She had Bailey there.
“I couldn’t help but notice you made no attempt to deny you’re sleeping with him.”
It took Bailey a second to realize what she was saying. Well, shit. She had her there, too.
“It just happened,” Bailey offered lamely, settling into a chair. “It’s actually what I came over to talk to you about. No one else knows, how did you—”
“Felix had a pretty good idea that’s where you were headed. Then, after he called Wilder yesterday morning and heard you in the background, we put two and two together.”
There was a bit of hurt in her tone, sending a wave of guilt through Bailey. She might not agree with her sister’s practice of keeping a rotation of men, but it wasn’t her place to judge. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She patted Bailey’s hand. “I know this doesn’t make sense to you, but . . . it’s the only way I know how to do relationships.”
“At least you’re honest.”
She met Bailey’s gaze. “Are you and Wilder being honest with each other?”
Bailey sighed and turned her attention to the sun rising outside the window over a row of condos. “We discussed our expectations before we jumped into bed. I think we were both honest.”
“You think or you know?”
“I . . .” She let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I really don’t know how to do this. You know me, I don’t really dip my toe in the dating pool. This isn’t really dating,” she added quickly. “It’s two people with chemistry spending some time together while our paths are crossed.”
“Relationships aren’t easy—even ones that aren’t really relationships. I may have more ‘experience’ in this area, but I’m not a role model.” Paige gave a humorless laugh. “Look at me. I have a nice, smart, considerate man who makes my toes curl. He wants to be with me. So much that he’s agreed to do this on my terms. My terms suck, but it’s the only way I can do it.”
This was the only way either of them knew how to do it. With a set of rules understood by everyone involved and an exit strategy in place before they began.
“Are we horrible, awful people?” Bailey asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Because we can’t figure out how to do . . .” she waved her hand, “any of this the ‘normal’ way?”
“I suppose it depends on your definition of normal. What does normal even mean? Does it really exist?”
“There may not be such a thing as normal, but we aren’t even coming close.”
“No, but it’s not exactly like we had any real example of what these hypothetical normal situations were supposed to look like in the real world.” Paige picked at an invisible piece of dust on the table top. “Dad has been married how many times? And Mama is so afraid of being abandoned again, she’s stringing Roger along after a million years together. How were we supposed to have a chance at normal?”
“Maybe it’s up to us to break the cycle somehow.”
“Maybe,” she agreed gloomily. “Any ideas how?
Bailey shook her head. “No, but if I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”
“Ditto.”
Chapter Fifteen
Was there anything sexier than a woman in a tool belt? How about one who could sling a hammer with a precision that even the most skilled of handymen would find admirable?
The answer was no as far as Wilder was concerned. He didn’t imagine there was anything sexier than watching Bailey in her standard uniform of jeans and a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, with a tool belt hanging low around her hips.
It was also pretty sexy the way she looked in one of his shirts—buttoned up partway while she lounged around in his room for the evening.
He bet she’d be smokin’ in a jersey, too. One of his favorite teams. The Texans or Astros. Nothing on underneath. Maybe it would ride up a little over her thighs when she stood on her tiptoes to reach for something on the top shelf in the kitchen.
Thinking about that probably made him a pervert. And maybe a bit of a pig if he was imagining her in the kitchen. In his defense, it was just the first image that came to mind. In exchange, he’d promise to do the dishes and cook the next time.
Still, the tool belt was at least a top five sexiest look for a woman. His woman. Maybe it was a little territorial given the arrangement they’d made at the bar the month before. But in that month, he’d gotten used to thinking of Bailey as his.
Right now, his woman was perched on a stepladder hanging a series of distressed picture frames in the great room of their latest house. Felix was supposed to do it originally. He’d given up after ten minutes. Bailey had called him a quitter. He’d called her a micromanager. She’d told him it wasn’t a crime to be a perfectionist. He’d told her she was giving him an ulcer.
In the end, they’d agreed it would be best for everyone if he found another task on the to-do list while she arranged the frames to her liking.
Wilder would offer to give her a hand, but he was enjoying the view.
Yeah, he was a pig. But he was only staring because he liked the way her hips moved when she leaned forward to hang a painting. And the way the tool belt drew attention to her shapely backside. It was mesmerizing to watch her work. It was like witnessing Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel or listening to Mozart write his Requiem. She was an artist. This was her canvas, her sheet music.
She’d found the frames at a garage sale. If this design business didn’t work out for her, she could make a killing as a seller or buyer in the black markets. He’d never seen someone haggle the way she did.
“It’s not about that,” she’d said, when he reminded her that money wasn’t an issue. “It’s about the thrill of the chase.”
That was his girl.
It didn’t stop there. After her shrewd negotiations, she gave the frames new life with some sandpaper and paint. Then to personalize them for the homeowners, she’d printed a selection of photos from their Instagram accounts. She’d worked with Felix to build a few matching shadowboxes, which she’d filled with souvenirs from their honeymoon.
