Baby by Design: Designing Love Book One (Crimson Romance) Read Free Page A

floor-to-ceiling windows, and adjusted Johann and Amanda’s family photos. She tried to concentrate on the gilded frames instead of the sentimental scenes, but Amanda’s pregnancy portrait caught her eye. Ethereal and joyful, the black-and-white photo made Trish’s stomach cramp until, with a tiny growl, she banished the longing and turned her back on the photos. She marched through the living room and into the hallway, determined to reach the pillows and keep her mind focused on work. Self-pity was not acceptable while standing in a home she had decorated from million-dollar top to million-dollar bottom.
    Two steps from the plastic bag, her phone vibrated against her hip. She freed the white rectangle from her tunic and grimaced at the caller ID. Her mother. And Trish knew exactly why she was calling.
    “I haven’t talked to Jackson,” Trish said without offering a hello.
    “Darling, what are you waiting for? I cannot bear for you to call Aunt Clarise and decline your ‘plus one’ simply because you’ve tossed another eligible man aside. How embarrassing. Call him. Beg him to escort you. It’s the only way.”
    Trish turned her head to muffle a groan. “Begging a man to be my escort is embarrassing, too.”
    “Pick your poison, dear. It’s either show up alone after RSVP’ing for two, or swallow your pride and grovel to Jackson. Who knows, you might have such a lovely evening he’ll ask you out again. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
    “I don’t want him to ask me out again. We weren’t compatible.”
    “Nonsense. He’s successful. You’re successful. He’s handsome. You’re beautiful. Your father likes him. He likes your father. What more could you want?”
    Trish’s stomach cramped again. “Mother, I have to go. I’m at Amanda’s house, waiting on a delivery, and then I have to be at Meyer’s.”
    “Fine. But, darling, call him…before it’s too late.”
    Silence echoed through the empty house as Trish stood frozen in the foyer. She didn’t want to ask Jackson for anything, but she didn’t want to show up to this wedding alone, opening herself up to questions about her relationship status and the pity that went along with being over thirty and single. What to do?
    She walked then, returning the phone to her pocket. Maybe she would go alone. It wasn’t like she deserved anyone’s pity.
    Her mother was right about one thing—Trish was successful. She was independent and thriving really. If it weren’t for the popcorn popper of genetic unrest going off in her chest, life would be perfect. She snatched the bag of pillows and wondered again if she shouldn’t try to find her biological parents in hopes of calming her restlessness.
    A rumble followed by two clangs attracted her attention, and Trish pushed aside sheer curtains for a look outside before opening the front door. A white delivery truck emblazoned with the turquoise-and-black emblem of Trish DeVign Interior Design backed into the governor’s driveway, stopping several feet from the front of her car. She stepped onto the stoop as Angie hopped down from the passenger seat.
    “Delivery,” Angie said, stomping her jeans down her legs and then adjusting the cuffs over the tops of her work boots.
    Trish appreciated the juxtaposition of traits that made up her best friend. There wasn’t a man in the business as skilled with a circular saw and wood as Angie Corcarelli, but when the girl shed the jeans and boots and slipped into something sleek, she was a knockout. The problem was Angie would just as soon
knock out
a suitor than flirt with him.
    “Hey there,” Trish called, stifling a laugh.
    “Hey. You look happy despite two huge project deadlines. What gives? Wait. Don’t tell me you’re going out with Jackson again.” Angie wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Seriously. Don’t tell me that. He was a stiff.”
    “I’m not going out with Jackson again.”
    “Are you telling me that ’cause I told you to tell me that or