“You have any idea how much that’s going to cost?”
“I own a hardware store—I’ll get everything wholesale. What do you say?”
She cocked her head, regarding him. “You don’t have a girlfriend who’s going to pitch a fit about this?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Free as a bird.”
“And you’ll hang with me, even if it takes more than a few days.”
“As long as it takes.”
She regarded him steadily, quietly. For so long that Seth was about to explode before she finally extended her hand across the table.
“Fine. It’s a deal.”
Five
Stanley Malcolm was somewhere in his fifties, slender, with thinning gray hair. His winter-white skin creased around his eyes when he managed a smile, calling attention to his hazel eyes.
Layla bit into her club sandwich, barely tasting it as she listened to Stanley’s monologue on the housing market. In the background a soothing rendition of “White Christmas” played over the restaurant’s speakers, mingling with the clinking of silverware and the buzz of idle chatter.
Her nerves were already shot, and they hadn’t even discussed her working with Malcolm Realty. Stanley was leading up to it in a slow, methodical way that was about to send her over the edge.
Beside her in the booth, Murphy finished off his BLT. He’d been quiet once the greetings and congratulations were out of the way. His jean-clad thigh pressed against hers, making her too warm. She wished she could ditch the suit coat, but the sleeves of her blouse were frayed.
“So you’re new to the staging business, Layla?” Stanley pushed his salad plate back. The server removed it before he could lean back in the booth.
“Technically I opened in October, but I staged a few homes before that.” They’d been friends’ homes, and payment had been pizza and chocolate, but he didn’t need to know that. “The four homes I’ve done since opening have sold within two months.”
He gave her a nod. “That’s impressive in this market.”
She presented him with the statistics on staged homes, adding that it increased the value by three to four thousand, in effect paying for itself.
After viewing the chart, he handed it back to her. “I’m intrigued. Have you a portfolio I can see?”
“Actually, I have photos with me.”
She pulled her iPad from her bag. The expenditure for the tablet had been painful, but now she was thinking it was worth every penny. She opened the photos and slid the iPad toward him, making an effort to breathe deeply.
Stanley swiped through the photos, nodding appreciatively at a couple. She wished the homes had been nicer. They were nowhere near the price range of most Malcolm homes.
“You’re so talented, baby.” Murphy edged closer, wrapping an arm around her.
She barely refrained from elbowing him in the gut.
“Thank you, Murph.” She blinked innocently, using the nickname he hated.
Layla sipped her water, trying to hide her trembling fingers. Never mind that Stanley held her future in his hands. Never mind that he could make or break her business with the next words he uttered.
His business would keep her busy year-round. No more scrimping. No more Cappy’s. No more cheapest apartment on the good side of town. She could buy a house of her own. She could do what she loved full-time. She could finally make a good name for herself.
A few minutes later Stanley handed the tablet back, his thin lips turned up in an almost-smile. “I like what I see here, Layla.”
Yes. Her heart felt like it buzzed with caffeine. “Thank you.” Come on, Stanley. Make me an offer. She was so close. “I’d love to work together.”
A frown puckered between his brows. She wondered if he was thinking of her father. Of her lack of a college degree.
“I’m a hard worker, and I’m dependable. I can get you references if you’d like. My clients were more than satisfied.”
The server came and removed the remainder of their plates. After they refused dessert, he left the bill.
Stanley set down his credit card, and an instant later it was removed. “My only qualm at this point is your lack of experience. Are you prepared to stage larger homes? Historicals? They require a different touch.”
“I understand. Historicals have a certain authentic appeal. My strategy is to enhance the natural character of older homes. In fact, I’m starting work on a historical this week. I’m staging Murphy’s home for the Silent Night Tour of Homes.”
His eyebrows ticked up. “Very nice.”
Murphy squeezed her shoulder. “Only the best.”
Layla called upon her theater skills, trading a loving smile with Murphy.
“That’ll give me the perfect opportunity to see what you can do,” Stanley said.
See what she could do? The tour was almost three weeks away. She couldn’t keep up this engagement that long. It had been all she could do to avoid her brother for a day and a half.
Layla worked to keep the smile on her face. “I’d be happy to give you a free sample with one of your existing homes.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Stanley signed the credit card slip and tucked the credit card back in his wallet. “I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with Seth’s home.” He took his coat and slid from the booth. “I’m afraid I have a one o’clock, so I have to run.”
Layla shook his hand. “Thank you so much for lunch. And for the opportunity.”
“I look forward to seeing what you can do, Layla.” He took Murphy’s hand. “Always good to see you, Seth. We should set up a tee time once all this winter muck clears away. I sure miss playing with your father. He was a heck of a golfer.”
“That he was. Let’s do it.”
Only when Stanley had slipped out the door did Layla let the smile fall from her face. She tried to tell herself it had gone well. He liked her portfolio. He was going to give her a chance. But she’d hoped to walk away with a contract.
How could she maintain this engagement charade for almost three weeks? Word had already spread. She’d hoped to get this squared away today. She had a dozen unanswered texts and four missed calls; she couldn’t avoid them forever.
