“Again, Devon thought it was for the best.”
Devon didn’t know shit, but Wilder stopped short of saying it out loud. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you think it was better to blindside me?”
“Well . . . I didn’t really think about it much.”
“Jesus, Waverly. Do you care about me or my feelings at all?”
“I know you’re surprised, but it’s really not that big of a deal. It’s what we’d have to do anyway when we sign on for another season.”
“You think I want to do another season?”
“Of course. This is what we do. It’s our job. Our ratings are better than ever and store sales are through the roof. Why would we stop now?”
“You assume I’d want to keep working with you after this?” He clenched his fists at his side and had to remind himself of Bailey’s words. That no matter what happened, he and Waverly were forever linked through Virginia. “You have to be out of your mind.”
“You want out of the show? To do what? To go back to hammering two-by-fours for minimum wage? Or do you think you can get solo and get the same kind of ratings and sales? Because let me tell you this: you’re nothing without the brand—my brand.”
He’d struck a nerve with her before. By all appearances, it was still stinging and she was ready to inflict pain back on him.
“The brand. Of course. You mean the one you left Bailey and me to manage while you’ve been cozying up with Devon?”
“You’re hardly in a position to call me out for dating someone else.”
“That’s not—”
“Look at what’s going on in your own bedroom. You’ve been sleeping with my design assistant. Our employee. If that isn’t a conflict of interest—”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Why?” Waverly put a protective hand over her belly. “You stand there slut shaming me—”
“I’m not—”
“And you’re accusing me of, well, I’m not actually sure what you’re trying to say. But remember this—”
“Oh, this should be good—”
“You’re the one who changed the game plan. Not me.”
He shook his head. “What plan?”
“And for what? For her?”
“This isn’t just about her. But since you refuse to leave her out of this, how could you be so inconsiderate of Bailey? After everything she’s done for you—for us.”
“It’s not like she was doing it out of the goodness of her heart. She got a paycheck, and whatever else she takes from Devon.”
That gave him pause. “What do you mean?”
“Devon is a businessman. He knows how to deal with savvy career climbers. I’m sure they’ll come to terms.”
“She’s not an opportunist.”
“Are you so sure about that?” She plopped down on a chair, running soothing motions over her belly. She might appear at ease, but her eyes said otherwise. They looked ready to cut if given the chance. “It didn’t take her long to get herself on camera.”
“That was necessary. You were gone and we were behind schedule. Renee practically begged her to do it. And I’ll remind you, that only happened after you went AWOL.”
“Are you sure that’s how it happened? Because it wasn’t much later that she hopped into your bed. Can you level with me on something that I can’t quite wrap my brain around?”
“What?” He couldn’t quite keep the venom out of his voice.
“In this moment, are you thinking with your dick or your head?”
His eye twitched. “Neither.”
“I suppose you’re going to put on some lover boy act and say this is about love and passion and following your heart.”
“It wouldn’t be an act.”
“Whatever you say. You used to be so rational, so easy to understand. Now . . . you’re someone who’s left his libido in charge.”
“Waverly,” his already chilly voice turned to solid ice. “You should be careful.”
“Or what? You’ll quit the show? We both know you’ll never do that.”
“Why not?”
She arched an eyebrow. “The same reason you haven’t quit before.”
There it was. The underlying threat that had carried them through each season. The one neither of them ever spoke about explicitly—at least, not to each other. He’d always known she would make his life hell if he quit, but she’d never actually said it. He needed her to say it now.
“And why exactly is that?”
“You don’t want the bad press.”
“To hell with the press. I don’t care—”
“You might not care about what people say about you, but you care about what they will say about the people you do care about.” She never flinched, and he was reminded of why so many people found Waverly intimidating once they got to know her. “A lot will come out in a custody hearing.”
It always came back to Virginia and what he’d do for her. She was right. They both knew it, and they both knew he’d do anything he could to keep this from hurting her. As he stared at Waverly glaring at him, he wondered how he’d ever loved her. Was there any bit of that woman he’d loved left in the person trying to coerce him?
If he allowed himself, he was almost certain he could hate her.
“I’m curious about something.”
“What?”
“Someday, when Virginia is old enough to understand all of this, what are you going to tell her?”
“About?”
“About how you cared so little about her father that you turned him into a spineless yes-man. About how you used her to make me do whatever you felt like.”
It wasn’t entirely fair. While she’d used Virginia, he’d allowed her to do it without putting up a fight. He was as much to blame as she was, but he didn’t feel like playing fair right now.
“I’m tired. Tired of moving around. Tired of the cameras. Tired of jumping when you give the order. But mostly, I’m tired of living a lie. I just can’t do this anymore.”
They wouldn’t come to any terms or resolutions today. Not while they were both so angry and unwilling to compromise. He moved toward the door. With his hand on the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Waverly was still breathing heavily, silently fuming.
