Chapter Ten

A day later, Bailey was still fighting off the last dregs of her hangover. Seriously, getting older sucked sometimes.

Equipped with a bottle of water, a towel, and her headphones, she dragged herself to the motel’s exercise room. She wasn’t sure if there was any science behind it, but aside from eating a double cheeseburger with fries followed by a slice of pizza and a Bloody Mary, working out was one of the better hangover remedies.

She muttered a silent prayer of gratitude when she found the exercise room empty. Even on her best days, she wasn’t much for exercising with an audience. It was probably vanity, but whenever she worked out around others, she was too busy worrying about whether or not they were judging her to put in a proper effort. She knew no one actually gave a crap about her form or speed. Knowing didn’t keep her from casting major side-eye at whoever was on the neighboring elliptical.

On a day like this one, when there was about a fifty-fifty chance she’d puke midstride, she was even more grateful for the privacy.

Grabbing the lone treadmill, she plugged in her headphones and cued up an episode of Criminal Minds. If she could get through the whole episode without dying, she just might kick those last tequila vapors out of her system.

By the time the behavioral analysis unit had scoped out the crime scene and made its initial contacts, she was up to a steady jog. Her feet pounded the belt, and her heart beat in sync with each step. With the takeout she’d been eating at night, not to mention the craft services for lunches, she should probably increase her runs from four times a week to at least five or six. She’d seen herself in the dailies, and she was honest enough to admit she cared about how well her jeans fit. Of course, there was also her health to consider. She cared about her health. (But mostly she worried about her double chin.)

Regardless of the motive, she increased the incline and speed. She held steady through most of the investigation playing out on the tiny screen. Her cooldown kicked in right about the time the team had the main suspect cornered.

“This is a good episode,” a voice called out next to her.

Unleashing a blood-curdling scream, she jumped a good six inches off the treadmill. The safety cord snapped unplugged, stopping the machine before she sailed off.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Wilder grabbed her shoulders to hold her steady. “I should have realized you couldn’t hear me with your headphones in.”

She pressed a palm to her still thundering heart and asked him what the hell he was doing there.

Still holding on, Wilder helped her off the treadmill and guided her to the pile of stepping blocks where she eased down to sit.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I thought you saw me come in. I’ve been here at least fifteen minutes.”

“No.” She took a few more deep breaths. “I didn’t.”

“That would explain why you didn’t wave back.” He knelt in front of her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, soothing as he did. “I just thought you were being a jerk.”

Despite her recent near-death experience, laughter bubbled out. “No. I didn’t see you.”

“You must’ve been caught up in that episode.” He nodded toward the treadmill, where the closing scene played out. “I almost crapped my pants when I saw that one.”

“So did I.”

His eyes crinkled in humor a second, but they remained concerned. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Now that she mostly had her breath back, she asked again, “What are you doing here?”

“Lifting weights.” His hands stopped their ministrations and dropped to rest on his knees. “I have a route I like to run outside—I’m not a big fan of treadmills—but I still use the gym for weight training.”

“Okay . . . but why here? Aren’t there better gyms closer to your house?” Surely he wasn’t so cheap he was using the motel instead of getting a temporary membership.

“Well . . . this is the closest gym to where I live.”

Her brows knit together. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated a moment, running a hand through his hair. Then with a sigh, he nodded. “I’m staying here, too.”

She shook her head. That didn’t make sense. “But you guys were supposed to move into the project house.” They’d rushed to finish the master bedroom and bathroom. She’d personally carried a couple of Waverly’s suitcases and cosmetic bags up the staircase.

“Waverly and Virginia did.” He swallowed hard. “But like I said, I’m living here—in the motel—for the season.”

The seriousness on his face and his tone told her more than his words. Why would he live here while his family . . . It suddenly clicked. “Are you and Waverly separated?”

“Not exactly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then how exactly?”

He rose to his feet and she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. In his eyes, she saw more than seriousness. She saw fatigue. Not the kind you got from working long hours on a job site. It was the kind that came from defeat and long-term disappointment. She recognized it from the lost and sad looks she and her sister had worn on their faces when they were old enough to realize their father was never coming back. It didn’t go away after the realization turned into resignation.

She tore her eyes away from his and hugged her knees to her chest.

Swearing to himself, he knelt down again and covered her hand, gripping onto it until she met his gaze again. “Waverly and I aren’t together. But we aren’t separated—at least not in a legal sense—because we were never married.”

“What?” Her heart stopped. “You’re pretending to be married?”

