Chapter Fifteen

Was there anything sexier than a woman in a tool belt? How about one who could sling a hammer with a precision that even the most skilled of handymen would find admirable?

The answer was no as far as Wilder was concerned. He didn’t imagine there was anything sexier than watching Bailey in her standard uniform of jeans and a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, with a tool belt hanging low around her hips.

It was also pretty sexy the way she looked in one of his shirts—buttoned up partway while she lounged around in his room for the evening.

He bet she’d be smokin’ in a jersey, too. One of his favorite teams. The Texans or Astros. Nothing on underneath. Maybe it would ride up a little over her thighs when she stood on her tiptoes to reach for something on the top shelf in the kitchen.

Thinking about that probably made him a pervert. And maybe a bit of a pig if he was imagining her in the kitchen. In his defense, it was just the first image that came to mind. In exchange, he’d promise to do the dishes and cook the next time.

Still, the tool belt was at least a top five sexiest look for a woman. His woman. Maybe it was a little territorial given the arrangement they’d made at the bar the month before. But in that month, he’d gotten used to thinking of Bailey as his.

Right now, his woman was perched on a stepladder hanging a series of distressed picture frames in the great room of their latest house. Felix was supposed to do it originally. He’d given up after ten minutes. Bailey had called him a quitter. He’d called her a micromanager. She’d told him it wasn’t a crime to be a perfectionist. He’d told her she was giving him an ulcer.

In the end, they’d agreed it would be best for everyone if he found another task on the to-do list while she arranged the frames to her liking.

Wilder would offer to give her a hand, but he was enjoying the view.

Yeah, he was a pig. But he was only staring because he liked the way her hips moved when she leaned forward to hang a painting. And the way the tool belt drew attention to her shapely backside. It was mesmerizing to watch her work. It was like witnessing Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel or listening to Mozart write his Requiem. She was an artist. This was her canvas, her sheet music.

She’d found the frames at a garage sale. If this design business didn’t work out for her, she could make a killing as a seller or buyer in the black markets. He’d never seen someone haggle the way she did.

“It’s not about that,” she’d said, when he reminded her that money wasn’t an issue. “It’s about the thrill of the chase.”

That was his girl.

It didn’t stop there. After her shrewd negotiations, she gave the frames new life with some sandpaper and paint. Then to personalize them for the homeowners, she’d printed a selection of photos from their Instagram accounts. She’d worked with Felix to build a few matching shadowboxes, which she’d filled with souvenirs from their honeymoon.

At that moment, with a hammer, nails, and her keen eye for design, she was placing the frames and shadowboxes in a somewhat intricate arrangement on the wall. Like a puzzle, each piece fit together, building a larger work of art. If Felix or even he’d been left to hang them, they probably would’ve lined them up in a basic formation. Wilder was man enough to admit it wouldn’t have looked half as good as what she’s doing.

Catching his stare, Bailey gestured to the wall. “What do you think?”

“It’s . . .” There were hardly words. He could say it was inspiring, amazing, practically perfect in every way—just like her. But gushing wasn’t his style. It would probably freak her out. “It looks good.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Just good?”

“Yeah.” If looks could kill, he’d be long gone. It was tempting to leave it at that—because she was so cute when she was pissed. But he’d rather stay on the right of her good side. He’d only be depriving himself of her company if he made her mad.

Rather than admit he’d been an ass outright, he narrowed the distance between them and offered his hand to help her. Halfway down, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. “Be sure to get a photo of this wall for your portfolio.”

Her mouth curved into a grin a second before his lips covered it. She went limp in his arms for a second. Only a second. Then she shoved against his chest to create some distance. “Someone could see us,” she hissed.

He shrugged. “Who cares? Everyone on the crew has signed a confidentiality agreement, you included. If you’ll remember, what happens on the job site stays on the job site.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t cover something like this.”

“Sure it does.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He buried his face in her hair, taking a deep breath because he could. “Waverly and I are the ones who specifically requested the verbiage. Trust me. No one can say anything without the wrath of the Design Network’s legal team beating down on it.”

It wouldn’t be pretty if they did. The entertainment industry loved a good fight. A breach of contract case was something DN’s lawyers could manage in their sleep. He watched them go to work on an assistant they’d had during the first season. He’d tried to sell his behind-the-scenes story to a tabloid. In exchange, the lawyers threatened to take him for everything he and his future descendants were worth. And the guy hadn’t landed a job in the industry since.

It was another cliché, but the phrase “you’ll never work in this town again” came from somewhere. Lawyers and lawsuits.

