CHAPTER SEVEN
Bailey
Why had she felt the need to text that photo of her and Gary to Jenson? What if he got offended or viewed it as sexual harassment?
She skimmed her texts again, just to be on the safe side. No. There wasn’t anything inappropriate about anything she’d said. Even her dress in the photo was modest by most people’s standards. There were hundreds of women who didn’t think twice about exposing most or all of their skin in the name of fashion. Bailey wasn’t one of them.
Her phone dinged. Jenson. She swept up the phone to view his reply.
Beautiful dress, by the way.
A small thrill went through her. Her reaction didn’t make sense. She didn’t know this man, not really. He was definitely older than her, judging by his profile pic. He didn’t act older, though. He seemed like he was her age. Twenty-five or so.
Thanks. :) Don’t forget the Windsor spot is airing in the states tonight.
Cool. I’m not in the states, though. I’ll have to see if they have an international version.
Bailey frowned and brought up her paperwork for Jenson. It said he was in New York. She tapped out a quick response.
Thought you were in NYC?
His answer came back instantly. Florico.
She frowned. Had he put down the wrong information? Florico was a long way from New York. But, as though he’d read her mind, his reply came back.
I’m here on a working vacation.
Oh, that explained it. What was wrong with her? It didn’t matter where Jenson was. It wasn’t like she had to keep tabs on him. He was a freelancer. He owed her his designs—nothing more. Still, she found herself typing a response before she realized what she was doing.
That’s where I’m from! Say hello for me.
Like he’d needed that information. She turned on the TV to resist the temptation to text further.
A game show was in the process of wrapping up when the screen flickered to life. A man in a dinner jacket and pants stood beside a woman in a ball gown, clapping while the credits rolled. The whole design needed updating. Not just the sets and show, but the design of the credits. The eighties-flashback lime green and white text turned Bailey’s stomach.
The Windsor ad spot would come on any minute. She perched on the edge of the sofa while she waited.
Finally, the show ended and a man in a tux moved onto the screen. He gave a small, knowing sort of smile to his TV viewers.
“Don’t you ever want to get away? To be treated like the royal you truly are?” He spoke in a clipped, British accent, but he didn’t come across as uptight. Instead, he seemed to understand the audience. “At Windsor, you’ll be pampered from the instant you arrive until you depart for the airport and your return journey.” As he spoke, he walked the glorious Windsor grounds, paused by a gorgeous waterfall with a backdrop of the Arizona desert, and strolled past a couple receiving hot stone massages. “You’ll leave it all behind.”
Then the actor moved into another scene—one where a woman relaxed on a chaise, staring up at a starry sky, while a waiter brought her champagne.
“Windsor . . . channel your inner royal.”
And then the commercial ended, with Bailey’s design and Jenson’s perfect font.
“Oh my gosh! Awesome!” She clapped her hands together in rapid succession. Not only did the design look great, but they’d kept her idea for a tagline—channel your inner royal. “Yay! It looks wonderful!”
She threw her arms around Duncan, cuddling him close. He licked her cheek in response. His whole, heated body wiggled against her. “Champagne time!”
Bailey had gotten into the habit of keeping several mini bottles of pink champagne at the ready. Even if it was just she and Duncan, she needed to celebrate the good things. The Windsor project unequivocally fell into that category.
She was halfway through her first toast—she with some bubbly, Duncan with a fresh bowl of water—when her phone dinged. She glanced down. Mmm, Windsor.
Great work on this project. The spot just aired and we’ve already had 3000 website hits!
Bailey blinked. Wow, really? She fired off a quick response.
That’s incredible news. Now the world will know about Windsor. J
Yes, and it’s your design that did the job. Expect an extra bonus in your bank account for the work. Did you know the font is trending on Twitter?
“What?”
Duncan nudged Bailey’s knee as she opened Twitter and viewed the Trends For You section. There it was! #windsorfont sat at the bottom of the trending list. “No way, Duncan. It was mentioned by @badasstypophile! That dude never likes anything!”
She keyed a response to Windsor. Thank you so much for your generosity. I do subcontract out my font work, but I’ll be sure to share your praise and half of whatever’s deposited into my account.
It was generous of her. Probably more than a lot of other designers would do. But her dad always said an honest day’s work was the only kind of work worth doing. Jenson had designed something incredible on the Windsor project. He deserved to be compensated as much as Bailey did.
Then we’ll double the deposit. Our thanks to your subcontractor.
Wow. Bailey forced herself to take ten calming breaths, counting each in her head. Only when she’d finished did she allow herself to log on to her bank account. There it was. A pending four-thousand-dollar deposit. It might not seem like much to other people, but to Bailey, half of it was enough to cover her rent for a month and pay her utilities, too.
She tapped out a quick text. Thank you, again.
She skimmed Twitter for a moment, noting how #windsorfont had already climbed the trending ranks. Amazing how people spent time talking about a font. But there it was.
Bailey closed the app and decided to let Jenson know. She fired off one more text.
Great news! Windsor ad a success. I’ll be wiring $2k into your account tomorrow, courtesy of our happy client.
After sending the text, she set her phone down. She wanted to talk to someone about the ad and Windsor’s success, but she had no one—save Duncan, and he didn’t understand design. Or English. The funny thing was, she wished she could talk to Jenson.
Her phone dinged once more and she lunged for it. The text wasn’t from Jenson, but from Stan Steinhauer, the president of Windsor.
Ms. Parker, we’re being interviewed by the local paper regarding the ad you helped design for us. We’d like the name of the typeface designer. We plan to plug both of you.
Bailey bolted to an upright position in her bed. Yes! So much free publicity for Bailey Parker Designs. It was exactly what her business needed. The promo would probably set Jenson up with work for life. She typed a quick reply.
That’s wonderful. His name is Jenson Keats.
A ball of warmth formed in her stomach as she typed his name. What was wrong with her? Why was she spending so much time thinking about Jenson?
She was a professional and Jenson was an employee. She really needed to get a life which involved more than her computer and her dog.