That was something she couldn’t answer. Truthfully, she didn’t know. She was still new enough to this business—new enough to having people listen to her ideas and value her opinion. She’d like to think she could be reasonable, but that wasn’t a given.
Bailey almost hated to ask, but she needed to know. “You don’t have a problem with Wilder and me, do you?”
“God, no. That ship has long sailed.” Her lips pursed together. “If you saw my boyfriend, you wouldn’t have to ask.”
Bailey didn’t want to see her boyfriend. She didn’t particularly want to prolong this conversation. She just wanted to go to work. Reaching into her car, Bailey handed Waverly one of the coffee cups and said they should get on their ways.
What a day. It hadn’t even really started and already Bailey couldn’t make sense of it. Then again, she might never be able to figure out the way Waverly exploded one minute and was sweet as a peach the next.
She wondered if a chiropractor or physical therapist could help with emotional whiplash. Because if this carried on, she’d be in serious need of some kind of treatment. She couldn’t keep up with Waverly and the different sides of her personality. Bailey never knew which version of her boss was going to be around on the days she actually showed up for work.
Okay, she needed to nix that kind of thinking. It wasn’t her place to judge her boss’s work habits. This is a stepping stone. Bigger and better.
It was a strange thing to both admire and fear her boss at the same time. On the one hand, Waverly was a brilliant designer who had built an empire and brand even Martha Stewart would envy.
On the other hand, she was kind of unhinged and unpredictable. And she had a nasty streak that seemed to pop out when you least expected it.
Someday, when she was in charge of her own business, Bailey would make it a point to keep her emotions in better control. She’d also make sure she didn’t tear down her subordinates.
Maybe she should take a business class or two when this was all done. Something that focused on being a good and effective manager and not a total psychopath. She really hated to use that word. As a policy, she tried not to call other women crazy, but there were exceptions for every rule.
She should say something about Waverly’s mood swings to someone. And if that wasn’t a vague plan, she didn’t know what was.
There was always Wilder, but she didn’t want to put him in that position. Besides, after years of knowing and working with Waverly—not to mention raising a child with her—he was an expert at dealing with her back-and-forth. (Or at least he was used to it.)
There was Renee. Like Wilder, she had the years of experience. Still, after bumping into her the other night, Bailey didn’t feel like she was in a position to ask favors of their producer. Besides, Bailey didn’t want to look like a whiner. They might be well into filming the season, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fire her and bring in someone else. As important as she liked to think she’d become to the crew, her name wasn’t in the show’s title. They could take or leave her with zero qualms.
That left actually confronting Waverly. She’d come close today on the side of the road. But no matter how frustrating she could be, Waverly was her boss. Like Renee, she had the power to terminate the contract. Bailey had invested too much in these houses—too much in this season—to walk away from it now.
No, for now she needed to toughen up and deal. Taking the high road sucked.
Her mind was still spinning when they arrived at the job site minutes later. Wilder gave her a curious, questioning look, but she’d waved him off. She could tell him about the flat tire later, when they were away from Renee’s watchful eyes. In all fairness to the producer, she had every right to be concerned about the arrangement. If the wrong person found out—if it leaked the press or even an industrious blogger—there would be massive fallout. Not just the shitstorm that would happen in the news. No, the network would be pissed, and they’d all be fired.
Much as she didn’t want that for Wilder, she didn’t want it for herself or the rest of the crew. She’d finally found a job she enjoyed—even if it was only temporary—and most of the people on the crew had mortgages and families depending on them. Losing this job wouldn’t be just the loss of a chance to be part of something special, it could potentially destroy their livelihood.
Renee had to think about things like that. The poor woman was in a tough spot. She had to serve the interests of the studio and meet the demands of the stars all while looking out for the little guys. And that was on top of her actual job: keeping track of the shoot, making sure they were on time (and budget), and ensuring the finished project was worthy of the gold standard the Design Network expected.
And here Bailey was, making that task even more challenging. She really should have fought the urge to scratch the itch that had started with Wilder. If she was smart, she would have.
Renee said nothing when Bailey stepped into the dining room, which she had set up for her office today. Barely glancing up, she gave an easy “good morning,” then “thank you” as Bailey handed her a cup of coffee.
After that, they began their daily confab and discussed everything they needed to finish before sundown. Before their coffees were finished, they completed the meeting and set out to do their specific tasks.
Bailey kept waiting for Renee to pull her aside. Maybe it was because she was looking to see some sign of a change—because her senses were so heightened to the possibility that something might be amiss—but Bailey only noticed that Renee seemed to be watching her a little more closely than usual. Then again, she could be reading into it because she wanted to see some sign that their dynamic had changed.
It wasn’t until Felix and his crew was packing up for the day that Renee appeared at her side. “I thought I’d take a walk around the property before calling it a night. Join me?”
