Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1)

by Julie N. Ford

  “You did this, which only means one thing. You have to stay here and help me fix it. If I don’t pull this design together before tomorrow night, my career is over.”

  Pete blew out a weary sigh. “If your career ends over a design your clients are in love with,” he said, “well then, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

  Olivia’s heart shriveled in her chest. “How can you say that?” She could hardly breathe. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for a starring role like this.”

  “Have you?” Pete asked, his gaze searching hers as if giving her one last chance to take back what they both knew wasn’t the truth anymore. “Have you really?”

  Though she’d come to question some of her goals as of late, she couldn’t possibly… No, she wouldn’t risk forfeiting her dreams on a whim. “I’m not a designer,” she insisted.

  He looked at her a moment longer, disappointment swimming in his eyes. “Sure you are. Olivia, you can do this. I believe in you. You know what to do.” He reached down and brushed a finger over her heart. “In here, at least.” His touch set off a fresh wave of panic, this time driven by a longing at the realization he was leaving and that she had to let him go. “You have your designs, your fabric swatches, and pictures of furnishings galore.” He pointed in the direction of the mansion. “Go. Do what you were obviously born to do.”

  Then, with a gentle nudge, he moved her shock-laden body out of the door’s path and pulled it closed. “I’ll see you around.” The engine revved to life, and he was gone.

  Bouncing over the uneven cobblestone street, Pete’s truck disappeared from sight. Olivia watched him go, knowing she needed to move, to get off the street, and out of the way of another vehicle she could hear coming up behind her. Except her body had gone numb, her muscles unresponsive to reason.

  “Olivia,” Tristi’s cautious voice came up beside her. “I know you’re busy, what with your career crashing down around you and whatnot, but…” She held the paper she’d been reading earlier out in front of Olivia again. “I really think you need to take a look at this.”

  After a long moment of concerted effort, Olivia forced her eyes from the corner where Pete’s truck had long since rounded and looked to the paper. From the page Tristi had folded back, Pete’s wry grin smiled up at her.

  Motor functions restored, she reached up and took the paper from her assistant. Speed-reading the page, she saw that the article told of Pete’s nonprofit, spelling out the details of the people he’d helped, including an exposé on the local family whose living room she’d helped paint just a few days prior. Scanning further down, she skimmed the history of Pete’s inspiration, complete with a picture of his fiancée, Teresa.

  As if an imaginary hand had reached out and gripped her throat, Olivia choked on what she saw. With the exception that this woman’s nose was broader, her eyes closer set: “She’s…” Olivia tried. Then tried again, “She looks…”

  “Just like you,” Tristi finished.

  Pete was gone. The possibility that he’d risked his television career out of some sort of twisted affection for Olivia disappeared the moment she’d glimpsed that picture of Teresa. Eleanor and her staff were refusing to help bring together Olivia’s design.

  She was reluctant to call her agent, and forget about consulting her parents—her mother would pop a vein for sure—she had only one other person to turn to for guidance.

  Knock, knock, knock. “William.” Knock, knock, knock. “William.” Olivia’s knuckles stung from her vigorous rapping, but she hit them against the hotel room door again anyway. Knock, knock, knock. “William.”

  With her ear pressed against the cool wood panel, she held quiet an impatient moment, listening for evidence that William was on the other side. And given that the clock had yet to strike the eight a.m. hour, she suspected he was not only in there, but more than likely still fast asleep.

  Her fist poised to begin another round of knocking, she held back upon hearing the sound of throat clearing coming from the other side. “Olivia, darling, why are you Sheldon-Coopering my door?” William asked.

  Relief washed over her panicked body. She collapsed against the door. “Something’s happened,” she pled. “I need to talk to you. Open up. Please.”

  William cracked the door and leaned out his head. “Sweetie, can’t it wait? I’m not properly dressed,” he apologized, but Olivia ignored his reservations. Strong-arming the door open, she barged in. “All-righty then,” he said as she breezed past him. “What could be so important, it couldn’t keep until a less ungodly hour?”