Bailey still didn’t seem to buy it. “Wouldn’t it be better not to tempt anyone into breaking the agreement by giving them something to blab about?”

“Too late.” His mouth moved to her neck. Despite her resolve to resist, she shuddered and grabbed his shoulder to remain steady on her feet. “I’d guess most of the construction guys know.”

“What?” she shrieked.

His ears still ringing, he loosened his grip on her a little. “It’s not like it would take Magnum, P.I. to figure this one out.”

“But, we’ve been careful and . . . discreet. We almost never arrive anywhere together. We don’t talk to each other on the job site any more than we used to. We don’t do . . .” she gestured at his hands, still resting on her hips, “this around anyone. How could they figure it out?”

“We don’t hire idiots.”

She shook her head, clearly not buying his explanation. Then, panic flashed on her face. “Do you think Felix told anyone? Or maybe my sister when she came for a visit?”

“Not a chance. Felix has my back, and Paige has yours.”

“What about Renee?”

“It’s probably best if she doesn’t find out. She’d worry.”

“So—”

“But she won’t figure it out. She’s too preoccupied with schedules and shots.” He gave her one more kiss and released his hold on her altogether. “We have nothing to worry about on this. Trust me.”

“It’s not a matter of trust.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But if you say no one is going to sell a story about us having some kind of sordid affair to the National Enquirer, then I believe you.”

“Good.” He reached for her again, but she stepped away.

“Just because we won’t end up as a footnote in a tabloid—”

“Hey! I resent the implication that I’m only worth a footnote. Playing House is the top-rated show on DN.”

Bailey waved off his protest. “I still don’t think you should grope me when we’re at work. It isn’t professional.”

“Fine.” He held up his hands for her to see, then tucked them neatly into his pockets. “No more groping.”

“That’s a good boy. Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“About what?”

She sighed in exasperation. “About the wall. Did you really mean I should take a photo of it for my portfolio?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or were you just trying to butter me up so you’ll get lucky tonight?”

Would “both” be an acceptable answer? Probably not. “Babe, the wall is fucking amazing. The homeowners will go nuts for it.”

“Really?”

She really needed to start believing him. Or at the very least she should believe in the quality of her own work.

He threw an arm around her shoulders—casually enough that even she couldn’t protest—and turned her to see the wall from his perspective. A slow grin formed on her lips, then spread across her face and into her eyes. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that—her staring at the wall, him watching her wordlessly—but her satisfaction and the joy from her work filled his chest.

“You’re right,” she said at last. “It is fucking amazing. And the homeowners will love it.”

“That’s the spirit.” He glanced at his watch and noted it was well after six. Virginia was with Waverly for the night, which meant he was all Bailey’s. If she could pencil him into her schedule. “Are we about done here? Want to grab some dinner on our way back to the motel?”

“Sure.” She leaned into his side a little, in direct conflict with what she’d just said a few minutes ago about wanting to keep it professional at work. “Can we make a stop on our way? There’s a vintage shop I’d like to check out. I want to grab a couple of smaller pieces for the house before we turn it over.”

He gestured for her to lead the way down the stairs.

After only a small argument about who would drive, Bailey climbed into the passenger seat and they headed for the shop. They carried on a light banter about the movie they’d watched together a couple of nights before. Now that they didn’t have the sexual tension lingering between them, it was easier to talk. In the past month, they’d covered big chunks of their life stories. Their favorite kinds of cookies. What they’d wanted to be when they were five. He’d also given her grief for knowing every line of The Little Mermaid. She’d made a fairly convincing argument that he was wasting time when he watched poker championships on TV.

That was something else he liked about her. Bailey could take a little teasing as well as she could dish it out. It was a rare combo. It certainly kept things interesting.

While they debated the feasibility of which NFL mascot would beat the other—she claimed a Panther would beat a Patriot in a battle, but he disagreed—her phone rang. She glanced at the display. She quickly ignored it and flipped the phone upside down.

“Sorry.” She shot him an apologetic tight-lipped grin.

“You can take the call. This can wait.”

She shook her head. “No, this is important. That call wasn’t.”

“Who was it?”

“No one.” Her terse and hasty answer grabbed his attention. For some reason, she wanted to pretend that whoever had been calling her at infrequent intervals during the past few weeks wasn’t worth his notice. It bothered him that he’d noticed. And it bothered him that it bothered him.

They didn’t do secrets. They’d been upfront and honest about everything—which was admittedly rare in a relationship—except on this front. At least that’s what he thought. If she was this careful about concealing who was blowing up her phone, what else was she hiding from him? Was he being romantically swindled?