At that moment, with a hammer, nails, and her keen eye for design, she was placing the frames and shadowboxes in a somewhat intricate arrangement on the wall. Like a puzzle, each piece fit together, building a larger work of art. If Felix or even he’d been left to hang them, they probably would’ve lined them up in a basic formation. Wilder was man enough to admit it wouldn’t have looked half as good as what she’s doing.
Catching his stare, Bailey gestured to the wall. “What do you think?”
“It’s . . .” There were hardly words. He could say it was inspiring, amazing, practically perfect in every way—just like her. But gushing wasn’t his style. It would probably freak her out. “It looks good.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Just good?”
“Yeah.” If looks could kill, he’d be long gone. It was tempting to leave it at that—because she was so cute when she was pissed. But he’d rather stay on the right of her good side. He’d only be depriving himself of her company if he made her mad.
Rather than admit he’d been an ass outright, he narrowed the distance between them and offered his hand to help her. Halfway down, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. “Be sure to get a photo of this wall for your portfolio.”
Her mouth curved into a grin a second before his lips covered it. She went limp in his arms for a second. Only a second. Then she shoved against his chest to create some distance. “Someone could see us,” she hissed.
He shrugged. “Who cares? Everyone on the crew has signed a confidentiality agreement, you included. If you’ll remember, what happens on the job site stays on the job site.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t cover something like this.”
“Sure it does.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” He buried his face in her hair, taking a deep breath because he could. “
Waverly and I are the ones who specifically requested the verbiage. Trust me. No one can say anything without the wrath of the Design Network’s legal team beating down on it.”
It wouldn’t be pretty if they did. The entertainment industry loved a good fight. A breach of contract case was something DN’s lawyers could manage in their sleep. He watched them go to work on an assistant they’d had during the first season. He’d tried to sell his behind-the-scenes story to a tabloid. In exchange, the lawyers threatened to take him for everything he and his future descendants were worth. And the guy hadn’t landed a job in the industry since.
It was another cliché, but the phrase “you’ll never work in this town again” came from somewhere. Lawyers and lawsuits.
Bailey still didn’t seem to buy it. “Wouldn’t it be better not to tempt anyone into breaking the agreement by giving them something to blab about?”
“Too late.” His mouth moved to her neck. Despite her resolve to resist, she shuddered and grabbed his shoulder to remain steady on her feet. “I’d guess most of the construction guys know.”
“What?” she shrieked.
His ears still ringing, he loosened his grip on her a little. “It’s not like it would take Magnum, P.I. to figure this one out.”
“But, we’ve been careful and . . . discreet. We almost never arrive anywhere together. We don’t talk to each other on the job site any more than we used to. We don’t do . . .” she gestured at his hands, still resting on her hips, “this around anyone. How could they figure it out?”
“We don’t hire idiots.”
She shook her head, clearly not buying his explanation. Then, panic flashed on her face. “Do you think Felix told anyone? Or maybe my sister when she came for a visit?”
“Not a chance. Felix has my back, and Paige has yours.”
“What about Renee?”
“It’s probably best if she doesn’t find out. She’d worry.”
“So—”
“But she won’t figure it out. She’s too preoccupied with schedules and shots.” He gave her one more kiss and released his hold on her altogether. “We have nothing to worry about on this. Trust me.”
“It’s not a matter of trust.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But if you say no one is going to sell a story about us having some kind of sordid affair to the National Enquirer, then I believe you.”
“Good.” He reached for her again, but she stepped away.
“Just because we won’t end up as a footnote in a tabloid—”
“Hey! I resent the implication that I’m only worth a footnote. Playing House is the top-rated show on DN.”
Bailey waved off his protest. “I still don’t think you should grope me when we’re at work. It isn’t professional.”
“Fine.” He held up his hands for her to see, then tucked them neatly into his pockets. “No more groping.”
“That’s a good boy. Did you mean what you said earlier?”
“About what?”
She sighed in exasperation. “About the wall. Did you really mean I should take a photo of it for my portfolio?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or were you just trying to butter me up so you’ll get lucky tonight?”
Would “both” be an acceptable answer? Probably not. “Babe, the wall is fucking amazing. The homeowners will go nuts for it.”
“Really?”
She really needed to start believing him. Or at the very least she should believe in the quality of her own work.
He threw an arm around her shoulders—casually enough that even she couldn’t protest—and turned her to see the wall from his perspective. A slow grin formed on her lips, then spread across her face and into her eyes. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that—her staring at the wall, him watching her wordlessly—but her satisfaction and the joy from her work filled his chest.
“You’re right,” she said at last. “It is fucking amazing. And the homeowners will love it.”
