Playboy Bachelors: Remodelling the Bachelor

She glanced toward the opened door. They still had not gone inside. “And he works at home?”

Georges nodded. “Turns into a regular hermit when he’s in the middle of designing something.” He walked in, then turned when she didn’t follow him. “C’mon, let’s track him down.”

When she’d gotten behind the wheel, she had been completely fired up. But on the way over, some of that fire had dissipated. It was one thing to confront the man at his door and read him an abbreviated version of the riot act about wasting her time, it was another to go from room to room, looking for him and running the risk of possibly catching him in a way he wouldn’t want to be caught. God knew she wouldn’t have appreciated having someone skulking around her house, looking for her.

She forced a smile to her lips. “Why don’t you find him for me?” she suggested. Because he was looking at her expectantly, she ventured a few steps into the house, then indicated the living room. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”

The smile on his lips washed over her, leaving no part untouched. She really, really had to start dating again. Either that or begin working out rigorously—which she’d be doing if she were working, she silently insisted, bringing the argument full circle.

“Have it your way,” Georges said. Turning, he faced the rear of the house and called out, “Hey, Philippe, where’re you hiding?”

Still standing, Janice knotted her fingers together, feeling incredibly awkward. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to frame her first words to Zabelle under the present circumstances.

Georges had no sooner left the area than Philippe walked in from the kitchen. He stopped abruptly when he saw that there was a woman standing in the living room. The math equations that he’d been mentally grappling with receded as recognition set in.

J.D.

That still didn’t answer what she was doing here. Or how she’d gotten in. He was damn certain he’d locked the front door. “Did I miss seeing cat burglar on your résumé?”

Her eyes flew open. Surprise and embarrassment took equal possession of her features. The resulting color was rather intriguing.

“I knocked,” Janice protested.

He was pretty sure he hadn’t heard anyone knocking, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt. Because of where his office was located, he probably wouldn’t have heard the approach of the Four Horsemen, either.

“And then broke in?” he guessed.

“No,” she protested quickly. The color in her cheeks rose up another notch. “Your brother let me in.”

Both of his brothers were a bit too free about coming and going from his place, but then, he supposed he should count himself lucky. It could have been his mother and there would have been no end to her questions. To J.D.

“Which one?” he asked mildly.

“He said his name was Georges.” Curiosity got the better of her. “You have more than one?”

The shrug was careless. He wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “I like having a spare. What are you doing here?”

She heard the slight tone of irritation in his voice. Any apology she was about to tender vanished. He was on the offensive? He didn’t have the right to take the offensive. If anything, he was supposed to be on the defensive, explaining why he’d kept her dangling the way he had.

Janice forgot about being uncomfortable and invading the man’s space, and thought about being made to play hide and seek with her ever-growing stack of bills.

“I’m here to find out why you’re welching,” she said without preamble.

He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Welching?”

Okay, maybe that was a tad too harsh. She rephrased. “We had a deal, remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember. Frankly, I was wondering why you hadn’t gotten started.” He’d been too bogged down with a glitch in the program to notice during the day, but at night it would hit him that she hadn’t called or shown up. By the time it registered, it was always too late for him to call and investigate.

She stared at him incredulously. He was serious. Either that or playing her for a fool. For the moment, she ignored the latter and began to talk to him as if he were mentally challenged. “I can’t get started until you tell me what you picked out.”

His response told her that she’d guessed correctly. The man had no clue. “Picked out?”

“The tile,” she prompted. “Picked out the tile.” She didn’t see a light dawning in his eyes. How could he be that obtuse?

Again, Philippe shrugged. The mundane had little hold on him. “I don’t know. I thought you were supposed to handle all that. I was okay with the drawings,” he reminded her.

That was for the redesign of the kitchen and the bathrooms. That didn’t take any of the materials into account.

“Yes, you were,” she enunciated each word slowly, “but I don’t know what color you want. What kind of cabinets you’d like to put in or even what kind of tile you want me to use.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as if the words were slipping into his brain one at a time and he was processing them. “Tile comes in kinds?”

Having dealt with this world all of her life, it was impossible for Janice to imagine that anyone was ignorant of this sort of thing. Especially anyone who appeared to be intelligent. “Have you even been to a tile store?”

“No.”

“Okay, baby steps,” she murmured, more to herself. She made a spur of the moment decision. “All right, I’ll take you.” She just needed to call home and make sure that Gordon wasn’t about to run off somewhere and forget that he had a niece to watch over.

Zabelle still didn’t seem to be following her. “Take me where?”

“To a tile store.”

Or two or three, she added silently, keeping that to herself. She guessed that if the man were told that this was a process that took most people several afternoons, he would balk and make excuses why he couldn’t go.

His eyes narrowed. It didn’t look encouraging. “When?”

“Now.” It was half a query, half a direct order.

He shook his head. “I can’t go now. I’m in the middle of something.”

“How long before you’re not in the middle of something?” she asked.

Philippe thought for a second. The deadline had been moved just yesterday. He’d never been comfortable about rushing through a project. That was his name on the cover and his reputation meant a great deal to him. “End of November.”

Janice looked at him, stunned. November was three months away. She couldn’t stretch things out until then. “Look, if you’re trying to break the contracts—”

“Go with the lady,” Georges said, picking that moment to walk in. “A few hours away from the drawing board might recharge your batteries.”

Philippe began to protest that Georges didn’t know what he was talking about. Georges was a doctor, not a designer. He had no idea what was involved in the process. But then he shrugged. The sooner he agreed and got this over with, the sooner the woman would be busy working and out of his hair.

He looked at J.D. “How fast can you get me there?” he wanted to know.

He’d done a one-eighty so fast, she felt as if she’d just sustained a severe case of whiplash. “Fast,” she volunteered. Then, because she sensed he’d appreciate it, added, “But I’ll try not to break any speed limits.” As she spoke, she reached for her car keys and headed toward the front door. Turning, she nodded at Georges, silently thanking him.

He winked at her in reply.

Definitely less family resemblance than more, she decided.