Murphy squeezed her shoulder. “Come on now, it went well.”
She shrugged his hand away. “This hinges on the tour now, Murphy.”
“You’ll knock it out of the park and get the contract.”
She nailed him with a look. “It also hinges on our engagement.”
He shrugged. “So we ride it out a little while.”
“We’re supposed to be getting married in three weeks. It’s going to look pretty suspicious when the invitations don’t go out and no gets asked to be in the wedding party.”
“I’m fine with a small wedding.”
She jabbed him in the ribs, her elbow meeting a set of taut muscles. He let out a grunt. Why wasn’t he the least bit concerned? She was glad her mom’s side of the family was far away in Louisville. And she didn’t have to worry about Jack and Jessica until they returned from their honeymoon.
There was another pleasant thought. Jessica would stir it all up. She wasn’t happy unless she was making trouble. Wasn’t it enough that she’d stolen Layla’s fiancé?
And what was Layla going to tell Beckett? This wasn’t going to work.
“I can’t lie to my brother.” They’d been through too much together. She didn’t want to lie to her friends either. And she couldn’t tell them the truth for fear it would get back to Stanley. If he found out they’d faked the engagement, he’d never hire her.
“Hey …” Murphy hooked a finger under her chin and turned her head until her eyes caught in his. “It’s going to be fine. It’s just a few weeks. Tell your brother the truth. He won’t say anything. As for everyone else, it’ll mostly just be putting up with a bunch of congratulations. Say thanks and move on. Mostly you’ll be holed up at my place stringing lights and draping green stuff.”
“Garl
ands,” she said absently. That was true. She’d be busy. Maybe she could even cut her hours at Cappy’s so she could focus on Murphy’s house, not to mention avoid the general public. Financially it would be a challenge, but she knew how to stretch a dime.
She looked into his blue eyes, noticing subtle flecks of silver. They were nice eyes. Really nice. He had a fringe of dark lashes that would make most women jealous. “You think so?”
When he tweaked her chin, she wasn’t even tempted to swat his hand away. “Piece of cake.”
Six
Layla opened her front door to find her brother scowling on the stoop. She should’ve called him after lunch, but she’d wanted to scope out Murphy’s house and start a list of supplies.
“I can explain,” she said by way of greeting.
“By all means.” Beckett edged past her into the living room. At least he hadn’t brought Madison. This was embarrassing enough. She just hoped he could keep it to himself.
He followed her a few steps into her galley kitchen, where she gave the boiling pasta a stir.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
“I’m going to Madison’s for dinner. What’s this about you and Seth Murphy, Layla?”
She really didn’t want to start there. “I’ll explain in a minute, but first I have good news.”
Beckett leaned against the counter and crossed his bulky arms, frowning.
“So you know it’s been an uphill battle, getting my business off the ground. Well, I’ve been able to make some inroads with Stanley Malcolm. He’s the man who—”
“I know who he is. He approached me about building a boat a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, nice. Well, anyway, we talked at the reception Saturday and had lunch again today. He really liked my portfolio. There’s a good chance he’ll hire me to stage his homes.” She injected enthusiasm into her voice. “You know what that means?”
Beckett’s frown relaxed. “That’s great, little girl.”
“I’ll be able to quit Cappy’s. Not only would I get to stage full-time, but I’d be doing some of the area’s most upscale homes. Can you believe it?”
One corner of Beckett’s mouth tipped up. “Yeah, I can.” He wasn’t much on words, but Beckett had always been there for her, believed in her.
He stirred the spaghetti sauce. “Want me to ask Madison’s dad to put in a good word for you?”
“Mr. McKinley?”
“They’re good friends. Stanley goes to our church.”
Layla bit the inside of her lip. This was too close for comfort. If she told Beckett the engagement wasn’t real, and he told Madison … Was it even fair to ask him to keep secrets from his fiancée? He hated secrets. One had nearly come between him and Madison. He wouldn’t keep another from her, not after that.
And if Madison knew the truth, how long before the other McKinleys knew, before her father found out? Before it made its way back to Stanley?
“So,” Beckett said. “You and Seth …”
Layla gave the spaghetti another stir. Think, Layla. Could she afford to tell the whole truth? “We met at the theater two summers ago, remember? I helped do the sets for Nightingale.”
“I remember. I also remember you started going out with Seth’s best friend, and I have a vague recollection of another engagement in there somewhere.” He lifted the big spoon to his mouth, tasting the sauce.
She swatted his arm and snatched the spoon. “Thanks for the refresher. I was getting to all that if you’d just be patient.” And give her time to figure this out.
“You’ve pretty much exhausted my patience over the past two days.”
She fished in the cabinet for a strainer. “So, anyway. We kind of connected at the theater. He made me laugh, was easy to talk to, and he treated me, I don’t know, as an equal.” All true.
“You are an equal.”
“You know what I mean.” She came up with the strainer and set it in the sink. “I was, you know, attracted to him.” Unfortunately, also true. “But then Jack asked me out. It was when I was working at the Quick Spin, and he’d come in weekly for his dry cleaning and flirt a little.” She shrugged. “When he asked me out, I said yes. I didn’t know he and Murphy were best friends.”
