Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  She rose to pack up her laptop and papers, but Gannon remained seated at her elbow. She felt his eyes on her and tried to ignore it, but the searing heat finally broke her.

  “Do you need something?” she asked primly.

  His mouth quirked into a crooked grin. “I’ve never seen you in a skirt before. It’s…” His gaze skimmed her. “Nice.”

  Gannon had seen her in everything but professional clothing. On the road, the crew uniform was jeans, tshirts, and any layers that could be added or removed. When they were filming, Paige considered herself lucky if she found time to swipe a coat of mascara on her lashes before heading to the set in the pre-dawn hours. There were some benefits to being behind the camera.

  The tingle on her skin told her that her legs would blush if they could under his scrutiny. She resisted the urge to tug her pencil skirt down. “So glad you approve,” she said coolly. “See you on location.”

  She scurried out the door at a pace she hoped suggested busy but not fleeing for life even though she could feel his eyes boring into her with every step.

  “Paige!” Cat caught her at the door. “Hey, wanna grab lunch?”

  Paige peeked at her watch. “What can we consume in twenty-five minutes?”

  Cat wrinkled her nose, and then her face lit up.

  “Hot dog cart,” they said in unison.

  Paige laughed. “What about your brother?” The conference room door was closing behind them but not before she caught Gannon’s voice rumbling over two words that gave her the chills. “Meeghan Traxx.”

  “He’s got business to take care of,” Cat said with a wave of her hand. “Let’s go eat terrible things and catch up.”

  Paige stashed her bag and papers in an empty cubicle, and they took the elevator down. They found a vendor around the corner and headed into the park, loaded hot dogs in hand. The early spring sunshine immediately lifted Paige’s spirits.

  “Oh sweet Jesus, this is delicious,” Cat said rolling her eyes heavenward.

  Paige muttered in agreement as she worked her way through a mouthful of sauerkraut. “I don’t know how you eat like that and look the way you do,” Paige grumbled. Cat had two inches on Paige’s five-foot-seven and was built like a damn ballerina.

  “Please. Pot. Kettle.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to spend an hour and a half in the gym tonight regretting this. You’re probably going to go home and eat six pounds of fettuccini.”

  Cat patted her flat stomach. “Good genes and liposuction.”

  “You’re such a liar,” Paige accused.

  “I’ve been assured that it will catch up with me, and when it does, I’ll look like the adorable Italian meatball my nonni is.”

  “As long as it evens out in the end,” Paige waxed philosophically.

  Cat shot rapid-fire questions as they walked and ate. “So how was your break? Holidays good?”

  “Yep. How about yours?”

  “Crazy and hectic, but awesome. Are you seeing anyone yet?”

  Paige rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll take that as a big fat no.” Cat’s platinum ponytail swung rhythmically. In her skinny jeans, boots, and tunic sweater she looked like she had just strolled away from a photo shoot.

  “You know what my schedule’s like. I’m too busy for men.” Paige crumpled her napkin and tossed it in a trashcan as they passed.

  Cat shoved the last bite in her mouth. “Your priorities are out of whack.”

  “I can’t understand you with all that meat in your mouth.” Paige teased.

  “Oh!” Cat high-fived her. “Nicely done. Now, back to me pressuring you to date or at least get laid. You’re a beautiful, young woman, Paige. It’s a crime to keep all this—” she gestured at Paige’s chest, “buttoned up.”

  “You’re ridiculous. Please tell me you’re not seeing anyone right now.” Cat had a history of falling head over heels for the occasional unworthy man who proceeded to break her heart or piss her off. The whole cycle usually lasted around three weeks, and when it happened during filming, havoc was wreaked.

  “Nope. Mama’s going through a dry spell. Want to be lesbians?”

  “Well, it would be more convenient on the road,” Paige mused. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

  “The middle.”

  “Nope. It would never work. I can’t be crowded under the covers.”