It was this trepidation that had him mindlessly blurting out, “Should I be worried about some boyfriend showing up on site to kick my sorry ass?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Please tell me you don’t have some guy back in Dallas.”

“You think I’m cheating on you with someone?” She sounded just shocked and outraged enough to soothe his ego.

Shaking his head, Wilder turned his focus back on the road. “Technically, wouldn’t I be the other man in this situation?”

“There is no ‘this situation,’ because I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Then who keeps calling?”

“No one.”

“Bullshit.” She sucked in a breath. He almost backed down—he really didn’t want them to get into a knock-down, drag-out verbal fight while he was driving. But he couldn’t give up. He had to know. “Who keeps calling?”

“I can’t believe you think I’m the kind of person who would cheat.”

“I don’t.” Well, not completely. For the millionth time, he asked who’d been calling.

Clutching the phone in her fist, she let out a sigh of defeat. “It’s my father, okay? My father keeps calling me.”

The last bit of worry slipped away. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know.” She turned her gaze out the passenger window. “I’m not taking his calls.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s a dick who walked out on his family, skipped out on most of our childhoods, never showed up to anything, and only expressed an interest in me after he caught wind I’d be working with a TV crew.” She turned and flashed him a bright, if insincere, smile. “Is that enough backstory? Or would you like me to tell you about how many women he’s married and divorced?”

He swallowed hard. “That’s enough.”

“Good.” She dropped the phone back in her purse and turned her gaze to the passing scenery. “Because I don’t want to talk about him.”

He should let it go. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. He glanced across the truck at her. Her lips were pursed together—like she’d swallowed a lemon or learned that painted shiplap was going out of style. She was also tapping the armrest rapidly. It was the same way she tapped on a tabletop when she was worked up about something.

He should let it go, but he couldn’t. Not when she was that upset. Not when it was a subject he might be able to weigh in on, even if she didn’t like what he had to say.

“Maybe,” Wilder said softly, “your dad realizes what a dick he’s been and wants to make amends. Maybe he wants to be part of your life now.”

“Because I’m working on a TV show?”

That was another thing. “How did he hear about your work on the show? Does your sister talk to him?”

“Paige wants even less to do with him than I do.”

“Did he see it on Facebook? No, that can’t be it. You haven’t posted anything on any of your accounts.”

At least not that he’d seen since they’d become involved. Or before that. (He might have snooped through some of her old posts one night when he was bored.)

“He found out from the network.” Her lip twitched. “I guess he’s one of their lawyers. I didn’t realize that was what he was up to now or . . .”

Or she wouldn’t have signed on for the job in the first place.

She didn’t have to say it. It wasn’t that she was afraid of conflict. She didn’t run away from it at least. But she was the sort of person who would do her best to avoid pain if it was within her power. It was a trait they shared. Their current arrangement was proof of that.

She said nothing the rest of the ride. Every minute or so, he gave a sidelong glance to make sure she was still with him. She was—at least in body if not in mind. If she noticed his attention, she gave no indication. Her face had the same fierce neutrality it had carried since she’d regained her composure. In that one unguarded moment, she’d looked fit to murder. Now . . . well, she still might want to strangle him, but she’d try to resist the urge.

He pulled the truck into a spot outside the antique shop. Before he set the parking brake, she’d clutched the door handle, ready to bail. He reached across to still her movement.

“Hey.” He squeezed her shoulder, even as she stared out the window like she didn’t notice. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I . . .”

He couldn’t say he was sorry about giving his opinion on this issue, because he wasn’t. Bailey was a brilliant and intelligent woman, and he supported every decision she’d made in the time he’d known her. Except for this.

And he wouldn’t apologize for prying the details out of her. They were sharing this moment of time, and they’d agreed to be honest with each other. They couldn’t be à la carte with their honesty. There was no picking and choosing.

He was sorry she was mad. But he couldn’t say that. He wasn’t a complete idiot.

So where did that leave them?

“I don’t want us to fight,” he murmured at last. “I didn’t mean to upset you. And I’m sorry.”

The scowl eased from her face.

“I don’t want us to fight either. But I need you to let this drop.”

“Okay.” He’d do it. For now. “Are we good?”

“Sure”

He followed Bailey into the shop and froze. Every inch of every surface was piled with crap. There were books—and not cool antique ones, but the kind that probably retailed for a nickel back in the ’50s and ’60s. There were rows and rows of pink and blue glass jars, fresh daisies poking out from the tops of some. There were at least four gun racks and mismatched sets of china. There was even a set of deer antlers mounted to a wooden plaque.

