Playing House

by Laura Chapman

  Playing House

  By Laura Chapman

  PLAYING HOUSE

  Copyright © 2017 Laura Chapman

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Laura Chapman

  Photo by lightwavemedia/ Shutterstock

  Editing and Proofreading by EFC Services

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Playing House

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Books by Laura Chapman

  Acknowledgements

  Sign up for Laura Chapman's Mailing List

  Further Reading: The Marrying Type

  About the Author

  For my cats, Bingley and Jane, because let's be real, this whole introverted writer life of mine wouldn't be complete without them in it.

  She's a work in progress . . .

  Bailey Meredith has had it. As an assistant at a prestigious interior design firm, she’s tired of making coffee and filing invoices. She’ll do just about anything to get out from under the paperwork and into the field for real experience. Then she sees an ad for a job that seems too good to be true.

  He's a fixer upper . . .

  Wilder Aldrich knew she would be perfect for the crew the moment he saw her. His hit home improvement show only hired the best, and Bailey had potential written all over her. It isn’t just her imaginative creativity and unmatched work ethic that grabs his attention. There’s just something about her.

  With chemistry on screen, it’s only a matter of time before sparks fly behind the scenes as well. But with Bailey’s jaded views on romance and a big secret that could destroy Wilder and everyone he cares about are either of them willing to risk it all for love?

  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 goi
ng 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 an
d 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.”