Chapter One

Bailey Meredith tended to worry more than anyone else in her family.

Mama thought a woman should do her best and not fret about the rest. Her big sister, Paige, liked to live and let live—and boy, did she live. Nana believed in leaving everything up to the good Lord’s plan. Roger, her mother’s long-term gentleman friend, well, the only thing he worried about was whether or not the damn Cowboys—pardon his language—were ever going to make it to the Super Bowl again in his lifetime—no disrespect.

But Bailey worried. When she was in high school, she worried no one would ask her to the prom. (She ended up with three invitations, which opened up a whole mess of other concerns.) In college, she worried about making good enough grades to get into a graduate program at a reputable architecture school. (Again, she wound up having her pick, before settling on the University of Texas.) And just last week, she worried about whether or not she should renew the lease on her studio apartment in downtown Dallas. (She’d make that decision based on how the job interview went today.)

Oddly enough, she wasn’t worried about the interview. The way she saw it, if it went well and she got an offer, she’d be sitting pretty. She could either use it as leverage to get her current firm to pony up on their long-held promise to promote her from a personal assistant to a full-fledged designer. Or, they wouldn’t take the bait and she’d quit. If the interview didn’t pan out, well, she still had her job getting coffee for the people who were living her dream. At least it paid the rent.

Her sister saw the situation a little differently.

“Don’t you think this whole thing is funny?” Paige asked from her perch on the edge of the bathtub, where she watched Bailey coat mascara on her lashes.

“I’m not sure that a job interview offers much to laugh about.”

“You know what I mean.”

She did, but forever the little sister, Bailey liked to work Paige up a little before conceding to anything.

“Well, let’s see here.” Bailey pursed her lips, deciding she liked this shade of lipstick just fine. She usually left her lips bare, except for Chap Stick, but today called for something special, something bold. The bright red—or Fearless Femme, as it said on the side of the tube—worked. She felt like Marilyn Monroe. Even if her gray pant suit and cobalt blouse were more demure than anything the starlet had ever worn. She felt powerful and in control. She felt confident and beautiful. Mostly, she didn’t feel worried.

Satisfied with her overall appearance, she turned away from the mirror, leaning a hip against the counter. “I replied to an ad looking for an interior design assistant who—and I quote—‘will create home designs and oversee them through to completion.’”

It was like the ad had been written for her. Wanted: Interior design assistant for a short-term contract. Ideal candidate will have minimum three years of professional experience and related undergraduate degree. Requires expansive portfolio with referrals, self-starter who works well on a team. Must be deadline-oriented, budget-conscious, and flexible. Prefer a candidate with architectural and post-graduate experience.

And unlike her current job, there was no mention of getting coffees for the top brass.

“I not only met the required and preferred qualifications, but I’ve been through two rounds of phone interviews, and they want to meet me in person.”

“Yes, but even after applying for that job and going through two phone interviews, you still have no idea who you’ll be working for.”

That was true. The ad had been for a confidential entity, which would remain a secret until an offer was on the table. Assuming she got the offer, she’d know the who soon enough. If she didn’t . . . it didn’t matter. She didn’t care.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“What if this is a CIA front?”

Bailey arched a freshly tweezed and penciled eyebrow. “The CIA hires interior designers?”

“I’m serious. I read a book by a former CIA operative who landed his job by answering an advertisement for a graphic designer.” Paige shook her head, sending neatly coiffed blonde curls rolling over her slim shoulders. “It happens.”

“I doubt the CIA is coming to Texas to recruit people to redecorate their offices in Washington—or wherever they’re based.”

“What if they send you somewhere to spy on a suspected terrorist under the guise of designing a palace? Could you withstand the pressure?”

“Why would they want to hire someone with a background in eco-friendly design if I was building a palace? Do you really think someone building a palace cares about sustainability?”

“How are we to know what they’ll want?”

