ll get repeat business, but my name isn’t why they’re going to walk through the door.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a reputation. The owners love your houses. They go up in value. They’re on the covers of magazines, for God’s sake.”
“That was only once,” I protested, “and it was a local magazine.”
“Our business is local too… for now.”
“Okay, but… the other things are just good design.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But they’re also good marketing.”
Wren nodded and used Leah’s argument, “Your name is your brand.”
“And now it’s our brand,” Trip agreed. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit disappointed that I’m not the star of the show, but I shine behind the scenes.” He paused and then laughed in mild annoyance. “Have I ever told you I hate working with you sometimes?”
He was kidding, but I suspected that some part of him really did resent that I was a better architect. Oh, he’d accepted it long ago, but he still wanted to be the best at everything.
“Anyway,” he continued, “changing the name puts you out front, where you belong.”
“What if I don’t want to be out front? What if I want Whitman-Hughes?”
“Then I’ll convince you to see things my— our way.” He chuckled and gestured at Christy. “Actually, she will.”
“I’m very convincing, you know.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “You are, Little Bit. But still… I’m not sure I like the new name.”
“Tough,” Trip said, and the women agreed with nods.
“Okay. Then… why the plus sign?”
“Me again,” Wren said. “I wanted a bit of modern flair, something to make you stand out.”
“I think you stand out enough already,” Trip teased, “but Wren likes the plus.”
“The new name has another benefit,” she said. “The company tag line practically writes itself.”
I frowned. “How?”
“PHD. We’re smart design.”
“Oh, you’re good.”
“Mmm, I know. Thanks.” She flicked a finger at my little notebook. “But feel free to write it down.”
* * *
Paul+Hughes Design officially went into business on October 1, 1996. We signed a lease for office space and hired our first employee. Shari had been our office manager before, and we shamelessly poached her from the rival firm where she’d gone after we’d closed Whitman-Hughes.
“I knew you’d be back,” she said when I met her in the parking lot of the new office.
She was a big woman, six feet and solid, with a personality to match. Clients and contractors were always surprised when they met her in person, not only because of her size, but because her voice was different too. On the phone she was soft and feminine, smoothly professional. In person she was pure Georgia, a good ol’ girl.
I unlocked the door and ushered her into the lobby. She pulled up short, and I had to skip sideways to avoid bumping into her.
“Where is everything?” she said.
“That’s your first job.” I handed her an envelope. “Cash and a company credit card. Forge my signature for the time being. You can still do that, can’t you?”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. We’ll stop by the bank and sign the paperwork so you can get your own card.”
“No… I mean, seriously, I can go on a shopping spree?”
I chuckled. “Of course. We need everything. Desks, chairs, phones, computers—”
“Hold on. Let me get something to write on.” She set her purse and lunch bag on the lobby counter, the only piece of furniture in the whole place. Then she surveyed the bare office. “Y’all really are starting from scratch.”
“Yep. And you get to set up the office.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Anything I want?”
“Within reason. Trip’s going to look at the receipts, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “He still pinching pennies?”
“Afraid so. But he wants a nice office. I’ll help pick out the furniture and art, but the rest is your department. Please.”
“What’s my budget?”
“I’ll need to sign any contracts. As far as the rest…?” I pointed to the envelope. “Let me know when you need more cash. The card has a pretty high limit. Stop if you hit it. Duh.”
“Oh, I’m going to like it here.”
“Mmm. I thought you would.”
We had a fully functioning office a week later. We also had three new clients.
“For real? Hold on,” I said, “how come this is the first I’ve heard of it? I didn’t do designs or proposals or anything.”
“I told you,” Trip said smugly, “your name would bring ’em running.”
“He’s right,” Shari said. “We’re getting calls already.”
“From who?” I demanded. “Never mind. Who’re these clients?”
Trip told me. I recognized one of the names from before. We’d built his house in Buckhead, although I couldn’t imagine why he wanted a new one so soon. The other two were new.
“Penny Powell sent them,” Trip explained. “We need to thank her properly. Kurt, too.” That was code for “we need to get to know them better.” He’d figured out that they were potential swingers.
“Of course.”
“In the meantime, she’s sending us people she’s sold to in the past. Now they want something custom. They want a Paul+Hughes home.”
I heard the plus sign but ignored it. “For real?”
“Yep. And I have a bunch of commercial leads from before. I kept ’em just in case. I’ll tell you more when we do the proposals. In the meantime, why don’t you and Shari put ads in the papers. We need to staff up.”
She took out her notepad.
“We’re gonna need a draftsman and a project manager for sure. You all can decide who else. Probably a construction manager. Oh, and who do you know who’s a landscape architect?”
My eyebrows hit the ceiling. “What? Why?”
“Country club,” he said cryptically.
“I know someone,” Shari said. “You’ll like him.”
“Is he cheap?”
“No, but he’s good.”
“I’d rather have both.”
“Too bad.”
Trip shot her a grin. Then he paused to relish the moment.
“Well,” he said all of a sudden, “what’re you waiting for? Time is money!”
* * *
Once I started working full-time, Christy took over the garage at home and turned it into her studio. I was mildly annoyed that I had to park in the driveway, but she was happy, so I lived with it. She set up a little play area for Susie on one side and turned our dining room table into a work area on the other.
“That’s nice,” I said when she showed me, “but… where are we going to eat?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I bought a new one.”
“A new one what?” I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then again, maybe it was just a reaction to my wallet feeling suddenly lighter.
“A new table and chairs! Wait till you see them. They’ll be delivered next week. Don’t look at me like that. We needed a new one anyway. The old one was all scratched and beat-up.”