She’d said it as a question, but Bailey understood that it was not a request so much as a command. As they set out for the backyard, Wilder again eyed them curiously, but she shook her head. They’d talk later. Besides, she didn’t want him to leave Virginia hanging for too long.
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes until the last of the trucks pulled away.
“You’ve done a good job,” Renee said. “We’ve worked with a lot of design assistants over the years, and you’re definitely the best.”
“Thank you.”
“You have a good eye and even better instincts. Besides that, you’ve won over the work crew—which isn’t always an easy task—and you’ve found a way to collaborate with Waverly without freaking her out too much.” She flashed a quick look, silently telling Bailey what she’d already figured; that Renee knew all too well how often their star shifted from hot to cold. “And Wilder likes you. Of course, he always likes everyone. He’s just that kind of a guy. But you’re different.”
Again, without saying it, she’d conveyed an even deeper meaning. Bailey felt the weight of it on her chest.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“I tried to fight it, really, I did.”
“You did.”
“But . . .” Bailey shrugged, unable to find precisely the right words. “When it comes to Wilder and me . . . there’s just . . .”
“A spark. It’s there. I can see it. Everyone can. Not that they maybe understand the full extent. You have great chemistry on camera. Everyone can tell. Everyone.”
She wondered just how far that went. Was it contained to the crew, or did anyone at the network have suspicions?
“I know what’s at stake. The show. People’s jobs. Wilder’s relationship with Virginia. I know all of that, and I promise I’m not here to jeopardize any of that.” She wished she’d been a stronger woman and fought off that attraction. “I know that when we get the last shot, and y’all leave, that’s it.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with that?”
Bailey nodded.
“I’m not looking for anything long-term.”
“You might not be looking, but—”
“I’m not built for anything long-term. Trust me.”
Surprise registered on Renee’s face. “What makes you think that?”
“Some people are made for marriage, kids, mortgages, but that’s not me.”
“It’s not?”
“If you knew my family better, you’d understand.” They paused beside a tree that needed to be reshaped and loved on a little before reveal day. The tall oak had seen better days. Some people might be tempted to rip it down, but it had good roots. That’s why Bailey had fought so hard to keep it. “When this is over, I’ll be grateful for the paycheck and the opportunity, but I’ll be looking for my next job. Not a boyfriend.”
“Are you sure? You might say that now while it’s new, but we still have months to go. You’ve seen the dailies. You could practically melt butter with the sizzle between the two of you and—”
“Renee. I know what I want. I’ve depended on myself most of my life, and I don’t plan on changing that. Not even for someone like Wilder.”
Chewing on her inner cheek, Renee took a moment to consider what she’d said. “What do you want to do when it’s over?”
“I want to keep designing. Wherever that happens.”
“Do you think you’d want to find another show?”
That possibility had never crossed Bailey’s mind. While she’d considered a few options—applying for a job at the firm where she’d interned years ago, starting up her own small shop, sending out blanket résumés—she’d never thought of looking for another crew.
“I’m not sure. This has been fun, but this is another thing I’m not sure I’m built for a lifetime of living.”
Renee nodded, and for the first time, she seemed to visibly relax. With the possibility of Bailey trying to manipulate Wilder into leaving the show—or her using it as leverage to land her own show with the network as payment for staying quiet—off the table, Renee didn’t look so worried.
“I know we haven’t talked much outside of the job, but . . .” Renee hesitated, then reached forward to place a hand on her forearm. “If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here.”
“I appreciate that.”
She truly did. With all the ways this conversation could have gone, it was the best possible way to end. The least Bailey could do in exchange for Renee’s kindness was be more careful where Wilder was concerned.
Of course, it would be better if she put an end to it now, before anyone else suspected anything, but realistically, she understood it wasn’t an option. Like Renee had said, there was just too much sexual tension between her and Wilder if there wasn’t any avenue for release.
She’d be more careful all the same. There was too much at stake.
Chapter Seventeen
Something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t just the shade of paint on the wall—which was supposed to be more eggplant and less raisin. Felix probably picked up the wrong color at the store, but that wasn’t the real issue. Something was off with Bailey.
She was in a fog, like she hadn’t slept in days, which wasn’t the case. Maybe all of her nocturnal activities with Wilder the past couple of months were catching up with her. Maybe her body was saying, “Stop having so much sex and get more uninterrupted sleep.” She hoped that wasn’t the case. She rather enjoyed their three- to four-nights a week routine. It was much better than having to take extra-long showers or using her imagination.
No. That couldn’t be it. This wasn’t just tiredness from a few late nights. It was like a heavy exhaustion had settled deep in her bones, weighing her down. Literally. She’d actually had to sit down in the middle of staging three times. Felix gave her a little crap the first time. She’d told him to eff off and leave her alone or she’d have Paige withhold one of his favorite things.
Maybe she was getting a touch of the flu. She felt a bit feverish. She’d forgotten to get a flu shot, but it was well past cold and flu season. Besides, she didn’t have time for the flu.