Bailey barely contained a laugh. “Why would it only be a temporary gig? If the U.S. Government was going to take on the time and expense required to train an intelligence operative, don’t you think they’d want a multi-year commitment?”

Paige’s eyes widened. “Not if they’re sending you on a suicide mission.”

Sometimes there was no reasoning with her sister.

“Mama thinks it’s a kidnappin’ scheme. She’s worried they’re going to load you up into a van and sell you as a sex slave.”

Their mama really needed to lay off NCIS, Criminal Minds, and the long list of other crime shows filling her DVR.

“Don’t worry.” Bailey patted her purse. “I always carry pepper spray.”

Unimpressed, Paige rose to her feet, planting balled up fists on her hips. “Roger thinks you’ll be working on an Army base. And Nana thinks it’s a front for a reality show. I told them—”

“You should have told them to relax.” Bailey reached out and pulled her sister in for a hug. “Which is exactly what I’m going to tell you to do right now.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” She squeezed tighter. “It’s all gonna be fine.”

***

Oddly enough, Bailey did believe everything would be fine. On her drive from Paige’s apartment in Austin—where she’d stayed last night in a spare bedroom—Bailey sang along to the music blasting from the radio.

A couple of times, she reached over to pat her portfolio of sketches where they sat on the passenger seat. She’d almost been tempted to buckle them, but that had seemed like overkill. Still, she wanted to make sure they made it to her interview in one piece. She was proud of her designs—even if her current bosses didn’t appreciate them. Maybe if they had, she wouldn’t be on her way to a job interview.

No, it wasn’t a need for recognition that had her pushing forward. It was the need to work, to do something important. Whatever this job turned out to be, she hoped it would matter.

Even if it turned out to be designing mini-mansions for some CIA operation trying to infiltrate a terrorist cell. Thanks for that visual, Paige.

She made good time, and Bailey pulled into the parking lot of the office building fifteen minutes before her scheduled appointment. The exterior didn’t offer much in the way of explaining her prospective employer. The pile of cinder blocks and blacked out windows looked like any other building in an office park. At the front door, she scanned the list of business names on the directory. There was a financial planner and a dentist. But the spot for Suite 307—the one she’d been instructed to visit—was blank.

No worries. She should have expected that, given the secrecy thus far. Pulling back her shoulders, she hit the call button and waited.

“State your purpose,” a deep male voice cracked over the intercom.

“Uh . . .” She cleared her throat. “I’m Bailey Meredith. I have a ten o’clock with Renee—”

“Come on up.”

The door buzzed. Casting a cursory glance around, Bailey stepped inside. The building lobby wasn’t much more exciting than the outside. Sterile, gray—even grayer than her pantsuit—and otherwise nondescript. So maybe Paige was right. Maybe this was some sort of government front. Maybe she was less than an hour away from joining the CIA or Men in Black.

When the elevator doors slid open to an even drabber reception room, the first ebb of doubt flowed through Bailey.

This is a good idea. I have nothing to lose. This will all be fine. I’ll be fine. She just needed to remind herself of that a few more times until she truly believed it.

The man sitting behind a tidy, but unimpressive, metal desk gave her a once-over and cocked an eyebrow. “Ms. Meredith?”

“Yes. Bailey Mer—”

“Have a seat.”

She perched on the edge of one of the chairs he’d directed her toward. Clutching her purse and portfolio close to her chest, she surveyed the room. One wall had peeling beige wallpaper under a yellowish water spot in the ceiling. A dark window took up most of the other wall, offering an unimpressive view of the pavement and fenced-in lot outside.

The receptionist caught her gaze and she offered a smile. His eyes narrowed, and he turned his attention back to the computer monitor.

Oh, God. Maybe this was a kidnapping scheme after all.

She darted a quick glance at the door to the hallway. If she moved fast—and didn’t mind dropping her portfolio—she might make it to the elevator before her would-be kidnappers had her bound and gagged.