  Olivia skidded to a stop in the middle of a posh living area, her focus scanning from the mini bar and kitchenette to a fifty-inch flat screen TV, then through a set of doors into another room, and on to a four-poster, king-sized bed. Her current predicament temporarily relocated to the backburner. All she could think was: “Your room… It’s so much bigger than mine.”

  William chuckled. “That’s your idea of a crisis?” he said. “Welcome to the top of the mountain.” He flourished his arms out. As he did, Olivia came to understand his concern over the inadequacy of his attire. Sporting a silky robe, loosely tied at the waist and exposing his smooth, chiseled chest, the fabric he wore was thin and clingy enough to leave little doubt of his complete nakedness underneath. Swinging her gaze away, she split her focus between his left shoulder and the cherry wood desk just beyond.

  “My agent is obviously better than yours,” he continued to gloat. “Now that you’ve become an overnight success, you should consider other options,” he suggested as he took her by the arm and steered her back toward the door. “Better yet,” he added, a salacious look skimming her from lips to breasts, “what do you say, when we get to our next location, we share a room? Valentine, Nebraska. Very romantic, don’t you think?”

  Olivia stared up at him, her eyes rotating through a few blink cycles as she struggled to consider his offer. “Share a room…?” she repeated. The very thought twisted her stomach into knots. “Thanks, but I don’t think…” she began when the laptop on his desk grabbed her attention. Focusing in on the screen, she barely caught a glimpse of a peculiar image prior to its fading to black.

  “What was that?” she asked, making a move toward the desk. “There, on your computer screen?”

  William adjusted his position, blocking her way. “Just work.” He snagged her by the arm again. “None of your concern,” he said, his voice flirtatious as usual, while his eyes remained sedate. His inability to show consistent emotion skyrocketed her need to discover what he was hiding to the top of her to-do list.

  Using one of the football moves her brothers had taught her, she faked left, then quickly veered right, easily evading William.

  Diving for the desk, she slammed her fingers onto the mouse pad. The screen glowed to life. Her eyes rounded in disbelief. “What are you doing with this picture?”

  William dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “I hate to point out the obvious my dear, but I’m the one who should be aghast,” he said, though if appalled was what he was going for, his tone sounded awfully casual. “Imagine my shock, thinking I was simply snooping on Eleanor’s design. But instead, I found my heart’s desire, lip-locked with another man.” He reached out and tenderly tucked a strand of Olivia’s hair behind her ear. “If I hadn’t been so absolutely thrilled to see that Eleanor had taken the bait, altered her design to reflect a more…” He hesitated to consider his words. “Shall we say, lofty approach, I may have been devastated.”

  So, he had seen her kissing Pete that night. But he hadn’t cared. And why? Because he’d somehow outwitted Eleanor and her? Another knot twisted Olivia’s gut. She honestly didn’t know what to say. Taking a moment to consider where to go from here, she glanced over the desk, this time noticing an array of home listings scattered about.

  Gathering a few pages, she sifted through the listings. All mansions—Greek-revival style like the Calhouns’—except that under the specifications, descripti
ons such as, “large master bath,” “cozy floor plan,” and “finished basement,” stood out as beacons of his deceit. “I thought you told me you were showing Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun loft-style condos down by the river because that’s what they wanted?”

  “Oh, I showed them a few. But I may have exaggerated their enthusiasm over seeing them.” He gave her a tricky smile as he proceeded to ease the stack of listings from her grip. His gaze glided over each page as he dropped them, one by one, to the desk. “In fact, the homes I’ve shown them since are move-in ready and have all the upgrades they requested from you and Eleanor but unfortunately aren’t getting.” He released the last listing and watched as it floated to the desk. “I showed them the house of their dreams on Friday. And it’s on budget. Looks like I win this round,” he said, so sure of himself. “You’ll need to get used to losing, my dear.”

  Olivia’s eyes launched into a second round of rapid blinking. Those times he’d unexpectedly shown up at the house, he hadn’t been looking for her. He’d been spying on the design? All that remained of her dreams of Wi-livia as Hollywood’s next power couple, along with those pretty babies and a Malibu mansion, dissipated completely, a fog burned away by the rising sun.

