Chapter 5 Lila #2
Kenzie leaned forward, practically bouncing. “We’re hoping you and Beau get the rumors started about dating in real life. Of course, it will all be pretend, but people eat that stuff up. The network wants real sparks—the kind viewers can’t look away from.”
I blinked. “What?”
Carol gave me a flat look. “That’s part of the hook. The banter. The process. People don’t want to just see drywall come down—they want a story. And that story’s you and Beau.”
Kenzie’s smile widened. “Trust me—I know what works. Viewers will eat it up.” She tilted her head, studying me. “After all, you want this show to succeed, don’t you? For your business? Your daughter?”
The way she said “your daughter” made something cold slide down my spine.
I swallowed. Okay. Well, I guess this is showbiz.
“What exactly will I be doing?” Vance asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“You’ll be in quite a few scenes,” Kenzie said. “Discussing what you want, telling Lila the history of the house and anything you want to preserve about your family’s legacy.”
“Great,” Vance said. “Can’t wait.”
The door opened behind us, and a man stepped inside, carrying a thermos and rolled-up floor plans.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-bronzed skin and just the right amount of scruff.
His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms and a hint of a tattoo. His smile was lazy and confident.
“You’re late,” Carol said.
“Morning, all. Got caught up in traffic from the city.” Beau nodded to the room before his gaze settled on me. “You must be Lila?”
I stood to shake his hand. “And you’re Beau. Nice to meet you.”
His grip was firm but warm, his eyes friendly. “You ready to make some magic?”
“I guess so,” I said, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at my lips. His energy immediately put me at ease. “But I’m feeling out of my depth here.”
“I felt that way the first time I was on camera,” Beau said. “But after a bit, it becomes second nature.” He gave me a quick wink before joining us at the table. “This is my second go at it, so hopefully I can help make it as smooth as possible.”
“You’ve done this before?” I asked.
“Pretty close,” Beau said. “I was one of the contractors on a design contest show last year. We had a blast.”
“And this is our featured homeowner,” Carol said, nodding at Vance.
Vance stood and the men shook hands. I watched Vance’s jaw tighten slightly, his eyes cool and assessing as he took Beau’s measure.
“This is an amazing house,” Beau said. “What a view.”
“Thanks. It’s been in my family for three generations,” Vance said.
“We’ll take good care of her,” Beau said.
Carol tapped her pen on the table. “Let’s get on with things now that Beau’s here.”
She went on to describe the filming process.
“We’re following a three-day teaser format.
Think Will and Janna, but with a fresh angle—designer, contractor, homeowner.
Day one is walk-through footage. You two—” she nodded to Vance and me “—will walk the house together, talk about what works, what doesn’t.
We’ll film interviews, get your impressions, your memories, what the space means to you. ”
She flipped to a schedule grid. “Day two is light demo. Nothing major, just enough to show transformation in progress. Beau, your crew will be handling that.”
Beau gave a two-finger salute. “Demo without dust. Got it.”
“Day three is story-building and wrap-up. Design direction, progress updates, a few on-camera confessionals.”
“What about me?” Vance asked.
Carol didn’t even blink. “You’re the narrative thread. You’ll talk on camera about the house, your family, the history. We need vulnerability, charm, humor—whatever makes the audience invest in you. You’re the reason they tune in.”
“Sounds like a lot of pressure.” Vance grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It is,” Carol said. “But you’re charming. The camera will like you. Just don’t freeze.”
Kenzie added, “You’re basically the heart of the house. Lila’s the brain. Beau’s the biceps.”
Beau flexed his hands. “Happy to be the muscle.”
Kenzie pulled out her phone, scrolling through something. “Oh, and Lila? The network’s already setting up your social media presence. They love your aesthetic. Very authentic.” She looked up, her smile sharp. “Very family-focused.” She turned the phone toward me.
It was an Instagram post I’d made three weeks ago. Mia and me at the beach. My private account.
“How did you get this?”
“Oh, you know. Research.” Kenzie waved it off. “We like to know who we’re working with. Make sure everything aligns with the show’s values.”
My stomach twisted. That account was private. I was certain of it.
Carol shot Kenzie a look. “We can discuss social strategy later. Let’s stay on schedule.”
“Great, let’s get on with it,” Carol said, closing her folder. “Hair and makeup will be here in twenty minutes. Then we start shooting.”
Today? My stomach dropped.