A pair of high heels clacking from the other hallway drew her away from hatching an escape plan. It was probably Renee, the woman conducting today’s interview. Hopefully, she was friendlier than the receptionist. And not a kidnapper. The clicks and clacks grew louder and louder. She straightened in her seat and took a deep calming breath. I’ve got this. Or at the very least, I have enough wits and wile to get out of a sticky situation if this thing heads south.

The clacking came to a halt as a tall, slender woman filled the door frame. With her dark hair gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck and a smartly tailored blazer and slacks, she could be Bailey’s twin. Except for the hair. Bailey’s was honey blonde, not brown. And she wore it loose and wavy around her shoulders. It was completely subjective, and made little sense, but the familiarity eased some of her nerves. When the other woman offered a welcoming smile, the last bits of concern slipped away.

This was a good idea. She was sure of it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. You’re Bailey Meredith?”

“That’s right.” Bailey rose to her feet and stepped forward, tucking the portfolio under one arm and extending the other to shake her hand. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“It’s our pleasure.” She captured Bailey’s hand in an easy grip. “I can’t tell you how impressed I am with the work samples you sent us.”

At least someone appreciated the work. More often than not, her bosses at Duncan, Lancaster & Swanson ignored her project proposals and went with the work submitted by more senior designers at the firm. Catching the disappointment on her face every time, Bailey’s supervisor would remind her this was a learning experience and a chance for her to grow. Bailey wasn’t sure how she was supposed to develop her career if she wasn’t given a chance to turn her designs into finished products.

Renee led Bailey down the internal hallway, chatting as they passed closed doors. “We’re kind of in the middle of unpacking.” She gestured to the banker boxes sitting outside of the doors in the hallway. “I got here yesterday, but most of our staff won’t be coming from Toronto until later this week.”

Toronto. So much for Paige’s theory about CIA covers.

One of the fluorescent lights flickered, reflecting off an uninspired photo of a sunflower. Maybe they wanted her to redecorate their new office space. With that in mind, she took a closer look at the space, nearly wrinkling her nose at yet another patch of water damage yellowing the walls. This place certainly needed a little love and attention.

“How was your flight?” Bailey asked, paying more attention to the divots in the terrazzo floors than to formulating a more inventive question. She’d never seen such chipped-up flooring. That wouldn’t be a cheap fix. While it wasn’t as sexy as terrazzo, maybe short industrial carpeting might be a better fit for the space. Anything had to be better than this neglected mess.

“Great. Not too much turbulence. Not too crowded.” Renee opened the last door at the end of the hallway and motioned Bailey inside. “It’s kind of sad when that’s the best you can say for a flight. Flying used to be so much more fun.”

Bailey murmured in agreement, even though she didn’t have much of a reference. She’d only been on a plane twice in her life. Once in elementary school, she and Paige flew to New York to visit their father, and then they flew back again. Aside from that trip, her family never went anywhere they couldn’t drive.

Easing into a seat at the table, Bailey took in her surroundings, making mental notes of the changes she’d make if they ended up hiring her. We’ll have to change the carpets and paint the walls—a nice light gray in place of the yellowing eggshell. I’d add a few pops of color with some flowers. And the mirror covering one whole wall of the room will have to go. A strategically placed mirror could do wonders for a room, but not in an office like this. She snuck a second glance at the mirror and drew a breath of relief. She hadn’t wrinkled her suit during her wait at the reception desk. Appearances weren’t everything, except when they were. And a job interview for a design job seemed like one of those crucial moments when a woman should look her best.

From the other side of the table, Renee also spared a glance at the mirror, straightening her posture and jacket. That was exactly why mirrors didn’t belong in conference rooms. There was no way to ignore it and no way not to feel self-conscious when facing your own reflection.

Rearranging the papers on her clipboard, Renee scanned the neatly printed words on the first page. “Let’s dive right in. We covered a lot of this in the phone interview, but let’s review some of your professional experience. You had a few internships?”

“That’s right.” Bailey kept her tone light, hoping she exuded enough confidence to appear poised but not cocky. “I spent two summers interning at an eco-friendly design firm in Austin and another summer with a home decor designer in Houston.”

