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.
Chapter Sixteen
She was running late. Really late. She’d spent a little too much time in bed with Wilder that morning, and as a result, Bailey would be walking into the house a good fifteen minutes later than planned. After their awkward run-in with Renee at the store the night before—which Wilder assured her hadn’t been as big of a deal as it looked—they should have been more careful about watching their steps where work was concerned.
But Wilder had Virginia for the next couple of nights, and it had been all too tempting to agree to his request for an encore performance of last night’s big show.
It was getting hard to say no to him when it came to anything.
He was too darn sweet for his own good. That had to be the reason why she’d agreed to getting jalapeños on their pizza last night. (Though, in her defense, she’d just been thrilled he wanted pizza instead of a round of salads.) That had to be the reason why she kept agreeing to stay the whole night in his room—or have him in hers—whenever he didn’t have Virginia. Sleepovers weren’t something she’d considered part of the equation when they’d gotten together. But he liked having them, and, okay, she’d grown to like being the little spoon.
The sign signaling her exit flew by. She checked the dashboard clock again. She was only going to be about five minutes late. That wasn’t terrible. Plus, Waverly would get a fresh cup of coffee, which should make up for her tardiness.
Bailey merged into the right lane, about to take the exit, when she noticed a familiar car sitting on the shoulder of the road. And if the mess of tools spread out on the ground next to a spare tire were any indication, Waverly was having a bad start to her morning.
“Damn.”
Bailey was about to be even later to the job site.
Shifting gears, she brought her car to a stop behind Waverly’s and—after checking for oncoming traffic—she stepped out to help. Bailey followed the litany of expletives to Waverly, where she was crouched next to the front passenger tire. The gravel crunched under her boots, and Waverly spun in a flash, unleashing a piercing scream.
“Hey.” Bailey held up her hands. “I come in peace.”
Waverly dropped a lug wrench and let out a breath. “Oh my God. I thought you were someone coming to kill me. You hear about things like that.”
Bailey had seen something similar happen on TV, once. But telling Waverly she might be justified in worrying wouldn’t help the situation.
“Do you need some
help?”
Nodding, she handed over a half dozen lug nuts. Bailey knelt to survey the damage and shook her head. Waverly hadn’t used the jack. How had she’d gotten this far without that first step? Bailey wordlessly went about jacking the car up, then switched out the blown tire for a donut. It didn’t take much time. She’d changed more tires than she could remember. Once word got out that you knew how, people tended to call you up whenever they were in a pinch.
Wiping the dirt and grease on a rag that had materialized, Bailey stood to face Waverly. “You’ll want to take the car in for a new tire, but this should get you to the shop.”
A sneer crossed her face. “Well, aren’t you just the perfect little miss fix-it?”
Wait, what? Bailey shook her head again, trying to register the bitterness in her boss’s voice. It made no sense. Bailey had saved her from having to figure out how to change a tire or call AAA—which apparently hadn’t occurred to her. Instead of gratitude, she was getting attitude?
“O . . . kay,” Bailey drawled out, still trying to make sense of it. “I—”
“You really are determined to prove you’re better than me. Aren’t you?” She crossed her arms and stood even more defiantly. “It wasn’t enough for you to take advantage of my book release to get on camera. Now you’re fucking my ex.”
Bailey sucked in a deep breath and counted to ten twice before saying anything that might get her fired. This was only temporary. It was her stepping stone. The one she needed for bigger and better. She could get through this. When she did, she’d be stronger and better than ever.
She only had to tell herself twice and take four deep breaths before she formed a response.
“I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t want to pit myself against you.” Bailey placed her curled fists on her hips. “And I don’t want you pitting yourself against me. This isn’t a competition.”
Waverly chewed on her lips. “I don’t really want to fight you. But you’re intimidating.”
Bailey could do little more than stare at Waverly. Was she for real?
“I’m losing that edge I used to have. My passion. Then here you come in with both—not to mention how much talent you have in your pinky.” She ran a hand through her long waves of dark hair. “What would you do in my place?”
Playing House Page 18