  Cat sighed. “Fine. I’ll go back to men. Distrustful and confusing though they may be.”

  “Speaking of confusing, what’s with you and Gannon crashing the production meeting?”

  “We’re strong-arming for a raise for the production crew and our guys.”

  “My dwindling bank account thanks you,” Paige said. Gannon and Cat had very strong principles about spreading the wealth. The production company had offered them both astronomical raises for the second season, and Paige wasn’t surprised that they wanted to make sure everyone else was taken care of too.

  “I heard Gannon mention Meeghan on our way out.”

  Cat mimed vomiting. “Gross, let’s not talk about that over-inflated, poor excuse for a human being.”

  Meeghan Traxx was the network’s biggest star. She had the blondest hair, the biggest breasts, and an infamously super-sized ego. A designer with two of her own shows, she was also Gannon King’s girlfriend.

  Crews talk. And Paige had heard enough to know that Meeghan was considered a monster on and off set. As obnoxious as Gannon could be, even he didn’t deserve Meeghan.

  “Does she show up at your family functions? Like, did she bring some gold-plated designer sweet potato side dish to the King Thanksgiving?” Paige pressed.

  Cat snorted. “God, no! We’ve never met her. Gannon’s never even talked about her. Which is a good thing because if he were all, ‘Meeghan is so amazing,’ I’d be all, ‘I’m taking you to the ER to get a head scan because you obviously have a head injury.’”

  Paige laughed. “I’m just now realizing how much I missed you.”

  Cat wrapped her in a one-armed hug. “Mutual, babe.”

  “Oh my gosh! It’s really you!” A woman in a pink jogging suit squealed at Cat, hands fluttering. “My husband is not going to believe this! Cat King just walking around the park like a regular person.” She started digging through her giant purse.

  Cat winked at Paige. “It’s always nice to meet a fan of the show. Would you like a picture?”

  The woman triumphantly rescued her phone from the depths of her bag. “I would love one!” She shoved the phone at Paige. “Is your brother here?” The woman’s head swiveled from side to side fast enough for a low-grade whiplash.

  “Just me today.”

  The woman sighed. “It’s probably a good thing. I’d faint if I met him.”

  Paige grinned as Cat good-naturedly accepted the bear hug turned headlock. She took a couple shots making sure she captured the excitement and Cat’s best side.

  The woman unhanded Cat and immediately flipped through the pictures. “This is so exciting!” She hurried off without a backward glance.

  Cat grinned. “How long before she realizes she didn’t say goodbye?”

  “Two blocks,” Paige predicted. The star factor hadn’t hit until halfway through the show’s first season, making stardom still new to the Kings.

  “Is being recognized still fun?” Paige asked.

  Cat rolled her shoulders. “I signed up for it. Might as well embrace it.”

  “Better than your brother has.” Gannon had an offseason run-in with an aggressive photographer who wouldn’t leave Cat alone at an awards show. The incident had been captured on tape, and though he was mostly heralded for acting as the protective big brother, the incident left a slight smudge that the network was eager to erase.

  “Gannon just has a little trouble overcoming his protective instincts,” Cat said. “He always has.” She glanced at the gigantic watch on her slim wrist. “I guess it’s time we get you back for the rest of your thrilling meetings.”
>
  Paige sighed. “It’s going to be a good season.”

  ––—

  Hours later, after three more meetings and a conference call, an exhausted Paige let herself into her apartment. She peeled off her heels and tossed them in the direction of the couch. With her roommate, Becca, out of town on a shoot, she didn’t stop there. The skirt and blouse came next as she padded back the shabby hallway to her bedroom. Big enough for only a full-sized bed and a dresser, it was still home.

  Paige dropped facedown onto the bed and stretched out.

  Shooting started next week. They would fly into Columbia, South Carolina, and spend a day laying the groundwork, verifying permits to begin shooting, and then the chaos would begin.