“And once you went out with Jack, Seth backed off.”
“Of course. Then there was the engagement—”
“And Jessica came between you—with a little help from Seth.”
Layla snapped up tall. “A little help? He practically threw her in Jack’s lap.”
Beckett arched a brow. Okay, so she was a little bitter. Better rein it in a little. He was her fiancé now, after all.
Layla poured the cooked spaghetti into the strainer. “Water under the bridge. I’ve forgiven him.” She flinched under the steam at the untruth.
Beckett gave the sauce a stir. “Glad to hear it. I always thought the blame was a little misplaced.”
Layla bit the inside of her lip. Hard.
“I guess your relationship with Seth was a little sensitive, with Jack and all. Still, why didn’t you tell me? I’m your brother.”
Layla turned off the heat and looked up at Beckett. Strong, sturdy Beckett who’d always been there for her. While their father had been out finding his next buzz, her brother had attended her volleyball games and cheered her on at track meets. He was the one person she could always count on.
“I can’t do this,” she said.
“Can’t do what?”
“It’s not real. The engagement’s a farce.”
Beckett frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She explained the situation with Stanley and how the engagement, which really wasn’t an engagement at all, had become a game changer. She tried her best to talk him over to her side, but the longer she talked, the deeper his scowl grew.
“I know, I know,” she blurted before he said anything. “But it’s just for a little while.” She shot him a pleading look. “You think you could not mention any of this to Madison?”
He crossed his arms. “I’m not keeping secrets from my fiancée.”
Layla slouched. She’d figured as much. “All right, I get it. But can you at least swear her to secrecy? If this gets back to Stanley, I’ll be working at Cappy’s until I retire.”
His scowl let up a smidge. “Fine. But this isn’t going to be as easy as you think. Dad’s wanting us all to get together Friday. He wants to make sure Seth’s good enough for you.”
“Now he decides to be a dad.” She sighed. Since her father had gone through rehab, he was like a different man. But she never knew what to expect from him. She’d distrusted him for too many years to take a chance like that.
“Better late than never.”
“Fine. I’ll check with Murphy. But you can’t tell Dad.”
“All right. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too,” she said as she gave the sauce another stir.
“Where do you want these?” Seth shifted the boxes of white Christmas lights in his arms.
Layla looked small standing in front of the grand fireplace in her fitted jeans and fuzzy red sweater. He could get used to seeing her in his home.
“Just set them anywhere,” she said without turning.
He set the boxes by the mounds of fresh greenery in the middle of the room. The place already smelled like Christmas. She’d given him a list last night, saying she’d like to start in the morning. He’d never seen anyone in such a hurry to break an engagement.
“Do you have some Christmas catalogs I can look at?” she asked.
“Sure, back at the store.”
She turned to him, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. “What kind of budget are we on?”
“Spend what you need to. I’m not worried about it.”
“This could get expensive.”
He wasn’t going to let a few dollars come between her and her dream job. “This is your time to shine. Besides, I’ll probably get suckered into doing the tour a
gain next year.”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. She glanced around the room. She may not have wanted this job, but she was in her element now. Seemed almost giddy at the work in front of her.
“It’s in great shape,” she said.
“I refurbished it after I moved in.” He’d painted the walls in the rich tones popular for the era. Removing the layers of paint from the trim and chair rail had taken months, but now the oak gleamed with a honey-colored stain. The wood floors had been another time-consuming challenge, but worth the work. Especially now.
“I’m glad you used authentic colors. I love the high ceilings and molded tiles. And the draperies are perfect.”
“They came with the house.”
“Even the furnishings are perfect. Antique but still masculine. I didn’t know what I’d have to work with.”
“Most of it came from Grandma’s Attic.” He hadn’t sacrificed the modern amenities, though. The sofas were new. They blended with the style but were built with comfort in mind. He also had a sweet audiovisual system hidden away in the vintage entertainment center.
“I know it’s kind of bare. I’m not much on the … doodads. And you might have to move stuff around to make it look better.”
She shrugged. “That’s fine. It’s part of what I do. Take something ordinary and make it special.”
He let his gaze roam over her. “It’s already pretty special.”
She looked away, a blush blooming on her cheeks.
The floorboards gave a squeak as she moved across the room. “I’m just glad I’ll be able to use the theme I wanted.”
“Which is …?”
“An old-fashioned Christmas. I want the decorations to be simple, organic.” She meandered over to the built-in bay that faced the street. “The tree will go here. Maybe eight foot, decorated with strung popcorn, old-fashioned ornaments, and candles. Not too big, though. It’s not the focal point.”
“What is, then?”
She turned. “The fireplace.”
Floor-to-ceiling, it was unarguably the room’s main event.
“I’m going to put an old sled up there.” She pointed over the mantel. “A pair of skates draped here, some greenery to dress it up. A nice fat garland running across the mantel with candles, and homemade stockings hanging down. A cozy fire crackling—” She turned to him. “It’s a working fireplace?”
A December Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella) Page 3