Bailey stared blankly for a second, still dazzled by seeing Wilder up close. But she quickly snapped to attention and dug her phone out of her coat pocket.
“Good,” Waverly said after inspecting it. “While you’re on the job, I’d like you to snap some photos for our social media accounts. I’ll want to vet everything before we post it, but we need to start building the buzz for the next season while we’re filming. In exchange, we’ll cover your phone payments to take care of your data usage. Understood?”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Now . . .” She pulled out her own phone. It was the latest model that had come out on the market a month ago. With all of its reported bells and whistles, it put Bailey’s poor phone to shame. “I’m going to make a quick call. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we can get started on,” she gestured around her, “this mess.”
She spun on her heel and waltzed out of the room, cooing into the phone.
Wilder cleared his throat, and Bailey turned to give him her full attention. She estimated he was only a couple of years older than herself—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He looked younger in real life than he did on TV. He was leaner and a little shorter—though she still had to crane her neck a little to meet his gaze.
He was also more handsome. Not the GQ model, your tongue-sticks-to-the-top-of-your-mouth kind of sexy. But he was hot in the same way the guy you sat next to in Chemistry was. It was enough to distract you from formulas and Bunsen burners every so often, but not enough that you’d ever set the lab on fire or forget to finish your final exam.
So far, he seemed much more serious. Where was the guy who scared Waverly with a stuffed dummy in a closet in the last episode she’d watched before calling an end to the marathon?
He was, she realized, studying her every bit as closely, with those hazel eyes speckled with green. Noting that, she didn’t feel quite as rude taking mental notes on the man in front of her.
At least she looked good. She’d laid out three outfits that morning in the hotel room. The first was a long, silky turquoise tunic that she’d paired with a pair of black leggings and knee-high boots. It was similar to the clothes Waverly favored on-screen—only hers weren’t name-brand knock-offs. Then she had the casual jeans and a gray T-shirt she could dress up with a navy blue blazer. And there was option three: dark wash, fit jeans, a chambray shirt, and a scarf. It was an ensemble that fell somewhere in the middle. It was the one that looked the most like her when she inspected herself in the mirror.
It was the one that felt most like her now in the middle of the foyer.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see a confident young woman ready to tackle major projects adeptly? Or did he see someone who was desperate to create, no matter what happened? Both were correct, but which one shone through right now?
Like a light switch, that triggered something in her. She offered her hand again. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Bailey Meredith.”
“Wilder Aldrich.” He gripped her hand firmly in his, sending another jolt of electricity through her. She nearly jumped back—like she’d been shocked by some old, faulty wiring. But for his part, Wilder seems nonplussed.
“They don’t make ‘em like this anymore, do they?” A slow grin spread across his face. “Renee thinks we’re crazy. But with a little love—okay, a lot of love—this house could be something. What do you think?”
She scanned the foyer, noting the torn wallpaper and holes. More projects to add to their list. But she looked past it, up the three-story staircase that led to the attic. “It’s enchanting. It has more than potential. It has a wow factor.”
Slipping his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, Wilder nodded. “There’s definitely some magic left in this house.”
Her lips quirked, but she kept the humor out of her voice. “Is this the project house?”
His eyebrows flew up. “In your interview, you said you don’t watch any of the shows on DN.”
“I don’t. Not normally. But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what exactly I was getting myself into.”
“That’s smart.” His eyes lingered a moment longer before turning back to study the house. “But you’re right. This is the project house. We made an offer last week, and they handed over the keys this weekend.”
She couldn’t control her surprise this time. “You found it last week and you already have the keys?”
“We paid cash and it was empty.” He lifted a shoulder. “That tends to move the process forward a little faster.”
“I suppose it pays to have the cash to buy something straight up.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“So . . .” She glanced around the entryway, noting the staircase leading to the upstairs. “Y’all plan to take out the walls around the staircase to install a wrought iron banister, right?”
With a quizzical look, Wilder slipped the tape measure back into his tool belt and crossed his arms. “We hadn’t talked about that yet, but . . . it’s a good idea. It would really open up the entrance.”
“And it would make a statement.”
“What else would you do?”
She nervously eyed the kitchen Waverly escaped to a few moments earlier. “Shouldn’t we wait for her to get back?”
“She’s on the phone with New York. It could take a while.” He uncrossed his arms and stepped toward what appeared to have once been the formal living room. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”
She hesitated a moment, casting one more look over her shoulder before following him. Truthfully, she’d rather check out what they were working with than sit around making small talk. She snapped a quick photo of the claustrophobic entryway and staircase, then headed into the living room to wow her new boss. And she would try—no matter what—to ignore the fact that he might be changing from Chemistry partner cute to GQ cover model hot in her mind.
***
Bailey could hardly talk fast enough for Paige when she called her sister at the end of the first day.
“Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. I’m contractually obligated to be quiet about most things until the episodes air. And even then, the nondisclosure agreement I signed says I can’t go blabbing about everything.”