“Remind me of what you did at each.”

“I was an intern, so I provided a lot of day-to-day support for the team.” She couldn’t help laughing a little. “I suppose that’s a fancy way of saying I went on coffee runs and filed paperwork. But both firms were great about letting me get some hands-on experience. Several of my designs were actually used as the final plans for projects.”

Which was better than her two years with DLS, but she wouldn’t mention that out loud.

Renee scribbled a few notes. “Tell me about one of those projects.”

“This is one of my favorites.” Bailey flipped open the portfolio and slid copies of her sketches, vision boards, and final photos across the table. “I designed the floor layout for a tech startup that wanted an open feel while also encouraging creative thinking. The company prided itself on leaving a green footprint, and we found ways to use solar energy and other renewable energy sources to power their entire floor. The products we used had minimal environmental impact. We also cut down on waste and used locally sourced materials for the build.” She was particularly proud of that last fact. “We won a couple of awards, which I included on my résumé. Most importantly, our customers were happy, and they came back to the firm when they expanded last year.”

Bailey wished she could have been part of bringing the plans to life. Her old boss had kept her updated on the progress while she’d cooled her heels in a cubicle in Dallas.

“It turned out fabulously.” Renee held up the images, tilting them from one side to the other. After a couple of minutes, she set them back down.

They went through another series of questions covering Bailey’s academic background and her other professional experience. She skillfully tiptoed around her current workplace dissatisfaction and lack of viable work samples during the past two years. All the while, Renee took notes. Bailey answered question after question without hesitation until one question gave her pause. “Do you watch any home improvement or design shows?”

Do I watch home improvement or design shows? Seriously? Bailey almost asked if she was joking, but Renee seemed sincere. “You mean like the ones on the Design Network?”

“Exactly. What do you think about them?”

Oh, boy. This wasn’t a question she’d ever encountered—at least not in a job interview. For the most part, she and her colleagues at the firm scoffed at those shows. It was too easy for them to spot the inconsistencies between what it actually took to complete renovations and what appeared on air. The shows were mostly smoke and mirrors. But Bailey doubted saying any of that out loud would give Renee the answer she wanted.

“I don’t know . . . I guess on some of the shows it seems like it’s just models and actors wearing tool belts and swinging a hammer in front of the camera while the less beautiful people do the real work behind the scenes.” Wow, that sounded way harsher than she’d meant to be. “But that’s probably not how it works,” she added quickly, in case Renee was a big fan of the DN and the shows they broadcasted around the clock. “I’m sure there are some very talented people on the shows.”

She imagined most of the talent was behind the scenes rather than on TV.

“And I’ve only caught a couple of episodes of shows here or there,” Bailey continued to fill the silence, her heartbeat racing faster and faster while Renee kept writing. “My sister is a big fan, but I don’t have a lot of time for watching TV.”

Aside from the marathons of Law & Order she watched with her mama on the weekends.

Seemingly appeased by the answer, Renee asked a few more questions before excusing herself to grab paperwork from another room. Alone, Bailey studied her surroundings more closely rather than get into a debate with herself about how the interview was going so far. The room was too drab and cold, too unfeeling. Even if this turned out to be an accounting agency, the people who worked here would surely appreciate something more aesthetically pleasing. More color. A warmer tone on the wall.

Inspired, Bailey flipped open her sketchpad and removed a pencil from her purse. In under a minute, she had the basic shape of the room drawn out. She guessed the dimensions by eye rather than giving in to the urge to pull out the measuring tape she kept stashed away for exact numbers. She didn’t want to seem like a total weirdo if Renee returned while she was measuring the distance from the mirrors to the opposing wall. She tapped the pencil eraser on the tabletop a second to consider, then went to work adding in details on the floor plan.

It wouldn’t take much to make this room more appealing.

***

“What’s she doing?”

