She's a work in progress . . . He's a fixer upper . . .
Playing House
Laura Chapman
Releasing March 21st, 2017
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?
Keeping a close distance,
she followed Waverly up the cracked path to the house. Bailey took quick mental
notes of her surroundings. The exterior needed a lot of work. The sagging roof
missing gutters made her think they’d find the inside in similar disarray. They
stepped through the front door, nearly tripping over Wilder Aldrich, who was
measuring the entryway.
“Hey!” He sprang to his
feet and out of their way. “What did I tell you about waiting until I gave you
the all clear?”
“You were taking
for-frickin’-ever, and some of us were freezing our tits off.” She pursed her
lips and took on a warrior stance, seemingly daring him to say something else.
Conceding victory to her,
Wilder turned and flashed an apologetic grin at Bailey. “Hey.” He offered a
hand. Warmth permeated through the thin material of her glove. “Welcome to Casa
de Waverly.”
Giving him a smug grin,
Waverly sipped her coffee and faced Bailey. “Do you have a smart phone?”
Bailey stared blankly for
a second, still dazzled by seeing Wilder up close. But she quickly snapped to
attention and dug her phone out of her coat pocket.
“Good,” Waverly said after
inspecting it. “While you’re on the job, I’d like you to snap some photos for
our social media accounts. I’ll want to vet everything before we post it, but
we need to start building the buzz for the next season while we’re filming. In
exchange, we’ll cover your phone payments to take care of your data usage.
Understood?”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Now . . .” She
pulled out her own phone. It was the latest model that had come out on the
market a month ago. With all of its reported bells and whistles, it put
Bailey’s poor phone to shame. “I’m going to make a quick call. I’ll be back in
a few minutes, and we can get started on,” she gestured around her, “this
mess.”
She spun on her heel and
waltzed out of the room, cooing into the phone.
Wilder cleared his throat,
and Bailey turned to give him her full attention. She estimated he was only a
couple of years older than herself—maybe in his late twenties or early
thirties. He looked younger in real life than he did on TV. He was leaner and a
little shorter—though she still had to crane her neck a little to meet his
gaze.
He was also more handsome.
Not the GQ model, your
tongue-sticks-to-the-top-of-your-mouth kind of sexy. But he was hot in the same
way the guy you sat next to in Chemistry was. It was enough to distract you
from formulas and Bunsen burners every so often, but not enough that you’d ever
set the lab on fire or forget to finish your final exam.
So far, he seemed much
more serious. Where was the guy who scared Waverly with a stuffed dummy in a
closet in the last episode she’d watched before calling an end to the marathon?
He was, she realized, studying
her every bit as closely, with those hazel eyes speckled with green. Noting
that, she didn’t feel quite as rude taking mental notes on the man in front of
him.
At least she looked good.
She’d laid out three outfits that morning in the hotel room. The first was a
long, silky turquoise tunic that she’d paired with a pair of black leggings and
knee-high boots. It was similar to the clothes Waverly favored on screen—only
hers weren’t name-brand knockoffs. Then she had the casual jeans, a gray
T-shirt that she could dress-up with a navy blue blazer. And there was option
three: dark-wash, fit jeans, a chambray shirt, and a scarf. It was an ensemble
that fell somewhere in the middle. It was the one that looked the most like her
when she inspected herself in the mirror.
It was the one that felt
most like her now in the middle of the foyer.
She wondered what he saw
when he looked at her. Did he see a confident young woman ready to tackle major
projects adeptly? Or did he see someone who was desperate to create, no matter
what happened? Both were correct, but which one shone through right now?
Like a light switch, that triggered something in her. She offered her hand again. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Bailey Meredith.”
Like a light switch, that triggered something in her. She offered her hand again. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Bailey Meredith.”
Laura
Chapman is
the author of First & Goal, Going for Two, Three
& Out, and The Marrying Type. A native Nebraskan, she loves
football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Connect with her
online on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and her website.
Thank you for hosting!
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