Chloe’s shoot wrapped before lunch because the actress she was working with ended up getting whisked away to rehab. I’ve taken the day off to kick around the city with her, and after we met up with Jane and Charles, who briefly emerged from their cocoon of bliss for lunch, she requested a peek at Pemberley.

“You’re seeing plenty.” I point to the sunrise motif above the double doors. “The lighter bits in between the brass? I’ll bet it’s mother-of-pearl. Probably original, too . . .”

“Huh.” She sounds less than impressed. “I thought that was half a clock.”

“You pain me.”

Chloe makes for the door again.

“No! What—”

“Don’t be a weenie. It’s probably locked.” She tugs and the door opens toward her. Her jaw drops in exaggerated surprise. “Or maybe not!”

“Chloe—”

She opens the door wider. “What is your deal? Mr. Happy Hands is on the other side of the country and you’ve been here before. If we’re busted, say you left a jacket or something.”

“Chloe.”

“Lizard.” She mimics the warning in my tone. “You only made lunch suggestions that would get us to this part of town, anyway. Let’s make the most of your little ruse, eh?”

I glare at her. I thought I’d been clever about lunch.

And I do want to go inside. Desperately. Since showing Chloe my work, I’ve spent all my downtime on a Pemberley design. The drawing I started to defuse my frustration with Darcy at Red, White, and Boobs has been the jumping-off point to more concepts than I can count, but the version inspired by the sunburst has quickly become my favorite. It’s evolving well enough, but something about it hasn’t quite gelled. Trespassing aside, a fresh view of the space would be helpful.

When I don’t say anything else, Chloe wiggles her eyebrows and darts into the building. The door slowly whispers toward shut.

I lunge for the handle. “Brat.”

Chloe is halfway up the catwalk by the time I get to her.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she says admiringly, “it’s beautiful. And you’re right. The barn wood has to go.”

I turn in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. Most of the lights on the main floor are off, but sunlight streams in from the windows upstairs to illuminate the catwalk. Without the attendees from the Work It event, Pemberley is the torturous blank slate it was the first time I saw it. The sheer potential is almost overwhelming.

Chloe bumps my shoulder, returning me to the present. “Is this going to be like your first trip to LA when I took you to Union Station and you cried?”

“Oh, hush.” I nudge her back. Though her allusion to the train station tickles my brain. That missing element . . .