Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  The GC, Brunelli, was a decent enough guy and had things under control inside freeing Gannon up to spend an hour or two on his project. When he saw Cat’s designs for Malia’s bedroom, he knew exactly what his contribution would be. He’d sat down and sketched out a canopy bed fit for a princess that had Cat crumpling her plans for a store-bought one. And now he was stuck actually making it.

  They were stealing space from an oddly shaped spare bedroom on the second floor to enlarge Malia’s room, giving them the space for a queen size. Carina had mentioned that after chemo treatments, she usually slept in Malia’s room on the floor to make sure the little girl didn’t need anything in the middle of the night. A queen size would give them both a comfortable place to rest, and Malia would—hopefully—grow into the bed and still be able to use it as an adult.

  He ran his gloved hand over the cherry two by ten and clenched his jaw. In his opinion, kids shouldn’t get cancer. No one should, but especially not fucking kids.

  “Gannon, you’re glaring at that piece of wood like you’re going to break another piece of wood over it,” Paige called from off camera, her tone mild.

  He raised his gaze to hers, shoving his pencil behind his ear, and got a little kick out of seeing her blush. That was another reason he was annoyed. He’d kissed her last night with the intention of doing some structural damage to her walls. Instead, she’d greeted him with a cool “good morning” when he arrived on set pissed off and tired from spending the night trying to will away a never-ending hard on.

  Somehow it was her fault. He was sure of it, and he was going to make sure Paige knew it, too.

  “If you’ve got a problem with how I look when I work, you should point the camera in someone else’s face for the next hour,” he snapped, stalking over to the table closest to the camera in search of the damn tape measure he kept misplacing.

  She raised her eyebrows at him, not in surprise, but in frosty judgment. Usually he enjoyed riling her, but this time he was the one getting riled.

  Building furniture was an artistic process to him, and doing it front of a camera felt like making porn. He was taking something satisfying and exciting and turning it into a shitty facsimile that gave the audience unrealistic expectations. It was bullshit. He gave her a look that transmitted that message loud and clear.

  “We’re going to need you to walk us through the cuts for the headboard,” Paige called out again. This time there was an edge to her voice.

  Good. It was about fucking time.

  “Well, guess what? I’m not ready to move on to the goddamn headboard. I’m cutting for the frame.”

  She crossed her arms, and he bet money she was digging her nails into her palms. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you to shoot out of sequence—”

  “No, no it doesn’t make sense to me. I’m making a bed here for a six-year-old with cancer. Why don’t you let me do my job and just shoot reality for once?”

  There was a blaze in her eyes, and he wanted to know what was going through her head.

  Paige held two fingers to her ear and murmured something into her headset. She paused, listening. “Why don’t you take five, Gannon?” she suggested calmly.

  “I don’t need to take five. I need to get moving on this project.”

  “Yeah? And we need to wrap up filming this scene so we can stay on schedule,” she snapped back. “Everyone take five.”

  No one argued with her order given like the crack of a whip.

  Gannon chucked his pencil to the ground and stalked up to her. “Let’s talk,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her up the driveway into the house. The place was crawling with contractors and workers. But there was one place no one would interrupt them.

  Yanking open the basement door, which squealed in protest, he pulled Paige down the stairs after him. It was a musty, dingy space with concrete floor and a ceiling so low he couldn’t stand straight.

  Paige wrinkled her nose and started to speak but, he pressed a finger against her lips. Reaching around her, he yanked the power pack out of the waistband of her shorts and turned it off. Then he did the same to his, tossing them both on top of a large plastic tub filled with wrapping paper.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed. There was fire in those blue eyes, and it only served to fan his own flames.

  “I’m doing what I’ve been thinking about since last night.” He grabbed her by the front of her windbreaker and closed his mouth over hers with something close to violence. She fought him for half a second before digging her fingers into his shoulders and doing some ravaging of her own.