He was about to apologize to Bailey about this stop turning out to be a total bust, when he caught the wonder on her face.

“Jackpot.” She darted him an excited sideways glance. “Look at all of these treasures.”

He half expected her to break out into a song about whosits in whatsits galore. (He had a four-year-old daughter. He could recite The Little Mermaid, too, but he’d never admit that to Bailey.)

One person’s junk apparently was another’s treasure. All the same, he wasn’t carrying those antlers for her if she decided she had to have them. There was a limit to what kind of manual labor he’d do off the clock.

She let out a gasp in front of a giant hunk of wood. “Isn’t this fantastic?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted from one foot to the other. “What is it?”

“It’s—oh . . .” she broke off and paused in front of a display. “I just love this.”

He scanned the shelf of knickknacks and dust catchers. “Which one?”

She picked up a ceramic owl. Painted with a white matte finish, it stood almost a foot tall. Her fingers lovingly traced the beak and feathers. “I love this.”

He leaned forward to inspect it more closely. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular piece. It was more likely to be a remnant from an old ceramics class than to come from any artisan. He was about to ask what made it special, but he caught the joy on her face, the sparkle in her eyes. He might not see the beauty in the owl, but Bailey did. He saw it in her. And based on what he’d seen her do, if Bailey took it home, she’d find the perfect place for it to live.

“Are you going to get it?”

She shook her head. “It’s not their style.”

“Are you going to buy it for yourself?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

She set it back on the shelf and gave it a parting look. “I live in a motel. I’m not exactly in the market for home decor. At least not for myself.”

She lingered only a second longer before dismissing the owl and selecting a mosaic panel made from depression glass. “This would look great in the foyer,” she mused and continued down the row.

He took his time, still considering their exchange in the car. Rounding the corner, Wilder nearly ran smack into someone eyeing a shelf of candlesticks.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I wasn’t—” His apology died on his lips as he recognized the woman on the receiving end of it. “Renee.”

“Hello, Mr. Aldrich.” She arched an eyebrow, and he immediately wondered how long she’d been there. More, he wondered if she’d caught who he was accompanying.

“Are you shopping?”

He winced inwardly. Of course she was shopping. She was in a store. Idiot.

“I’m just looking around. As someone who pretty much lives in a hotel room, I don’t really need any furnishings. But I thought my apartment back in New York could maybe do with a shabby chic treatment. So, when I told Bailey I was looking for a taste of Texas to send home, she recommended this place . . .”

“That’s why I’m here, too,” he rushed out, because it was the only explanation he could come up with. “I figured a native Texan should have a little something from his homeland no matter where he lived.”

“And have you found anything you liked?”

“I—”

“Oh my God, Wilder. You have to see this.” Bailey rounded the corner toting a small chandelier made out of tree branches. She grabbed his arm and squeezed it gently. “Wouldn’t this be amazing in the . . .” She trailed off as she came face-to-face with Renee. Always seemingly a step ahead of everyone else, she thrust the piece at their producer. “Isn’t this amazing? When we came out to find a few extra pieces, I never thought we’d get anything this perfect.”

“It’s gorgeous.” Renee surveyed the piece closely for another moment, then handed it back. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, and Wilder could feel his tongue swelling up in his mouth. “I didn’t realize the two of you were going to put in extra hours tonight.”

“Oh, well, you know. A day’s work is never done.”

Bailey hid her panic well, but Wilder was close enough to tell her breaths were coming a little shorter and faster than normal. The way they did when—nope. He could not let his mind wander when they were this close to spilling the beans to the one person who should probably stay completely in the dark where they were concerned.

“I wanted to find a few more key pieces before we start decorating,” Bailey continued when Renee still hadn’t spoken. “I wasn’t sure I’d have enough room for everything. So I asked if one of the guys would help me, and Wilder—”

“Was already planning to come here some time to find a few things for myself,” he interjected.

“It worked out really well.”

“Sounds like it.” Renee pulled her lips tight. “It all sounds really convenient.”

“Right, well . . .” Bailey darted a sidelong glance at Wilder. “I’m going to keep looking. But would you mind?”

“I’ve got it.” He took the chandelier. “I’ll catch up with you at the counter.”

With a parting look just for him that betrayed the first hint of “oh crap,” Bailey left them. Renee turned and headed toward the back of the room with a silent “follow me.” Her brisk pace suggested she had no time for dawdling, and he kept up in hopes of keeping her annoyance to a minimum.

Once they’d reached a quiet back corner, she turned on her heel. “What are you doing?”