“Don’t worry,” Kenzie said, catching my expression. “They’ll make you look amazing. Natural but enhanced.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I told them to study your design school portfolio photos. You looked so fresh back then. So … unguarded.”
The way she said it made my skin crawl.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’d been transformed by a makeup artist named Jade, who worked with the efficiency of a surgeon.
My hair had been “camera-optimized” (whatever that meant), my makeup was flawless but still me, and I’d been given a soft sage green blouse that apparently popped better on screen.
Vance emerged from wherever they’d taken him, looking unfairly handsome in dark jeans and a henley that showed off his shoulders. Our eyes met across the room. He gave me a small, uncertain smile. I managed to smile back.
“Okay, people!” Carol clapped her hands. “Let’s get the walk-through. Lila, Vance—you’re up. We want this to feel natural. You’re meeting for the first time as designer and client. Talk about the space. Ask questions. React honestly.”
Kenzie positioned us in the living room. Cameras appeared from nowhere, operators moving around us like silent ghosts.
“Just pretend we’re not here,” one of them said.
Right. Pretend three cameras weren’t documenting every word, every glance.
“Okay, Vance,” Carol called. “Tell Lila about the house. What it means to you. Give us the story.”
Vance looked at me, his expression shifting as if for support. I gave him a quick smile. When he spoke, his voice was warm, genuine.
“This is where I grew up,” he said. “My mom raised me here. Alone. It’s been in our family for three generations.”
A camera operator moved closer.
“And what made you want to renovate now?” Carol prompted from off camera.
Vance hesitated for just a fraction of a second. His eyes found mine.
“Because I’m ready to build a life here. To make this house a home again.” A pause. “For my daughter.”
My breath caught. He was going to tell them.
“I have a ten-year-old daughter,” he continued. “She’s coming to live with me soon, and I want her to have a real home. A sanctuary. Somewhere she feels safe.”
The cameras kept rolling. Carol nodded approvingly. Kenzie’s eyes were practically shining.
And I realized—this wasn’t just a renovation anymore. This was the transformation of his family’s home into the place where he’d rebuild his relationship with Margot. Where they’d become a family again. And I was going to help him do it. It might be the most important work I’d ever done.
“Lila?” Carol’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Your initial impressions?”
I pulled myself together, slipping into designer mode. “The bones are incredible. The location, the views, the flow of the space—it’s all here. It just needs to be opened up. Brought into the light.”
“What are you thinking style-wise?” Kenzie asked.
I looked at Vance. “I need to talk to the client first. Understand his vision—what he wants for his daughter. For himself.”
“Perfect.” Kenzie clapped her hands. “Let’s get some footage of you two walking through together. Vance, tell Lila what you’re hoping for. Lila, ask questions. Just be natural.”
Natural. Right.
“You’ve got this,” Vance whispered in my ear. “And you look gorgeous.”
I flushed, hoping no one had heard him—but delighted all the same.
We walked through the house slowly, the cameras following. Vance talked about his mother, about growing up here, about the memories in every room. I asked questions about his style preferences, his lifestyle, what he envisioned for Margot’s room.
We were professional. Careful. Neither of us acknowledged that this was completely insane.
“I want the kitchen to be the heart of the home,” Vance said as we stood in the dated space. “Somewhere for family and friends. I love to cook. I want Margot to feel comfortable here—to want to spend time in this space.”
“What about your style?” I asked, acutely aware of the camera hovering six feet away. “What aesthetic speaks to you?”
“French countryside. But not fussy. Warm, lived-in, collected over time. Natural materials. Lots of light.”
I nodded, my mind already spinning with ideas. “I can see that. Soft greens and creamy whites. Natural wood. Brass fixtures. Zellige tile behind the range.”
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
For a moment, we both forgot about the cameras. It was just us, talking about creating something beautiful together.
Then Kenzie’s voice: “Cut. That was perfect. Great chemistry, you two.”
Chemistry.
I caught Vance’s eye. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.
Beau appeared beside me, plans in hand. “Lila, want to walk through the structural stuff? I can show you what we’re working with.”
“Sure,” I said.
As Beau led me toward the back of the house, explaining load-bearing walls and foundation issues, I felt Vance’s eyes on us. When I glanced back, his expression was carefully neutral—but his hands were fisted in his pockets.
Two hours later, after countless takes, walk-throughs, and staged natural conversations, Carol finally called wrap.