  It was like tasting the sun. An inferno ignited between them and bloomed hotter yet with every stroke and slide of their tongues. He wasn’t sure they weren’t in danger of spontaneously combusting. He let his hands slide over her, over her shoulders and down her back where he cupped her tight ass, holding her against the hard-on that was back with a vengeance. She moaned and cuddled her hips closer to his dick.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to make him feel like this, out of control and needy. But that didn’t change the fact that that was exactly how she made him feel.

  Then she was pulling back and slapping a hand to his chest.

  “You can’t just drag me away from work because you’re turned on or pissed off. I’m not into this caveman shit. Got it?” She was mad and turned on, and it was a potent combination. Those blue eyes were glassy with desire, her mouth swollen from his assault, but the rest of her body practically crackled with anger, passion, need.

  “Got it.” He nodded, grinning. “God, I’m so into you.”

  She growled in frustration and pulled his head down for another kiss. He cupped her ass and lifted her, wrapping her long legs around his hips. She fit against his cock like a key sliding into a lock, and he had to fight the urge to drag her shorts off right here and now.

  With the aid of his hands, she grinded against him, sighing into his mouth. Pulling back again, she looked into his eyes. “I am not going to be some kind of red carpet groupie for you.”

  His laugh was pained. “Of course not.”

  “My personal life is private, and being with you is way too public. I’m wearing a mic at work for God’s sake.”

  “That’s understandable.” He slanted his lips over hers. The sexy little whimper she made had him frantic

  He didn’t bother breaking the kiss to say her name. “Paige?”

  “Mmph?”

  “I need to fuck you.”

  She pulled back as if he’d told her he wanted to shave her head and “Jesus, Gannon. Not here.”

  “I know not here!” Although his dick clearly had no qualms about the location. “Tonight?”

  She went rigid and then relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle, in his arms. He looked into her eyes, willing her to say yes, needing her to say yes.

  When Paige started nodding he gripped her ass harder. “Tonight?” he said again.

  “Tonight,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Paige did her best to compartmentalize her feelings on set that afternoon, but holy hell. She’d climbed Gannon like a tree and grinded on him with a desperation that scared the ever-living crap out of her. Now, she was counting down the hours until she could go back to the hotel and at least shower before she let Gannon ravage her. Or she ravaged him.

  All of her very logical doubts about her job, his absolute wrongness for her, were still there. But they were much quieter since they’d kissed… and nearly gotten naked.

  She wanted him. He wanted her. They were two single, consenting adults who could keep a secret. So what if the network wanted this to happen? So what if it would be career suicide?

  Okay, that one still bothered her. Which was exactly why she wasn’t going to think about it. She had a whole host of other things to think about, and thankfully Gannon wasn’t here on set to further distract her. He was shooting an hour and a half away on location at a metal shop
where they were creating a custom canopy for Malia’s princess bed. Lou and Mel were with him.

  Here at the Dufour house, Paige was in charge of wrangling Malia’s class from school in helping Cat with a giant mural for the little girl’s bedroom. Twenty-three six-and seven-year-olds were currently running amok on set.

  Rico and Tony were shooting the chaos while Cat snapped selfie after selfie with the kids.

  The late afternoon sky was darkening ominously with swollen clouds that Paige willed to pass. The last thing they needed was to juggle filming, children, and a storm.

  “Okay, let’s get this circus under a tent,” Paige said into her headset. She flagged down Sam and enlisted his help herding the kids into the second tent they’d set up in the Dufour driveway. The parents were all ushered into the craft services tent where plenty of coffee and snacks awaited. It didn’t leave a lot of room for the shooters to maneuver, but if it was going to rain, they needed to be under some kind of roof.

  Paige wished Cat would have had this brilliant brainstorm before shooting commenced because she could have arranged to do it at the local elementary school rather than having an entire class running around a construction site. But it was a lesson learned for future shows.

  Paige stood in the tent entrance subtly blocking the way out so none of the kids could wander without her seeing them. Cat stood in the center with Billie Brunelli—whose son, a bespectacled little guy with freckles and a Brunelli construction shirt, was in Malia’s class.

  There was no point in blocking the scene. Cat would go where she needed to go, and Rico and Tony would follow as best they could. They were hoping for a few minutes of cute kid footage and an end product that could be used in the reveal.