Wilder Aldrich leaned forward in his seat to take a closer look at the woman on the other side of the two-way mirror. He barely spared Renee a glance as she let herself into the dark room.

“She’s writing.”

“Well, obviously.” Waverly rolled her eyes at him. “I meant, what is she writing? Is she taking notes?”

“Maybe.” He arched his neck, trying to get a better view. He still couldn’t make out the exact scratchings on the paper. But based on the way the pencil glided across the sheet . . . “I think she’s sketching.” He squinted and could just make out the lines and shading. He leaned back in his chair, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s drawing a floor plan.”

“What floor plan?”

“Don’t know. Want me to go ask her?”

Her jaw twitched. “There’s no need to be testy.”

“Then don’t ask me questions I couldn’t possibly know the answers to.”

With a huff, Waverly resumed her silent vigil. They’d been together long enough for Wilder to know when to stop and when to continue pushing her buttons. And right now, it was time to give it a rest. It had always been that way between them—short-fused and extreme. It was why their viewers tuned in to the Design Network every Thursday night to find out what would happen in the next episode of Playing House with Wilder and Waverly.

Like the other shows on the network, they had their own spin on turning tired homes into updated and well-designed masterpieces. Their twist included mobility. Each season, they moved to a new town and bought a rundown house. While they gutted and updated the house for a flip at the end of the season, they also helped a series of local homeowners renovate their houses.

Like the other shows on the network, home improvement was only part of the package. And that was why they had to find new and inventive ways to drive each other crazy while still somehow managing to pull off a major renovation on time and on budget. So far, they’d made it four years without one of them snapping and killing the other. So far. That was the intrigue. There was always the potential one of them would be pushed too far. It worked. At least it must, based on their ratings. They’d been number one the past two years running.

Because it worked—and because Waverly was the mother of his child—Wilder kept showing up to the new job sites season after season.

Rubbing the day-old stubble on his chin, Wilder continued his study of Bailey Meredith. She might be the last piece they needed for their Austin team. Everywhere they went, they hired a local designer and contractor along with other crew members. It helped them better understand local taste and keep them on time. It also helped them get around bureaucratic red tape.

Based on her portfolio, Ms. Meredith had the experience they needed. She graduated—with honors—from Texas State University-San Marcos. Their interior design program was the best in the state—or so Renee, their producer, had mentioned at least a dozen times. She had a master’s of science in sustainable design from UT’s School of Architecture. He didn’t need production notes to be impressed by that. On top of her schoolwork, she had a couple of internships all before going to work for one of the most prestigious design firms in Dallas.

And by twenty-eight. When he’d been her age, well, he’d already wrapped up a couple of seasons of Playing House and had a toddler under foot. Some people found that impressive, but they shouldn’t. While he’d lucked into his achievements, Bailey had earned hers.

Accolades aside, he wondered what she would bring to their team. They needed someone who could work well with Waverly. They needed someone who could handle the details that Waverly couldn’t get to with her busy schedule. They needed someone with vision and dedication. They needed someone innovative, but humble. They needed someone who wouldn’t blab about anything that happened behind the scenes or spoil anything before it aired. They needed a team player who could help them manage the work crews on each job site.

They needed someone who could be good on camera, but not so good he or she overshadowed him or Waverly.

Did Bailey Meredith check off each of those boxes? It was probably too early to say. But there was something about her. Something that had him thinking she was the one. He’d need a reason, though. Waverly and Renee always wanted more than a gut feeling when they made decisions.

Almost as if she was reading his thoughts, Renee asked, “What do you think?”

Waverly lifted a shoulder. “She seems nice.”

“And . . . ?”

“She’s certainly qualified.”

“She has an impressive résumé.” Renee inspected her clipboard once more. “And she answered all of her questions well. I especially liked what she said about giving an old place new life.”

“It’s a decent answer.” Waverly toyed with the ends of her hair. “But I’m still not sure.”