“That’s the spirit.” He glanced at his watch and noted it was well after six. Virginia was with Waverly for the night, which meant he was all Bailey’s. If she could pencil him into her schedule. “Are we about done here? Want to grab some dinner on our way back to the motel?”
“Sure.” She leaned into his side a little, in direct conflict with what she’d just said a few minutes ago about wanting to keep it professional at work. “Can we make a stop on our way? There’s a vintage shop I’d like to check out. I want to grab a couple of smaller pieces for the house before we turn it over.”
He gestured for her to lead the way down the stairs.
After only a small argument about who would drive, Bailey climbed into the passenger seat and they headed for the shop. They carried on a light banter about the movie they’d watched together a couple of nights before. Now that they didn’t have the sexual tension lingering between them, it was easier to talk. In the past month, they’d covered big chunks of their life stories. Their favorite kinds of cookies. What they’d wanted to be when they were five. He’d also given her grief for knowing every line of The Little Mermaid. She’d made a fairly convincing argument that he was wasting time when he watched poker championships on TV.
That was something else he liked about her. Bailey could take a little teasing as well as she could dish it out. It was a rare combo. It certainly kept things interesting.
While they debated the feasibility of which NFL mascot would beat the other—she claimed a Panther would beat a Patriot in a battle, but he disagreed—her phone rang. She glanced at the display. She quickly ignored it and flipped the phone upside down.
“Sorry.” She shot him an apologetic tight-lipped grin.
“You can take the call. This can wait.”
She shook her head. “No, this is important. That call wasn’t.”
“Who was it?”
“No one.” Her terse and hasty answer grabbed his attention. For some reason, she wanted to pretend that whoever had been calling her at infrequent intervals during the past few weeks wasn’t worth his notice. It bothered him that he’d noticed. And it bothered him that it bothered him.
They didn’t do secrets. They’d been upfront and honest about everything—which was admittedly rare in a relationship—except on this front. At least that’s what he thought. If she was this careful about concealing who was blowing up her phone, what else was she hiding from him? Was he being romantically swindled?
It was this trepidation that had him mindlessly blurting out, “Should I be worried about some boyfriend showing up on site to kick my sorry ass?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Please tell me you don’t have some guy back in Dallas.”
“You think I’m cheating on you with someone?” She sounded just shocked and outraged enough to soothe his ego.
Shaking his head, Wilder turned his focus back on the road. “Technically, wouldn’t I be the other man in this situation?”
“There is no ‘this situation,’ because I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Then who keeps calling?”
“No one.”
“Bullshit.” She sucked in a breath. He almost backed down—he really didn’t want them to get into a knock-down, drag-out verbal fight while he was driving. But he couldn’t give up. He had to know. “Who keeps calling?”
“I can’t believe you think I’m the kind of person who would cheat.”
“I don’t.” Well, not completely. For the millionth time, he asked who’d been calling.
Clutching the phone in her fist, she let out a sigh of defeat. “It’s my father, okay? My father keeps calling me.”
The last bit of worry slipped away. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know.” She turned her gaze out the passenger window. “I’m not taking his calls.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a dick who walked out on his family, skipped out on most of our childhoods, never showed up to anything, and only expressed an interest in me after he c
aught wind I’d be working with a TV crew.” She turned and flashed him a bright, if insincere, smile. “Is that enough backstory? Or would you like me to tell you about how many women he’s married and divorced?”
He swallowed hard. “That’s enough.”
“Good.” She dropped the phone back in her purse and turned her gaze to the passing scenery. “Because I don’t want to talk about him.”
He should let it go. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. He glanced across the truck at her. Her lips were pursed together—like she’d swallowed a lemon or learned that painted shiplap was going out of style. She was also tapping the armrest rapidly. It was the same way she tapped on a tabletop when she was worked up about something.
He should let it go, but he couldn’t. Not when she was that upset. Not when it was a subject he might be able to weigh in on, even if she didn’t like what he had to say.
“Maybe,” Wilder said softly, “your dad realizes what a dick he’s been and wants to make amends. Maybe he wants to be part of your life now.”
“Because I’m working on a TV show?”
That was another thing. “How did he hear about your work on the show? Does your sister talk to him?”
“Paige wants even less to do with him than I do.”
“Did he see it on Facebook? No, that can’t be it. You haven’t posted anything on any of your accounts.”
At least not that he’d seen since they’d become involved. Or before that. (He might have snooped through some of her old posts one night when he was bored.)
“He found out from the network.” Her lip twitched. “I guess he’s one of their lawyers. I didn’t realize that was what he was up to now or . . .”
Or she wouldn’t have signed on for the job in the first place.
She didn’t have to say it. It wasn’t that she was afraid of conflict. She didn’t run away from it at least. But she was the sort of person who would do her best to avoid pain if it was within her power. It was a trait they shared. Their current arrangement was proof of that.
Playing House Page 17