“Look, we both need to take a little time to cool off.”
“You’re right.”
“And while we do, you might ask yourself if all of this is really worth it. You might try to figure out if your heart is even in it anymore. When you figure that out, let me know.”
He didn’t give her time to answer. Instead, he slipped outside. Leaning against the door, he breathed in, giving himself a moment to collect himself. That hadn’t been easy, or particularly productive. But it had felt good to get years of frustration off his chest.
After a moment, once he was feeling more himself, he pushed away and went to find the only person—the only thing—in his life that made sense.
***
While Wilder and Waverly disappeared behind the conference room door to come to an arrangement, Devon invited Bailey into his office. She considered refusing him. She didn’t particularly want to talk to him. Or anyone for that matter. It wasn’t even noon, and she was already emotionally drained for the day. Plus, she’d downed three hot dogs, which wasn’t her best move. But because he was still technically her boss, and because it would have been immature to throw a fit, she’d followed him into his office.
She surveyed her surroundings the way she would have any potential project. She started with the focal point of his office—the desk. The asymmetrical walnut wood masterpiece had probably set him back at least five or six thousand dollars.
Following her gaze, he said, “It’s Italian.”
She was right. At least five thousand. Though oddly enough, it appeared to be made out of American wood and leather. The light weathered finish screamed West Coast chill, which didn’t particularly match the man now sea
ted behind it. He’d bought an American-style desk from Italy. Wilder and Felix could have custom-built him one exactly like it over a weekend for a fraction of the cost. But this was show biz. He probably had a reputation to uphold. How could he look the other executives in the eye if he didn’t have the same fancy office suite as all of them?
The man in question studied her as closely as she did the desk. Yet his voice was cool, almost bored when he spoke. “We hope you understand how much we appreciate your discretion with this . . . situation. We’re prepared to show you just how much we appreciate the way you’ve handled everything.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”
The smirk stayed firmly in place. “We have a couple of proposals for you.” Even from behind a desk, he could grandstand like no one she’d ever seen before. “We’re prepared to set you up with your own construction crew and production team to develop a new TV show for the DN or one of our sister networks. It’s a developmental deal, which doesn’t guarantee your show will make it on the air, but we’ll have a vested interest in making sure it does. We’re impressed with the work you’ve done this season.”
A developmental deal with the most popular design channel in the world wasn’t a bad offer for someone who was working a crappy entry-level job, with no potential, a year ago. It was basically a Cinderella story for a prematurely washed-up designer.
It was a generous offer, but he didn’t need her to acknowledge it. They both knew the stakes.
“I imagine we could also set you up with your own blog or website. Your team could help you with the updates, but it would give you a solid brand platform for expansion. Especially with the power of the Design Network behind you.”
She’d never imagined herself as a brand. Even during her months working on the show, she’d never considered what it would be like to have it all for herself. But it would be pretty exciting. She could do something like The Basics with Bailey, which would focus on easy DIY home design. Or maybe they’d do something more specific, like creating beautiful, but functional living spaces. She wasn’t sure what she’d call that show, but she was only two minutes into her developmental deal meeting.
“What else?”
He stroked his chin, still watching her with those hawk-like eyes, like he was waiting to pounce and prey on any weakness she might show. “If you’d rather not continue your association with the network, which we can certainly understand given how challenging this has been, we’re prepared to offer you a bonus.”
“A bonus?”
“You put more work into this season of Playing House than your contract stipulated. It’s only fair we rewarded you, financially, for your efforts. It’d be equal to what we’d invest if we kept you in the DN family, but you’d have the option to spend it however you like. Maybe you’ll want to start your own design firm back in Texas? I don’t know. It’s up to you.”
She wasn’t a business expert—her focus had always been on the creative side—but she was pretty sure these were buyout offers. His proposed payment for getting her to revoke any claims on Wilder with as little fuss as possible and out of the public eye.
A year ago, she never would have imagined any of this. She never would have wanted her own show or do-it-yourself website. It never would have occurred to her to set up a business. Not when she was still so new and had so much to prove.
She never would have expected to fall so hard for a man and have him used as collateral. Not when she’d always sworn against being the kind of woman who let a man affect her thoughts.
Yet here she was with possibilities. Part of her—the struggling designer—wanted to take one of the offers. But she couldn’t. No matter which one she chose, she’d still be giving up a piece of herself and a part of her heart.
What good was having a heart when you were missing a giant chunk of it?
“Okay . . .” She cleared her throat. “I have to ask you something.”
“Certainly.”
“You leaked the story to the media. Didn’t you?”
“I might have had something to do with it.”
“Okay. Do you love Waverly?”
“I don’t—”
“Please.” She held up a hand to silence his protest. “Let’s be honest with each other if we’re going to do this.”