“Come on. We’re related—by blood.”
“I’m sorry . . . I have the contract right here, and there isn’t a sister freebie clause. I should have negotiated that into it. My bad.”
Paige gave a disgruntled grunt. “Well, can you at least tell me what Waverly and Wilder are like to work with in real life?”
“They’re both focused and driven.” And unlike on-screen, there was a lot less playful bickering behind the scenes. Most of their interactions that day were task-oriented. Aside from a couple of teasing remarks—which were borderline hostile—they kept it professional, almost cool. “Waverly was a little terse, but—I think that was more from her wanting to be productive than because she isn’t nice.”
“So, she was nice?”
“Sure. She has a great eye for design.”
There, that was a tidbit. Not necessarily an original one, considering the headline on her latest magazine cover had “An Eye for Design” as its headline.
“What about Wilder?”
“He’s . . .” Well, he was different than she’d expected. “He’s friendly—what you’d expect from a good old boy born and raised in Texas.”
“Perfect. What else?”
“He’s not as silly as he seems on camera. And I think he’s actually smart.”
“Did you think he’d be stupid just because he wears a tool belt?”
“Of course not. I just mean that his intelligence doesn’t always come through on camera. You have to admit, on the show he seems like more of a goofball who takes orders from Waverly.”
“But he doesn’t in real life?”
“No. He’s an equal parts decision-maker.”
That seemed to mollify Paige. “You’re the luckiest person I know, you realize that, don’t you?”
That was a pretty loaded question given how little her sister actually understood about these shows. Bailey had been on lots of renovation sites, and even she’d been surprised with how much went into the projects featured on these shows. Thinking back on her day—including her aching feet and the fatigue that was making it difficult to keep her eyes open—it’d be easy to worry she’d made the wrong choice taking this job.
But she didn’t. Because while she was more tired than she’d been since college, it was also the most fun she’d had in a long time.
“You’re right. I’m pretty damn lucky.”
***
He would’ve rather gone back to his motel room. Flip on the game. Crack open a beer. Zone out until it was time for bed. After a twelve-hour day on the job site, that pretty picture in Wilder’s head sounded like heaven. Instead, Renee had insisted on calling a final pre-filming meeting with him and Waverly. At least she was feeling generous enough to let them do it over dinner.
His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t had much since breakfast. Just a sandwich and some veggies around noon. He could eat. His beer and basketball could wait another hour.
He longingly skimmed over the descriptions of at least a dozen variations on a hamburger and fries and ordered a Cobb salad without the bacon—though it hurt him to do so. It was too late in the day for that much grease. Especially when they were starting filming again. Apparently thinking along the same lines, Waverly ordered a green salad with grilled salmon and no dressing. Shaking her head at their vanity, Renee unapologetically ordered fish and chips with an extra side of tartar sauce. His stomach grumbled in envy, but he fought the urge to call the waitress back to the table so he could get the black and blue burger instead.
Sliding the menu back behind the metal napkin holder, Renee folded her hands on top of the table. “I think we made the right call hiring Bailey.”
“I agree.” Waverly wiped down her part of the table and silverware with a moist towelette. “She has great ideas and a fresh perspective. She didn’t take much prodding to give her opinion, which is good. We don’t have time to waste on indecision and delicacy.”
“Not if we’re going to stay on schedule,” Renee agreed, sending them each a warning look. “The execs won’t be too happy if we go over again like we did in Nashville.”
“That was a fluke.” Waverly waved her hand dismissively. “Our clients were too indecisive, and the local designer wasn’t much help.”
“That’s why we need someone like Bailey. No,” Renee interrupted her own train of thought. “It’s why we need her.”
It had been a smart decision to hire her. They had a full episode order for this season, which meant a lot of work during the next six months. They needed the best on their team, and Wilder’s gut had been right this time. He’d known the moment she opened her sketchpad.
Now that he’d actually met her in the flesh and worked alongside her, it was even more obvious. She was the best person for the job. And there was something about her. Something he couldn’t quite explain. But it told him she—like their project house—had a lot of potential to be great. Bailey was different. He’d felt it standing next to her. Despite her initial quietness, which had flown out the house’s ramshackle door the second she went into designer mode, she exuded energy.
She was an intriguing and unexpected puzzle. He liked puzzles. “I agree.”
“Do you?” Renee asked. “You’re not concerned you might butt heads with someone who also has big ideas?”
“When has my coming to blows with the designer ever been a problem?”
Waverly snorted. “Never. Once you get over your little pouts about time and money, you rally and do what you’re supposed to like a good boy.”
“I don’t mind a little argument now and then with the designer if she—or he—has the skills to back it up.” He lifted a shoulder. “Bailey has those skills. And the guys on Felix’s crew liked her.”
His buddy had made sure Wilder knew before they’d called it a night. Half the crew was ready to get down on one knee and propose to the woman after she’d passed around candy bars while she brainstormed ideas with them. Her pretty face hadn’t hurt either.