“I think we should hire her.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it. Two pairs of eyes turned toward him. Well, shit. He had to come up with some kind of explanation. “She seems to be a self-starter.”

“How so?” Renee asked.

“You’ve left her in that room for more than five minutes.” He pointed at the glass. “Instead of pouting or getting on her phone, she’s drawing a floor plan.”

“Yeah, but what kind of a floor plan?” Waverly shook her head. “For all we know she’s doing work for a client on our time.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“I suppose not.”

“You’re right.” Renee’s head bobbed up and down. “No matter what she’s sketching it shows she’s a self-starter. She’s motivated to keep going and flexible enough to work in any conditions.”

“But she doesn’t seem to appreciate what we’re about. You heard what she said about our show. She’s never watched it.”

“Why would she?” Renee asked. “It’d be like a police officer going home and binge-watching episodes of Cops every night. Who wants to watch what they do for a living when they’re trying to unwind?”

Even though Wilder and Renee were in agreement, Waverly wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. I—”

A clamber in the other room interrupted her. The door swung open and their daughter raced in with her nanny trailing closely behind. Bailey’s eyes fly to Virginia, who stopped a few feet away from her. Virginia climbed into a chair and leaned forward to check out the paper.

“What’s your name?”

Without blinking, the woman offered her hand. “I’m Bailey. What’s your name?”

“I’m Virginia. I’m four years old.”

“That’s an important age.”

“Mmm hmm.” Virginia tucked her legs under her and pointed at the paper. “Whatcha doin’?”

Wilder was almost to the door to extract his wayward daughter but paused when Bailey’s voice reached him. “I’m drawing a picture of what this room could look like.”

“Can I see?”

Bailey hesitated only a second, exchanging a glance with the nanny, who mouthed an apology. “Sure.” She slid the sketchpad closer to Virginia.

“What are those?”

“Tulips. They’re a kind of flower. And do you see those squares?”

Virginia nodded solemnly. “I know my shapes.”

“That’s pretty neat. Well, these squares are window boxes. Sometimes people use them to grow flowers. Don’t you think they would be pretty in here?”

“Yes.” Virginia’s face scrunched up. “This room isn’t very pretty right now.”

A slow grin spread across Bailey’s face. “No. It isn’t.”

“Are you going to make it prettier?”

“I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to pretend.”

“I like pretending.” No longer interested in the sketch, Virginia settled back in the chair. “Sometimes I pretend I’m a dinosaur.”

“I love dinosaurs.” Bailey shoved the pad aside and conspiratorially leaned forward. “What’s your favorite kind of dinosaur?”

“I like ‘ceratops. And the T. rex.”

“Those are good ones. I kind of like the brontosaurus. Do you know which one that is?”

“Yep. They have the long necks.” Virginia rested her chin on her chubby little fist. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

If the question surprised Bailey, she didn’t let on. “No. Do you?”

“Boys are gross.”

Wilder hoped Virginia kept that opinion forever, but he’d gladly settle for it sticking until she was at least thirty or forty. He didn’t want to be too greedy.

Okay, Virginia had been left to her own devices for way too long. And based on the panicked looks her nanny kept flashing to the double-sided mirror, she wasn’t going to intervene on her own. He pushed himself out of the chair and moved toward the door.

“I’m going in.”

Renee gave a short nod, but Waverly said nothing. She was too absorbed in watching what happened next in the other room to offer up anything. With a parting glance through the window partition, where his daughter appeared to be leaning even farther over the table to take a closer glance at Bailey’s work, he stepped into the hallway.

He hovered just outside the door to the open conference room. Somehow, without the glass between them, she seemed different. Not in looks—she was still just as pretty, and that was hardly something he should be thinking about when it came to a potential employee. If one of his male employees paused to ogle a female employee, he’d smack the guy upside the head and threaten to put him through sexual harassment training. A guy could find a woman attractive without making her—and everyone else—uncomfortable. Yet here he was, staring at a potential new hire and thinking about how much he wanted to step across the room and find out if her hair was as soft as it looked.

