CHAPTER THREE
Bailey
It was just after one a.m. when Bailey leaned back into her curvy desk chair. Back, back, back and . . . her world tilted as the chair tipped. Before she knew what had happened, she was laying on the floor, the chair beside her. Duncan, her golden doodle, and the sole representative of her entire love life, raised his head, forced himself to his feet, and trotted over to give her one long lick across the forehead.
Bailey blinked and scratched Duncan behind the ears. “Thanks, Boy. I must have fallen asleep.” Using Duncan as leverage, Bailey got to her feet and righted her chair. She checked her phone. Still nothing more from Jenson.
The project seemed to stump him. She couldn’t say why. Hopefully, he understood what she’d said about thinking royal. If he didn’t come up with something soon, she’d be screwed.
She couldn’t explain it, but she’d come to rely on his type designs to inspire her. Without them, she wasn’t sure where to start on the project. Inspiration hadn’t been forthcoming.
She needed the client, too. Bailey Parker Designs was on the cusp of getting some serious attention in the graphic design world. The last thing she wanted was to lose the attention. Picking up the phone, she fired off two more texts.
Does that make sense?
We can do a video call if it would help?
Bailey stared at the phone, focusing on the two messages she’d sent as if it would make him respond faster. After about a minute and a half of that, she tossed the phone down on her bed, gray standing out against white. Everything was white in her studio apartment—the walls, the bedding, the furniture, even the floors and ceilings. Bailey liked it. It made her feel as though she’d chosen to live in the clouds. Beyond that, it made all of the pops of color she’d strategically placed about the space stand out more.
The brightest piece, without a doubt, was the small, framed picture on her desk. Her dad would’ve gotten on her case if he’d seen it, but she didn’t care. Having a photograph of Prince Asher, her country’s future sovereign, on her desk made her feel as though she were in her bedroom back in Florico.
The latest letter from Dad caught her eye. She picked it up. Hesitating, she stared at it a moment, scanning the handwriting. Then she opened her second desk drawer and rested it inside with the others, unopened.
Swallowing hard, she stared out her window, where rain poured down over the already partially flooded New York streets. She loved the big city, particularly her apartment in Riverdale. The fourteen-hundred dollar a month rent, however, she could do without. The previous month, she’d had to take on extra design work to make rent. But she’d gone to school in NYC, graduated there, and liked it.
She’d created a life for herself. What did it matter if her life only included her and Duncan? It was still hers. There was nothing for her back in Florico, no matter how much she missed it.
The only thing Bailey needed to do was make a commitment to leave her apartment. To make friends and meet new people. Somehow, it seemed like a bigger challenge than winning even the toughest client.
Her eyes slid closed and she forced herself to keep moving. It was time for more coffee. No doubt.
Strange that Jenson hadn’t responded right away. They’d been texting for hours. If he delivered on his end, she could meet the client’s deadline, she was sure of it.
The client was Windsor—the spa where everyone got treated like royalty. Ugh. Cheesy. Everything she’d designed for them seemed horrible—in her mind.
She glanced at the text they’d sent yesterday.
Do you think you’ll still meet our deadline?
Bailey had always prided herself on never missing a deadline in her life. She wasn’t about to change. She’d fired off a quick reply.
Absolutely.
The room in front of her swam as she blinked weariness from her eyes. She had to finish work on the Windsor project while she waited for Jenson, but she wouldn’t win over clients half-asleep. Her phone dinged.
Yes, I think I get it now. Give me a couple of hours. Have to run out for a thing.
Bailey sighed. She could deal with a couple of hours. If Jenson said he would get his work done, he would. She’d learned an awful lot about him over the course of the past three months. Another ding.
Worst cookies ever eaten?
She grinned. It was a little game they’d started playing one day when both of them had been creatively blocked. She tapped her answer.
Chocolate chip . . . zucchini
Blah. Came his reply. God awful. Mine were carrot meringue. Gotta run.
A smile still clung to her lips as she crossed the room to her large bed with its fluffy, white bedding and collapsed on top of the mattress face-first.
She could be creative later, but right then, . . . sleep.