Who did that? And how could you make that work? Especially when they had a public life splashed all over a show. It wouldn’t take much for an industrious reporter to uncover the truth. She couldn’t decide what was more shocking. That they were faking it or that someone hadn’t already found them out given Wilder and Waverly’s rise to fame. Granted, their show has a niche audience, which meant they weren’t universally recognized like Jennifer Lawrence or Beyoncé. Up until last month, she wouldn’t have known who they were.

Still, it didn’t make sense. They had a loyal fan base who adored them. And not only for their designs. She could only imagine the shitstorm that would sweep the message boards when the fans eventually discovered they’d been lied to by the same people they loved. It was insane.

Unless he was lying to her now. No. He wasn’t. She couldn’t say how she knew that, but she did.

“We’ve never flat out said we were married.” He squeezed her hand again, like he was trying to press that fact into her. “That’s our workaround. We’ve never said we were married, even if it’s implied.”

“Why? Why pretend—why create the illusion you’re together if you’re not?”

The answer was obvious. It was for the show. She imagined the DN would rather feature a couple than business partners. She understood that, but it was disappointing. She wanted Wilder to be better than someone who made his decisions based on the five-figure paycheck that came with each episode. That—even more than the revelation—shook her.

“Before you decide to hate me, can I explain?”

She stared down at their linked hands. Her mind was a blur of questions, but she wasn’t sure there were enough answers—at least not the ones she wanted to hear. And after he told her everything, how could she go on pretending she was still in the dark? How would she ever look at Wilder or Waverly without seeing “LIAR” and “HOAXERS” floating over their heads?

It wasn’t fair, but she could probably get over Waverly’s deceit easily enough. For one, she didn’t know her that well yet. She was her boss—and one who only talked to her about work. For another . . . her part in this scheme wasn’t that surprising. She was driven enough to do whatever it took to succeed.

But Wilder . . . Bailey wanted him to be the simple Texas boy who stumbled upon success after working hard for it. His thumb glided across her knuckles absently. Despite the double dose of shock, despite the emotions waging a war inside her, his calloused thumb scraping against her knuckles sent a shiver of lust through her.

“Okay. Explain.”

Releasing his hold, Wilder sat next to her on the blocks. “Waverly and I started dating when we were in our early twenties. We met on a job site. She was a design assistant and I was the contractor. We started a renovation firm together using both of our skills. That part’s true.”

She bobbed her head to show she was listening, but she didn’t speak. Not yet.

“After setting up in New York City, we moved to Toronto to start another branch of our business with some help from her dad. The business grew, but the relationship didn’t.” He let out a humorless laugh. “The opposites attract deal of ours makes for great TV, but it didn’t work in our relationship. We broke up but decided to keep working together. A month after we split, she found out she was pregnant.”

“With Virginia?”

He nodded. “And that’s when everything changed.”

“I can imagine it did.” She moistened her lips while she bought another second to think. “Having a baby changes everything.”

“This was the same time I found out Waverly had been shopping us around to different networks with hopes of getting a show. The DN offered us a deal, and Waverly wanted to take it. I wasn’t so sure. They were offering a lot of money, and it would give our business big exposure. Still, I was fine with the work we had. I didn’t want to have my face plastered on TV or in magazines.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then let his hand fall to the side. “When I told Waverly we should maybe focus on what we already had—and figure out how we were going to raise the baby together—she said she’d already accepted. And she would find another contractor-type if I didn’t want to come along. By then, they’d already figured out how the show would work. We’d be in a different location each season, with two seasons filming each year. If I didn’t agree . . .”

“You wouldn’t get to see Virginia. Not often.” Her heart pitched. “You agreed so you could be with her?”

“I’ll do anything—even be on a TV show and pretend to be married to Waverly—if it means getting to be with my daughter.”

“So how does the work side of your business work?”

His brow creased. “What do you mean?”

“You’re away from New York and Toronto a good chunk of the year filming. She stays at the project house. You stay in a hotel. You fix up the project house. Then you help homeowners repair their current homes or help them find new ones. I get that side. But what happens when you go back to Canada or New York? What do you do then?”

“We still have small staffs up north running our shops. They do smaller projects—usually only a couple of rooms—planning, then building the renovation. They also oversee most of the product line and fulfill the orders that come in on our website.”

It all made some kind of sense. On TV, it seemed like they were super involved with their business interests back home. But she supposed they were no different than any other moguls in the making. As she’d learned, what happened in real life usually looked a lot different than what you saw on TV.

Watching her closely, Wilder let out a breath. “Say something.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Anything.” He reached for her again but stopped. “The truth. Whatever is on your mind.”

What was on her mind? Wilder’s revelations had her more perplexed than resolved. But on some level, she got it. She understood how Wilder ended up in this situation.