That wasn’t the only reason he was lurking now, though. She seemed to exude a kind of energy—nothing sexual, though there his head went again crossing into dangerous territory. No, there was something about Bailey. It was more like a quiet, steady passion. A hungry determination that seemed to scream, “hire me, and you will never regret it.” Maybe that was the floor plans talking. Maybe it was the patience she was showing his daughter.

Maybe it was just her.

The subject of his thoughts glanced up and met his gaze. The warmth in her amber eyes pierced him, sending a jolt to his heart that had it pounding all the louder in his ears. He waited for her curiosity to turn into recognition. It never happened. Even after a couple minutes of his standing awkwardly like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, she never seemed to place him.

She’d obviously been telling Renee the truth when she said she never watched home improvement television. He shouldn’t be surprised with a person’s honesty, but he was. That probably said more about him than it did about anything else.

Clearing his throat, he entered the room. “Sorry to interrupt this meeting . . .”

“Daddy!” Virginia hopped out of her seat and raced across the short distance to throw her arms around his leg. Oh, she was good. She knew he’d never yell at her for disobeying his command to stay out of the interview after she’d given him a full dose of her charm.

Already slipping, he gave Virginia’s head a gentle pat. He returned his gaze to Bailey’s and mouthed his own “sorry.”

“Daddy,” Virginia commanded his attention again. “You should meet my friend Bailey. She draws really pretty pictures.”

Turning on her heel, she ran back to the table. He stayed a careful distance behind as he silently asked the nanny to help him extract Virginia from the room.

To Bailey, he said, “Sorry again to interrupt. I see you’re in the middle of an important meeting.”

“Very important.” From this distance, he could see her eyes didn’t twinkle so much as dance with amusement. “She belongs to you?”

“She does.” He cleared his throat again. “And I’m afraid right now I need to borrow her.”

“But, Daddy.”

“Virginia.”

She huffed and stuck out her lower lip. “But Bailey and I are talking.”

“Virginia.”

Exchanging another glance with Wilder, then the nanny, who still looked like she wanted to pass out from embarrassment at any moment, Bailey reached for her sketchpad again. “It’s been fun talking with you, but I think your mom and dad are ready to go.”

“Psh. My mom doesn’t care. She’s in there with Miss Renee.” Virginia pointed at the mirror, and Bailey’s eyes followed.

Even from the other room, he could practically see the panic hit their faces.

To her credit, Bailey took the news in stride. She swallowed hard before turning away from the mirror and back to Virginia. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Maybe I’ll talk to you another time?”

“You bet!” Virginia sprang to her feet. She pointed at the paper. “Can I have that picture?” Hesitating only a moment, Bailey tore it out of the pad and handed it over. Delighted, Virginia gave her a parting hug and raced toward the door. “Thank you! I’ll tell my mom you’re really nice.”

Bailey didn’t speak but waved. The door clicked shut behind them and he made it back into the observation room in time to catch her giving the mirror another glance. She lifted a hand and mouthed “hello.” Then she picked up her pencil and started a new sketch.

As they continued to stare in mute astonishment, she resumed her work on a fresh piece of paper with the same abandon she had before discovering she had an audience.

Renee opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again just as quickly. Wilder willed himself to say something, but fell short. What they’d witnessed was pretty incredible. Not so much the interaction with Virginia—which she handled well. But she saw potential in a dingy room and wanted to do something about it. Even if it never amounted to anything but an idea. There was the easy way she shared her work, gave it away to a stranger, and then started over fresh.

Then there was the way she could go back to work, even when she knew everyone was watching.

That was it. That was what they were looking for on their team. Only, Wilder couldn’t quite find the words to say it out loud.

Apparently, Waverly could. She tore herself away from the two-way mirror. “Renee?”

“Yes?”

“Go tell her why she’s really here and call the network.” Waverly stared at the sketch Virginia had handed her only moments earlier. “We have a new assistant designer.”