  “Just to clarify,” she asked, though she already knew the answer. “You purposely undermined Eleanor and me by ‘mistakenly’ letting it slip the Calhouns’ had changed their minds, that they wanted modern and loft-style instead of single family?”

  William glided his fingertips over Olivia’s bottom lip. “How ’bout we turn that frown upside down?” he soothed. “It’s not as if you and Eleanor didn’t engage in your fair share of spying,” he said, evenly, no-cause-for-concern. “Can I help it if I’m better at the game?” He pressed a hand to his exposed chest. “And don’t worry, Sweetheart. I promise to throw you guys a bone every now and again. It’s good for me to lose, occasionally. Makes my fans root for me all the harder the next time.”

  Chagrin gave way to betrayal, anger raising up to mask her pain. “You’re nothing but a manipulative, lying, narcissistic…” she said, and was about to add a colorful expletive when the abrupt swish of water through pipes derailed the track of her disdain. “Is someone else here?”

  The answer came in the form a woman’s singsong voice. “William, was that room service?” she called from the next room. “I’m positively famished. I hope they gave me a fresh grapefruit today,” she added as she rounded the corner, rubbing her cascading mane of platinum locks between the ends of a fluffy white towel. Upon spying Olivia, she dropped the towel and proceeded to close her robe over a pair of thin hips. The scant fabric was barely adequate to cover her ample cleavage. “Shame on you, William, you should have told me we were expecting company.”

  Olivia turned back to William, a question hanging from her open mouth.

  William’s shoulders fell. “Oh, Olivia,” he said, with only a trace of regret.

  The room lapsed into a complete silence, three sets of eyes shifting from one awkward gape to another.

  After a good five seconds, William spoke. “I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he said, a formality to his words. “Olivia, meet Nicole Henshaw. Nicole, Olivia Pembroke,” he introduced them, though doing so was unnecessary. Even dripping wet and without a stitch of makeup, there was no mistaking a sex symbol like Nicole Henshaw.

  A bright smile stretched across Nicole’s luminous face. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, putting an end to the carpet between them. “I have to admit, I’ve been quite curious about the woman keeping company with my William.” She took Olivia’s hand in a weak grip. “So kind of you to watch out for him while I’m on…” She looked to the ceiling in search of the right word. “A sabbatical, of sorts.”

  Sabbatical? As in temporary absence? Olivia jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry, I don’t…” Her quest for further explanation faded as the sight of Pete and her, locked in a heated embrace, popped into her mind again.

  Back at the desk, she lifted the laptop for a closer view. The picture had been opened in a photo-finishing program. As she stared at the image, an unsettling feeling descended around her, and tightened, a python slowly squeezing the life from its prey. “Wait a minute,” she choked on the words. “I know what’s going on here.” She pointed her free hand at Nicole. “You never intended to permanently leave the show. You’re coming back, and somehow the two of you are using this picture to make that happen.”

  William shook his head. “Olivia, my sweet, naïve Southern belle.” He sighed. “I had a feeling you might react this way. You didn’t really believe you could fill Nicole’s shoes forever, did you?” He tsked. “We really weren’t sure how to finesse the transition, but then I saw you and Pete, and the plan just came together. Ms. Hightower assured me you’d be a sport and go along with our little plan. Well, that is if you expect to ever work in Hollywood again,” he said. “And why not? Everyone in the industry knows the first rule of being famous is that scandal is your friend.”

  Taking the laptop from her hands, he folded it closed and tucked it under his arm. “When the time is right, these pictures will devastate America’s Heartthrob—aka, yours truly—by exposing your philandering ways. Then Nicole will sweep in and heal my broken heart. As expected, you’ll need to keep dating me until then. Viewers will love it. Some will hate you, of course. But then what is it they say about there being a thin line between love and loathing?” As if he’d just bestowed her with a most coveted gift, a spark of delight lit his gaze. “You’ll be infamous.”