She maybe even admired him a little. That was mind-blowing, because lying tended to make her skin crawl. Yet the only thing her skin was doing at that moment was still tingling from when his hand held hers. She supposed this wasn’t a straight-up lie. And she supposed she preferred this scenario—him pretending to be in a relationship when he was really single—to him being good and truly taken and her lusting after him.

The lie wasn’t so black-and-white. It was done in the name of good. While her father told lie after lie to cover his running around on her mama—then kept up the practice to get out of spending time with his daughters—Wilder was lying to make sure he could be with his daughter. To keep his family together.

While her mind worked through everything Wilder had just told her, there was one question that rose to the top.

“Why are you telling me?”

“What?”

“Why tell me now? You could have easily come up with some story about how you prefer the privacy of working out in the motel gym to being at one of the chains or something like that. Why tell me the truth?”

“Because . . .” He ran a hand over his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. “I needed you to know.”

Her heart flipped. “Why?”

His hazel eyes set on hers. “You know why.”

With those whispered words, the fluttering in her heart moved down to her stomach. She fought a grin. Was this Wilder’s way of saying he liked her? And how juvenile did that sound? “Like” her. Regardless, if this was Wilder’s way of saying he had feelings for her, too, it was a mixed bag.

Even if Wilder was legally free to crush on, it was still way too complicated. Even Paige—with her ability to compartmentalize emotional connections with physical desires—would be hard-pressed to figure out how to navigate this situation if she was in Bailey’s boots.

Hesitating, Wilder reached over again and took her hands. “I don’t have some big plan on what I’m hoping to accomplish by telling you this. I just can’t keep lying to you. You . . . matter too much for lies. Even if they’re lies of omission.”

As if she wasn’t already struggling enough with her feelings and what to do about them, there he went, making it even harder. How was she supposed to be professional on set when she kept wondering what it would be like to lean forward just a few more inches to kiss him? How was she supposed to stop wondering about that now that she knew it could happen?

***

She had taken the news pretty well. Or as well as Wilder could have hoped. When he’d told Bailey that basically everything she’d believed about him was a lie, he half expected her to slug him. He would’ve deserved it. She also could have walked out on the job and told them to find someone else to finish out the season. But she hadn’t. She’d come to work the next day, with a crate of coffees, just like it was any other day.

Instead of pitching a fit, she’d listened to his explanation, asked a few questions, then excused herself to take a post-workout shower.

If she was punishing him by making him overthink everything now, well, it was working.

Naturally, Waverly was still nowhere to be seen. Renee had come back from the weekend in New York City with a message that his other (on-screen) half would be back soon.

Their daughter had come home from her latest visit to Sugar Land. The excitement had kept her from missing her mama too much, but that would wear off soon. Waverly still called every day, but it wasn’t the same as having her around.

He shouldn’t complain too much. It meant more one-on-one time with Virginia. It had also given his parents some quality time with their only grandchild. He should be grateful—and he was—for both opportunities.

But it couldn’t go on like this forever. His father had told him as much when they’d come up to spend another long weekend with Virginia.

“At some point,” he’d said, “you and that woman are going to have to come to terms about this life you’ve created.”

His father hadn’t just meant Virginia. He’d meant the whole thing—their businesses up north and the TV show. Pops was right. They would have to come to terms with all of it. Unless Wilder could figure out exactly what he wanted from those terms, he wasn’t going to be worth much in life negotiations. Waverly had a long history of kicking his ass. If he was going in for a fight, he needed a plan. Until then, he’d keep his mouth shut.

Bailey stepped into the room, distracting him from his sulk. He couldn’t help but admire the way she easily bantered with one of the crew members putting a fresh coat of white paint on some old boards. The way her eyes lit up and crinkled around the edges. The sway of her hips when she shifted from one foot to the other. The curve of her neck as she reached forward to point out a spot that needed a second coat. He’d like to trace that curve with his fingers, or better yet, his mouth.

The warmth in his chest moved south. Clearing his throat, he turned back to the fireplace.

Felix crouched next to him to inspect the mason work. “Not too bad, boss.”

He grunted a response because he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat at the moment.

“I’ve gotta admit, I always figured you saved most of the hands-on work for the days the cameras were around.”

“The work has to get done whether or not it gets screen time.” Wilder swiped another coat of spackle over the chipped brick. He placed another slab of Austin stone tile on it. Bailey was right. The stone was the perfect look for this room.

“What are you doing for lunch?”

The sudden shift in subjects had Wilder’s head spinning. “I hadn’t thought much about it.”

On filming days, they had tables of food set out for the crew. On straight-up work days, they usually sent out for sandwiches.

“I was hoping you might be up for taking a break to meet someone—a woman I’m sort of seeing.”