His frown remained in place, but he nodded. “Sure. Yes.” The words came out quick and stern, but in a blink, he let out a heavy breath. Like he’d been holding on to it for some time. For an instant, his eyes lightened. Like admitting it out loud to someone had unleashed a heavy weight from his chest. “I love Waverly.”
“And the baby?”
“The baby, too. I love the baby.”
“If you love that woman, then how can you let her pretend to be someone else’s wife?” She paused, holding her breath to avoid inadvertently letting out a sob after all of this. “If you love your child, how can you let someone else play its father?”
“It’s only temporary—”
“Nothing is temporary. Not when you put it on TV and the Internet.” Her hands flattened against the smooth wood of his desk. “You basically run a channel for God’s sakes. You of all people should know nothing goes away, no one forgets. What happens when your baby is old enough to run a search engine? What about Virginia? There’s no way she can completely understand what’s going on. You’re fucking up two kids’ lives because of some stupid show no one will care about in a few more seasons.”
His frown was back—and this time his face turned red. He sputtered without making sense. Interspersed with the nonsense, she was able to make out key phrases, like “how dare you” and “coldhearted bitch.” She let him take a few jabs, because he was angry. Just like she was. Maybe it was petty, but she wanted him on her level. She was spoiling for a good fight.
Shakily, Devon poured himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. He swallowed half of it, before setting it down and meeting her gaze.
“Okay, I might be putting business before my personal life. But aren’t you asking Wilder to jeopardize what matters most to him if you get him to quit and move back to Texas with you?”
“I haven’t asked him to do anything.”
“Maybe not, but he wants to give it all up for you, whether or not you’ve asked. If he gives up the show, his business, he’ll also be giving up his only tangible link to Virginia.”
“I don’t—”
“Because I can assure you, he won’t find it an easy fight to get more than two weeks of visitation a year. Even getting that far will be a challenge. I’ll personally make sure the case stays in the courts until Virginia is in high school.”
Bailey sucked in a breath. “You’re blackmailing me.”
“Ms. Meredith, I would never. I’m just explaining how difficult things might be for you and Wilder if you make any rash decisions. Particularly without considering the ramifications. This isn’t blackmail. It’s a sincere warning. Because when the time comes, who is he going to choose? You or his daughter?”
They stared at each other. Now he was the composed one. Suddenly, she wasn’t so keen to fight.
Bailey opened her mouth to say something—anything—but a light rapping at the office door drew their attention.
Devon rose to his feet. “Our guest is just in time.”
She frowned and was about to ask what guest when the door swung open. A man with silver-streaked hair and a belly that bulged out of his smartly cut suit entered. Her stomach dropped to her toes.
The man met her glare and swallowed hard. “Bailey.” His voice cracked.
“Dad.”
Devon ushered her father forward, giving her a chance to inspect him more closely. She supposed the suit and silver streaks gave him a somewhat dignified air. Wasn’t that just unfair? How could a man who’d lived as hard as her father look dignified? He paused just shy of the other chair. He nearly sat, but instead inched closer to her. He reached out a hand. “Bailey Honey—”
His use of t
he endearment was too much. She jumped out of her seat and ran to stand behind it to put something physical in between them.
“No. I didn’t sign up for this.” She looked between Devon and her father, pain spreading through her chest, threatening to erupt. “I didn’t sign up for any of this.”
For the second time that day, she ran away, leaving her father calling after her while a smirk spread across Devon’s face. She ran all the way out of the office, frantically pressing the elevator buttons, willing it to come faster. She no longer cared about making a dignified exit. There was no chance of it. She’d already had her dignity stripped. All she could do now was escape before the tears consumed her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
She went for a walk. Without knowing—or caring—about where she was, she kept up a brisk pace block after block. The skyscrapers and towering piles of bricks, the hordes of people and cars moving around, offered her refuge from everything warring inside her.
She’d walked until the throbbing in her feet hurt more than the pain in her chest. Not knowing where she was, and knowing better than to ask a stranger on the streets for help, she took a cab back to the hotel. She watched the sights of the city fly by without seeing them and decided she didn’t want any of this. She didn’t want what Devon had offered. She didn’t want what Wilder was willing to give up. It was too much. It was all too much.
She just wanted to go back to being herself. She wanted to be in control.
Too overwhelmed to go to her room and in need of something to dull the dueling aches in her heart and feet, she settled at the bar and ordered a glass of wine.
That’s where Wilder found her hours later, nursing her third or fourth glass. Fear and relief were etched on his face—just like they had been when he’d come to her bedside after the appendectomy months earlier. This time it did nothing to calm her heart. This time, it tore her apart.
“Bailey Honey.” He reached for her, even as she winced. “Where’d you go? You weren’t at the office. Devon said he had no idea where you’d gone and the receptionist said you’d been running.” He reached for her, but she pulled away.
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