  For the second time in one morning, Olivia couldn’t believe what was happening to her. Her and William’s dates out on the town, the public, unrestrained kissing, all of it was just a ruse to feed the rumor mill? How could she have been so blind?

  The faces of her parents, brothers, and friends, brimming in disapproval, flashed before Olivia’s eyes. Thanks to the tabloids, everyone already thought she was shacking up with this man. Was the world to believe she was a two-timing tramp as well?

  “But what if I don’t want to be infamous?” she asserted. She’d been brought up to be a proper lady, and if there was one thing you didn’t want to mess with, it was a Southerner’s hard-earned reputation. And besides, even if she had felt a glimmer of affection for Pete once or twice, he’d only ever seen her as the apparition of his true love, lost forever.

  So, what now? Was she expected to sit back and accept a loss on all fronts?

  Well, this was one “naïve Southern belle” that wasn’t going down without a fight. Stabbing an outstretched finger into William’s chest, she objected, “There’s nothing going on between Pete and me.” She poked him again.

  William gave her a look that said they both knew that wasn’t true. “Isn’t there?”

  Flames of injustice bolted from Olivia’s eyes. “I’ll sue,” she threatened.

  “Brilliant idea.” William beamed. “A lawsuit will lend an additional spin to the scandal.” He draped an arm over Nicole’s bony shoulder and pulled her close.

  Olivia’s fiery gaze oscillated between their smug expressions. Maybe they assumed that just because folks from Tennessee talked slowly, they were dim-witted as well. But what they didn’t know was that she’d been raised on a hearty helping of Southern pride, along with a side order of revenge—a dish best served unexpected.

  Turning away before her temper got the best of her, she racked her brain for a way out of this mess. What would they say if they knew Pete had already quit and that she was about to be fired? No, William already assumed he’d won, and thus had mistakenly played all his cards, which meant if she held hers close to the vest, as they say, she could beat him at his own twisted game. Stealing a play from William’s book of deceitful acts, she stealthily slipped her phone from the front pocket of her raincoat.

  Opening the camera app, she adjusted the lens for a shelf picture, switched to video, and then held her phone just high enough to glimpse the two of them over her shoulder. Gazing wantonly into ea
ch other’s eyes, they were paying no mind to her.

  “But why?” Olivia asked, sprinkling on a dash of desperation for effect. “Why would Nicole leave the show only to return a little while later?”

  “It’s simple. Money,” Nicole stated like the reason was perfectly clear. “The passion between William and me was heating up so fast. We could hardly keep our hands off each other.” She slipped a hand beneath his robe and kissed his chest. Olivia stifled a gag. “Soon, rumors would begin to fly. With a blatant allegation of infidelity hanging over me, I’d have no chance of retaining my fair share of my husband’s wealth after the divorce,” she said, then rose to her tiptoes and nipped at William’s bottom lip.

  Olivia bristled but kept her camera rolling.

  Nicole went on. “So you see, I had to leave under the pretense of ‘working on my marriage,’ which over the holiday break, unraveled faster than I could have hoped for.” Her face stretched into a wicked smile. “A few months, and the divorce will be final. The rest?” She shrugged. “Well, you already know.”

  Satisfied she had all the dirt she needed, Olivia slipped her phone back into her pocket and turned to face them again. “But you’ve made millions starring on Home Matters alone. What’s the use in holding out for more?” she asked, but only to add continuity to her ruse. At this point she couldn’t care less about Nicole’s motives.

  Nicole smirked. “Second rule of fame…” She looked to William.

  “Enough is never enough,” he finished.

  “Enough is enough!” Olivia grumbled as she dropped her head to the table. A photo of a whimsical Tiffany floor lamp blurred before her eyes. The tacky paper it had been printed on stuck to her forehead. Fanned out over the remainder of the coffeehouse table, her designs, swatches, and more furnishing photos littered the wooden surface. Faced with the impossible task of bringing her designs to fruition, she already had enough to think about without that annoying voice of reason inside her head reminding her, over and over, that even a seasoned designer wouldn’t attempt such a daunting feat alone.