She was also a little bloated, which wasn’t exactly your average flu symptom. That ran more along the lines of PMS. That was even less likely than having the flu or exhaustion. She wasn’t due for another couple of weeks.
Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that third oatmeal raisin cookie after she wolfed down a tuna salad sandwich at lunch.
She spent most of the afternoon entertaining a list of possible illnesses, deciding she was somewhere between mild exhaustion and on the brink of death. By the time they wrapped for the evening, she desperately wanted to curl up in her bed forever. Or at least for the next twelve hours.
Wilder had other plans.
“It’s Friday night. Wanna do something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. We could go see a movie.”
“You mean we’d go somewhere together in public?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Someone might see you.”
“It’ll be dark in the theater.”
He made a good point. Still . . . “Won’t the crew talk?”
He let out a short laugh. “Bailey Honey, you know they already know.”
“I can’t hang out tonight. I have . . .” What? Cramps? Bloatedness? No guy wanted to hear about a woman’s time of the month, which is exactly what that sounded like. “I just need a night off.”
His eyebrows knitted together, and for a moment, concern replaced annoyance. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course,” she rushed out, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was. Whatever it was, she wasn’t up for anything more strenuous than curling up into a fetal position in the middle of her bed while praying she’d be back to normal in the morning.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m just tired. I think it’d be best if I go to bed early, get some rest. Maybe we can grab lunch after we do the house run-through in the morning?”
He studied her, like he wanted to uncover whether she was sincerely unwell or if she was making up excuses. He should know by now she wasn’t one to play coy. His search apparently came up empty. “Okay. We can do lunch tomorrow. Do you want me to hang out in your room for the night? In case you need anything.”
“That’s a sweet offer.” She couldn’t resist cupping his cheek, and now she felt guilty for maybe hurting his feelings. “But I’ll be able to manage.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
She nearly sighed in relief when he dropped the subject. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to avoid a fight. She just didn’t have the energy to give it her best. It’d be a shame to lose a simple argument—like what kind of ice cream was best on a summer’s evening (basic chocolate, obviously)—because she was off her game.
She’d make sure to put up an extra good fight when it came time to pick out where they went for lunch and who would pick up the tab. They’d both feel better when some semblance of normalcy returned to their dynamic.
Wilder walked with her to the cars in silence. He opened the door and helped her slide into the driver’s seat. After making sure her bags were tucked away carefully in the backseat, he leaned in and kissed her squarely on the lips. He brushed his fingertips across her chin.
“You’ll let me know if you need anything.”
She nodded and buckled her seatbelt. She gave an absent wave before she drove back to the motel alone. She passed over restaurants, not stopping to pick up dinner. She wasn’t hungry.
On the drive, she was vaguely aware that Wilder was following her closely. Well, that was fine. If he wanted to worry, he could go right ahead. There was really no point. She’d be better after a good night’s sleep. And maybe she’d hit up a pharmacy in the morning if she still felt flu-ish.
At the hotel, she bypassed the stairs and took the elevator to the second floor. Again, she could get her steps in another day. That night, she preferred the elevator, which she could lean against. After what felt like
the longest walk of her life down the hallway, she finally made it to her room. She dropped her bag in the entryway and kicked the door shut with the heel of her boot.
A sharp pain stabbed at her side.
“Oh. Mother . . .”
Great. She was wiped, had a little case of the fever and chills, and zero appetite. Why not add a stitch in her side to the mix?
She gingerly stripped down to her undergarments, deciding pajamas were too much effort for tonight. She crawled onto the bed and curled up on her side. She didn’t bother to turn off the light before she closed her eyes.
***
Just after midnight, the sharp, piercing pain in her side forced Bailey awake. She took a deep breath and let out a shout that was part gasp as the pain sharpened.
“Oh, that was a bad idea.”
This time, she took a series of short, shallow breaths through her nose. But the pain didn’t go away. She took another full breath, and a wave of nausea flooded over her.
She raced to the bathroom and made it to the toilet a moment before she lost the meager contents of her stomach. She heaved and heaved until there was nothing more but bile to give. Then she heaved again.
Resting her cheek against the cold porcelain of the bathroom tile, she reached up and flushed.
“This is so gross.” The way she felt. The shaking and shivering. The urge to vomit that wouldn’t go away. The shooting pain in her side. The fact that her face was rested on the floor. God knew the last time it had a proper cleaning let alone disinfecting.
She stayed like that for minutes, hours, she didn’t know how long. Alternating between dry heaving and resting on the bathroom floor, she prayed for whatever was wrong with her to go away.
Once she’d gone through the routine of heaving and crying for what must have been the millionth time, enough was enough. She pushed herself up to her feet. Tears stung her eyes as the pain shot from her ribs to her toes. She tugged on the jeans and shirt still lying near the front door where she’d left them. Grabbing her purse and phone, she stumbled down the hallway.
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