“I—”

“Spare me the bullshit. I’ll give you both props for coming up with a cover on the fly, but you do not want to lie to me right now.” She shook her head. “Do you know what kind of a field day the media will have if they catch you out shopping with another woman?”

“I go shopping with lots of women,” he reminded her.

“But that happens on camera, and it’s pretty obvious it’s all for show. This is just the sort of thing the blogs are always speculating about.”

“I don’t give a damn about the blogs.”

“You should if you want to get your contract renewed for another year.”

“Well . . . maybe I don’t want to sign on for another year.”

Renee clenched her eyes shut and pinched her nose. “I cannot have that conversation with you right now. I cannot have you tell me you want out when we’re pulling in this kind of ratings.”

“You know what I give even fewer damns about than the blogs?”

“I know, I know. You’re the one TV star who doesn’t care that he has the top-rated show on a rising network. Trust me. I’ve heard that song from you before. But what about your agreement with Waverly?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t see what that has to do with me hitting up a consignment shop with one of my co-workers.”

“After-hours.”

“We’ve never kept regular hours.”

“We do when someone might see you.” She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly. “I asked you not to lie to me. I know you’re not just here with Bailey because she needed a bigger vehicle. There’s nothing in here that won’t fit in her SUV.”

“What if she gets a table? We need one for the—”

“Wilder, don’t patronize me. I know what’s going on. I know the two of you are,” she lowered her voice to a barely discernable whisper, “sleeping with each other.”

“You do? But we—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve been careful on set. You’ve been careful at the hotels. No one else knows, except Felix, I suspect.”

“Then how do you—?”

“It’s my job to know these things. And I really don’t care. Bailey is a smart girl—and a pretty one. I can see what you find appealing. As long as no one catches wind of it, I don’t mind, but if it gets out . . .” She gestured widely, nearly knocking over a hand-carved wooden urn. “People won’t be kind to you.”

“They won’t find out. They haven’t yet. Waverly’s been having her fun, and I’ve, well, I haven’t been a saint. No one was any bit the wiser.”

“That was when you guys were up-and-coming. Now your faces are everywhere. Plus, with the book coming out . . . people are watching. And you and Waverly and these little flings of yours are seriously playing with fire.” Her shoulders dropped. “I’m not going to tell you to stop this . . . thing with Bailey. But please be more careful.”

“We are being careful.”

“Obviously not if—”

“If anyone saw us right now, and they recognized me, all we’d have to say is the truth. That I’m filming a new season of Playing House and that the design assistant and I are getting some pieces for the shoot.”

“And if they questioned why Waverly wasn’t here?”

“She’s home with Virginia.”

“I suppose that would work.” She chewed on her lip. “So I take it Bailey knows the full truth?”

He nods. “Waverly and I both filled her in on the details a while ago.”

“And what is she expecting out of all of this?”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“Does Bailey know you’re only here for the season and it’s all over—”

“We have an understanding. Trust me. There won’t be any broken hearts when this is all said and done.”

They fell silent for a moment while Renee seemed to consider everything he’d just told her. For his part, he was still reeling from discovering that she’d known something was going on. They’d been so careful, but like she said, it was her job to pick up on the things no one else noticed.

He also couldn’t shake the annoyance that he was getting a lecture, when Waverly was running around with their still-married boss without a peep of complaint. Then again, Renee had always been a little scared of Waverly. She’d always passed her concerns on to him, though they’d never been quite so personal.

“I suppose you’re right. No one would question you shopping for home goods with a design assistant.”

“Of course they wouldn’t.” He draped an arm around Renee’s shoulder. “It wouldn’t raise any more flags than you standing here with me.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t be so paranoid.” He squeezed her shoulder and took a step back before she could faint from the panic attack she was surely fighting. “Don’t worry.”

She shook her head. “Now that Waverly’s with Devon . . . I would be careful.”

“Everything will be fine. Trust me.”

Those were famous last words, of course. But in this instance, Wilder had every confidence they were true. While he was fond of Bailey—which he conceded was probably a mild way of putting it—he was fully aware of how much of himself he had to give. Further, she’d made damn sure he knew how much she was willing to offer up.

They were enjoying each other and this moment for what it was. When it ended, he might feel a little bummed (which again was probably putting it lightly), but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. They’d both move on with no regrets. They’d promised each other as much.

That might not offer Renee much comfort now, but it did plenty to ease him. When this was over, it would be over. And they’d both be fine. Being assured of that made him lucky. It wasn’t often a man could know the outcome before it had even fully began. But he did with Bailey. He knew where they both stood, and that had to count for a lot.