The Perfect Interior

Abigail Mac led her new intern into the bedroom. Whitney Wright followed close behind, notebook pressed against her chest, eyes darting between the woman in front of her and the floor. She thanked Abigail for the chance, voice tight with nerves and something sharper. Abigail offered a small smile. Said she’d take her on, but this was a test. Whitney’s attention clung to every step Abigail took. “What do you think?” Abigail asked, hands braced on her hips as she surveyed the room. Whitney glanced around. “It already looks good.” She frowned. “Hard to see why they’d want to change it.” Abigail’s tongue clicked softly. “Design isn’t about what you like, Whitney. It’s about what they need.” She stepped closer. “Sometimes the client wants something they haven’t figured out how to ask for yet.” She pointed to the lamps. “Start with light. Always layers. Dimmable. So you can touch someone here, kiss them there, adjust it in real time.” Her mouth curved. “Though the bed tends to matter most.” Abigail told her to lie down. Just to feel the mattress. Whitney swallowed but obeyed. The sheets were cool under her shoulders. Abigail sat beside her, palm gliding across her arm, slow over the swell of her breast. Whitney’s breath caught on a quiet sound. “This feels... off,” she whispered. “Isn’t this a client’s house?” Abigail leaned down. Teeth grazed her throat, voice low. “She won’t mind. She knows me well enough.” Her hands wandered, slipped beneath fabric, tugged it aside with clear purpose. “We’re simply testing the room. Making sure it holds what we want from it.” Whitney didn’t answer. She turned her head to meet Abigail’s mouth instead.