“Good.” Renee flipped open her laptop as Waverly’s cell phone chirped its shrill ring. She checked the display and her face lit up.
“Sorry.” She held up the phone. “I have to take this.” Without waiting, she grabbed her jacket and stepped outside, cooing, “Devon, hello. What a nice surprise. I can’t wait to tell you about . . .”
Once they were alone, Renee lifted an eyebrow. “Did she say Devon?”
“Yep.”
“Devon. As in—”
“You’ve got it.” Wilder toyed with a straw wrapper on the chipped table top. “She was lying about being surprised. He calls every day around this time. I figure he’s making the commute home and looking to kill some time in traffic.”
“But I thought he’s . . .”
“He and his wife have been separated for about a year. They’re talking to lawyers. One of them will be filing for divorce any day now.” Or at least that’s what Waverly said when she’d told him about her new boyfriend.
“How long has that,” Renee gestured outside, “been going on?”
“I guess they hit it off when we were doing our press push a few months back. They’ve kept in touch. One thing led to another and . . . there you go. She’s been spending more time in New York with him. And he’s flown up to Toronto a couple of times.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
If he was being completely honest, no. It meant more daddy-and-daughter time for him and Virginia. Rather than say that out loud, he gave another halfhearted shrug. “It’s not really my business.”
“Waverly is sleeping with the network’s East Coast programming director, the man who is all of our boss’s boss’s boss, and it’s not really your business? What if they break up? What will happen to the show?”
“You’re right. It’s not ideal.” He ran a hand over his tightly cropped light brown hair. “But Waverly doesn’t butt her head into my romantic interests, and I try not to pay much attention to the guys she dates. We broke up years ago. Our relationship is purely professional. Well, and we have Virginia. But otherwise—”
Renee folded her arms across her chest. Her face pinched together like she’d swallowed a sour grape. “I knew it was a mistake to bill you guys as a married couple.”
“It wasn’t your idea. It’s what the network wanted.” Devon himself had suggested it when they had their first meeting. They’d tried to explain that, while they had a child and business together, they were no longer a couple. “And technically, neither of us has actually ever said we’re married.”
“Yeah, but it’s implied constantly.” Renee sighed. “They figured you’d appeal to middle America better that way. And we all know that’s our demographic. I get the reasoning. But I wasn’t in those talks. If I had been . . . Why? Why did you agree to go along with the plan?”
It was the first time she’d asked him straight out why he was willing to lie—even if through implication—about their relationship. They’d worked together on three seasons of Playing House. She was a colleague and a friend, but they’d never had this conversation.
“We needed to expand our business. The construction market wasn’t great after the recession. We had a baby to support. It seemed like a good idea. And . . .”
“And?”
“And it’s what Waverly wanted. I wanted to keep her happy.”
Renee’s face softened. She nodded because she understood why he’d move heaven and earth to keep Waverly happy. More, she knew who it was really all about. Virginia.
“I hope you two know what you’re doing.”
“We usually do.”
Chapter Four
It was harder than she’d imagined. Not star
ing right into the camera. Bailey knew she wasn’t supposed to do it. Somehow the knowing she wasn’t supposed to made it even harder to avoid.
When Renee had given her a crash course in how to play the part of Waverly’s assistant on-screen, her number one rule was “don’t look at the camera.” Only the “talent” could look at the camera. And that was only when they were being interviewed. Fortunately, Bailey wasn’t on that tier, so she’d never have to worry about being interviewed. But she still couldn’t quite stop breaking that rule.
(Interestingly enough, rule number two was to stand up straight with her shoulders pulled back. It was the same advice her mama had given when she’d left the house for senior prom. She hadn’t appreciated the advice then. It seemed sexist and a bit pathetic. But when she looked at the photos after the fact, damn it all, her mama was right. Somehow, she’d looked more confident and poised than she’d ever felt during the rest of her four years in high school hell.)
Everything in Renee’s rundown had sounded so simple—especially the camera part. But once Bailey stood there with the cameraman, boom operator, and everyone else on the crew, it was pretty hard to ignore them. Every few seconds, her eyes would wander up from her iPad, and she’d catch herself staring into the lens capturing Wilder and Waverly’s playful dialogue.
“This fireplace is really something.” Wilder ran his hands over the cedar mantle.
“It’s something all right. It’s an eyesore and a total design disaster. That’s what it is.”
“Don’t be so harsh, Waverly.” He casually draped his arm over her shoulders. “All it needs is a little love.”
“It needs to be torn out and rebuilt.”
Pulling away from his wife, he shook his head. “Now that would be the real tragedy. I’m talkin’ on par with tearin’ down the Alamo.”
“Oh, the Alamo. Maybe it’s because I’m a Canadian, but I can’t even seem to remember it.”
Wilder winced and covered his heart with his hand. “Forgive her, mother Texas. She knows not what she says.”
Waverly rolled her eyes, and they stayed in place until Renee yelled, “Cut.”
Playing House Page 5