  It was hard work with long days. But the experience was invaluable, and she’d be a damned liar if she didn’t admit to getting a little teary-eyed when shooting wrapped and they turned the keys over to the family. As greedy as the production side of things felt, they were still giving a deserving family a home they could be proud of.

  Of course, she made sure no one ever saw the tearful side of her. She was on set to do a job and do it well. Eddie depended on her to keep things under control and on budget. And Gannon King challenged her at every turn.

  She sighed into her pillow. Soon she would be able to take that experience and apply it to something more important, more personal. And far, far away from Gannon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Russes reminded Paige of a South Carolina-based Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Wispy white hair and ruddy cheeks, the two were rarely ever not smiling. The joy appeared to be genetic, spilling over into the second and third generations. It was a full house, and Paige was wrangling the chaos.

  “So tomorrow,” Paige said, handing Phil and Delia copies of the layman-friendly call sheet. “We’ll be arriving around seven a.m. to set everything up with the intent to start shooting no later than eight. That means we need everyone,” she circled her finger around the crowded living room, “here by seven-thirty for Gannon and Cat when they come knocking.”

  The “surprise” scene was a bit of not-so-real reality. The families already knew they were chosen by the show. They had already spent hours on the phone with various producers and assistants nailing down the details of their backstory, their cause, and what issues needed to be resolved with their homes. In the twenty-four hours before shooting, they worked with more crew to pack up items that weren’t necessary to and in the way of shooting. Everything was shipped off to a local storage facility for the duration of the shoot.

  The families were strictly instructed by Paige to be at the home at the predetermined time so they could all answer the door with proper enthusiasm. They protected the slim surprise factor by making sure the first time families met with the Kings was on camera and that the crowd of volunteers that appeared were full of friends and neighbors.

  It was a lot of preparation for a two-minute door-knocking scene that was usually shot nearly a dozen times.

  “Okay, kids,” Paige said turning her attention to the grandkids in the room. Tomorrow we’re going to need to see your best surprise faces.” She pointed at a little girl with a skinned elbow and freckles on her nose. “Molly, let’s see your surprise face.”

  Molly obliged with an expression of utter shock, and Paige applauded.

  A little boy with eyes the color of denim tugged at her hand.

  “Are you going to fix Pop-Pop’s house?” The face was a killer, all big eyes and round cheeks. He was definitely going to get some screen time.

  Paige knelt down. “That’s the plan, Trevor. Is there anything special you think we should fix?”

  He nodded, his expression earnest. “Pop-Pop likes popcorn.”

  Paige pursed her lips. “Okay. So popcorn for Pop-Pop.”

  A lithe brunette in a Gamecocks sweatshirt laughed and joined them. Paige searched her memory banks for a name. Susan, she recalled. Phil and Delia’s middle child. “When Trevor has sleepovers at Pop-Pop and Grammy’s, they make popcorn and watch movies. But Dad’s air popper broke last month, so it’s been nothing but microwavable stuff.”

  “It’s gross,” Trevor sighed.

  Paige nodded. “Well, I’ll see what we can do to solve Pop Pop’s popcorn problem. Now, what happens when you see the TV cameras?”

  “I pretend they’re not there,” Trevor recited.

  “Good job. So the only thing left—and this is really important—what kind of surprised face can you make?”

  His solemn expression transformed into one of terror, eyes wide, mouth agape.

  “Yeah, pretty sure that’s scared surprised. How about happy surprised?”

  ––—

  Paige made it back to the motel before eleven and considered the day a success. Everyone was briefed. All the unnecessaries had been moved to Big Bob’s Climate Controlled Self Storage. And the local crew was ready to start demo as soon as they were cleared to go. They were as prepared as possible, even though she knew by experience that every shoot was destined to run into disaster regardless of preparedness.

  She changed out of her jeans and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank before yanking back the bedspread and settling back against the pillows with her laptop.

  Paige rechecked the call sheet and returned a few non-emergency emails that had trickled in while she was on set. She checked the time and texted Cat.