His hand froze with the spackling knife midswipe. He gaped at Felix. “Come again?”

“I’d like you to meet the woman I’m dating.”

“That’s what I thought you said. You’re not usually the kind of guy who introduces his flings to his friends.”

“This one’s different.”

Felix wanted to introduce a woman. Was it possible he’d sustained some sort of on-the-job injury and this was all some kind of dream? Maybe he should start wearing a hard hat on demolition day just in case. His daughter needs him to be around for at least the next fourteen years or so. He couldn’t afford to scramble his brains.

“It’s Bailey’s sister.”

Wilder’s eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t you just meet her on Friday?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re already serious enough you want to introduce her to your friends?” Wilder shook his head. He wasn’t the one who’d sustained some kind of traumatic brain injury. It must have been Felix. “Ever heard of taking it slow, buddy?”

“That’s not really an option in this situation.”

Wilder adjusted one of the stones. “Why not?”

“I kind of get the feeling I have to make a big impression and fast with this one.”

“Why?”

“A few things Bailey mentioned.”

Wilder turned away from the fireplace. “Bailey told you to make a big and fast impression?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Are you sure she didn’t tell you to run for your life?”

“Not in so many words.”

“You’re starting to repeat yourself.” Wilder wiped his hands on a rag, even though he’d managed not to get too much of the adhesive mixture on them. “Maybe you need help.”

“Come on, man. She wants to meet you.”

Oh. Wilder understood the situation now. Bailey had mentioned her sister was a big fan of the show. By now, she’d probably already filled Felix in on that tidbit. He wanted Wilder to get in there and be his bait. That was messed up. He couldn’t do something so degrading for both of them.

Wilder’s stomach whined, a painful reminder he’d only grabbed an apple for breakfast. He could go for something more substantial than a salad for lunch. “Are you buying?”

“Seriously? You pull in six figures a year and you want me to buy you a sandwich?”

“Make it a burrito, and we have a deal.”

Felix’s face twisted into a frown, but realizing he’d backed himself into a corner by showing all of his cards too soon, he offered his hand. “We have a deal.”

Wilder took it. Instead of giving him a firm handshake as planned, they ended up in some sort of impromptu arm-wrestling tournament using an upside-down tub as their base. Wilder took the early lead and was about to pin Felix’s arm, when, drawing on some unforeseen energy reservoir, Felix overpowered him and gained the lead. Not ready to admit defeat, Wilder bit down on his lip and added extra force.

A small crowd gathered around. Crew members placed their bets. A fair number sided with Wilder. Their loyalty to Felix apparently only went so far. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilder caught Bailey and Renee make a wager of their own. His eyes narrowed into slits. There was no way Renee would bet against him. She knew where her paycheck came from, which meant . . . He couldn’t believe it. Bailey was cheering against him.

She met his fiery gaze. Her lips twitched, giving the slightest hint of a smile.

Oh, it was on.

More determined than ever, Wilder sucked in a breath and, using every ounce of power, he slammed Felix’s arm down. The crowd let out a mixture of cheers and jeers while Felix shook out his limp hand, wincing. Wilder didn’t have the energy to gloat. There was a chance he might have torn a ligament somewhere in his arm.

Ignoring the throbbing ache, he looked for Bailey again. He was ready to give her grief for hitching her cart to the loser. The reproach halted as she took twenty bucks from Renee.

His jaw dropped. “You bet against me?”

Renee had the grace to look a little guilty. “She gave me really good odds.”

“What were the terms?”

“She got twenty if you won, and she’d pay out eighty if you lost.” Renee shrugged. “It seemed like a good way to score some fast cash if Felix ended up sneaking in a win.”

“Hey!” Felix shouted. “I almost had him.”

Wilder watched Bailey tuck the bills into her back pocket without saying anything. Catching his stare, she winked. Well, hot damn.

Pushing himself up, he offered Felix a hand. This time, they used the leverage to help each other stand. They were both still sore enough, and Wilder doubted either would challenge the other to a rematch any time soon.

While cash continued to change hands around them, Bailey stepped forward. “Nicely done. Even if you had me worried there for a second.”

“Nah, I had him all along.” Wilder shrugged and winced at the pain that shot through his shoulder. Bailey noticed the grunt but said nothing. “I’m usually a safe bet.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes sparkled, and she turned to Felix. “Is Wilder coming to lunch with us?”

“You’re coming, too?”

“Of course. I can’t expect Felix to do a proper job of introducing my sister. He barely knows her.”

Before Felix could offer any insight on the subject, Wilder casually slung an arm around her shoulder, pleased when she didn’t pull back. “Come on, Bailey. This man is going to buy us a round of burritos.”