  Make it to the motel?

  The reply was instantaneous. Here and ready to party!

  Maybe you should go to bed instead. Early call tomorrow.

  Yes, Mom.

  Paige smirked. Some looked at her job as that of a glorified babysitter. But to her, she was the details keeper. She was double-checking the releases and updating her notes when her stomach grumbled.

  The chicken sandwich she’d scarfed down in two minutes flat had been hours ago. She ignored the internal rumbling and got up to inventory her set bag. Phone charger, bandages, a digital camera and charger, pens, paper, iPad and charger, $50 cash and a company credit card, all in their rightful places.

  The next growl from her stomach was echoed by a dull ache. Paige sighed. A vending machine snack on her first night did not light a beacon of hope for the healthy season she had planned, but there would be no going to bed with her stomach gurgling in protest.

  She grabbed her room key and change and followed the nauseating orange and red hallway carpet to the vending/ice nook.

  It was a toss-up between peanut butter crackers and a single serve bag of popcorn. Paige went with the popcorn in honor of Pop-Pop. She already had an email in to see if there was room in the budget for a theater-style popcorn maker.

  She bent over to wrestle the bag free from the machine.

  “Aren’t you the one who always says those machines are filled with poison?”

  Paige jumped and swiveled.

  Gannon was leaning against the doorway. He wore a leather jacket over well-fitting jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was shaved short now.

  She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very naked. “Did you just get here?” Gannon was notorious for arriving too close to the comfort of Paige’s carefully crafted schedule.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? And don’t change the subject.” He strolled in and grabbed the popcorn out of her hand. Opening the bag, he shook out a handful and handed the rest back to her. “I catch you sneaking in here after all those lectures to everyone last year about the dangers of living off of vending machines.”

  Paige had the good grace to look guilty. “It was a late night, and I haven’t had a chance to stock up on non-poisonous snacks.”

  Gannon popped a kernel into his mouth. “It’s nice to know you’re human, princess.” He walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  “You have an early call tomorrow,” Paige yelled after him. “Don’t be late!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He was late. Not late enough to hold anything up but enough that Paige shot him he
r ice princess look when he strolled past with two-dozen donuts for the crew. Gannon hid his grin when she turned her back on him and stormed off, her windbreaker rustling in indignation.

  He wasn’t as big of an asshole as he made himself out to be, but damn if he didn’t like getting a rise out of her. It made the frigid early morning calls, the long hours in downpours and drywall dust, and the general bullshit from the network more tolerable when he could see that little tic in her jaw, the blaze in her blue eyes.

  She never once lost her temper, a fact that fascinated him. Gannon came from loud, passionate Italian stock that wasn’t afraid to smash a plate to make a statement. Paige, on the other hand, systematically choked down any temper and, with frosty efficiency, made him dance like a fucking puppet.

  He paused to check out the façade of the house they’d be essentially gutting. The weathered two-story jammed in between two other homes was just the kind of project he liked to sink his teeth into. The house was showing its age in sagging gutters, dingy siding, missing shingles, and from what he remembered from photos of the interior, décor that paid a horrendous tribute to the 1970s.

  The tight lot would be an issue, he mused. But the neighbors on either side were big fans of the Russe family and had volunteered to help with the show, which usually meant no noise complaints. Plus, to be extra safe, Paige had worked her magic to get a stipend to put both families up in a hotel for the week of the shoot.

  Gannon found his sister huddled under layers of coat and sweatshirt guzzling an iced coffee on a chair. She was flipping through the day’s call sheet while crew buzzed around her laying cable and erecting pop-ups.

  “Morning, Cat.” He flipped the lid on a donut box and watched her eyes light up when they spotted the Boston crème.

  “Best brother ever,” she said, taking a decadent bite. She checked her watch. “You’re late.”

  He grinned.

  She gave him a bland look. “You were ready to go when I left. You could have gotten a ride with me.”