  Cat handed out blank canvases to groups of three and explained the hand printing process. The parents had been warned in advance to send their kids to the set in clothing that could be destroyed. The show had coughed up an additional hundred bucks in the budget for kid-sized volunteer shirts that would soon be unrecognizable under shades of pink and purple paint.

  It was chaos, but cute chaos. It sounded like a cafeteria with all the chatter under the tent. It was so loud that Paige almost mistook the long rumble of thunder for a truck on the street. Her phone vibrated silently, but insistently, in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting to see a call from Mel, but was greeted instead with a weather alert.

  Severe thunderstorm warning for their location.

  As if to punctuate the alert, the wind gusted behind her, rippling the tent walls and drawing squeals from the kids. A bolt of lightning forked across the darkened sky behind her and a long roll of thunder echoed on its heels.

  “Shit.” Paige muttered into her headset. “Andy, I think we’re gonna need to get everyone inside in the basement.”

  She saw him nod across the tent before he called cut. Cat looked up from where she was immersed in a painting with two kids. “Okay, everyone.” Paige clapped her hands. “We’re going to take a little break and go inside.”

  The thunder crashed outside and a handful of kids screamed. Cat and Andy sprang into action, marshaling the kids into a line.

  Paige got back on her headset and yelled for Sam. “Sam, I need you to get all the adults in the house. Storms coming in fast.”

  Rico headed outside first with his camera to get the kids as they hustled out of the tent behind Cat. “Everyone keep going!” Cat yelled into the wind. The clouds burst open sending the first fat drops falling to earth. Andy ducked out of the tents waving parents over and directing them into the house.

  “Basement, everyone! Go!”

  Paige stood by the tent entrance with Tony counting little heads as they ran by.

  “Twenty-one,” she said as the last little boy jogged past. “Shit. We’re missing two, unless I miscounted. She ducked her head out into the yard. Andy and Cat were rushing everyone inside.

  Lightning struck again, this time close enough that the hair on her arms stood up.

  “I need a headcount,” Paige shouted into her headset.

  She heard garbled voices coming through on the other end and knew it would be impossible to get a definitive number with everyone crammed into the house. “Goddamn it,” she muttered. “Tony, go inside, I need to make sure no one else is still out here.”

  She didn’t wait for his response but ran toward the back of the tent. There were tall studio lights set up against one wall of the tent that was billowing like a jet was taking off outside. Back in the corner there were two tables stacked with art supplies and boxes. Paige spotted a little sneaker with ducks on it and then another one. She jumped over still wet canvases on the ground and ducked down.

  Two tear-stained faces greeted her. The little boy was holding his hands over his ears, and the little girl was stroking his leg and telling him everything would be okay.

  “Found them!” Paige said into her headset. “Hi guys, I’m Paige. I’m going to take you inside so we don’t get wet from the rain, okay?”

  The little girl nodded. “’Dis is Ashton. I’m Regina. He’s a little scared.” She pronounced her own name with a “w” instead of an “r,” and it was freaking adorable.

  “Okay, Regina and Ashton. I’m going to hold your hands, and we’re going to run real fast and catch up with everyone else inside, okay?”

  Regina nodded earnestly and held one hand out to Paige. Reluctantly, Ashton took a hand off of his ear and held it out to her.

  Paige tried not to let her urgency show and carefully led them toward the front of the tent. Tony had ignored her orders to seek shelter and was waiting for them, holding the flap open.

  Paige looked beyond Tony to the downpour that obscured the front of the house. “I think we’re going to get a little wet,” she warned the kids. “But it will still be better inside.”

  “Where are you St. James?” Andy yelled in her ear. We’ve got everyone in the basement.”

  “We’re coming in,” Paige said, keeping her voice calm. She squeezed the kids’ hands reassuringly. “Everybody ready? We’re going to run real fast.”

  Regina nodded and Ashton looked like he wanted to throw up. “Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

  They took off, Paige keeping her strides short so the kids could keep up with her. Tony trotted along behind her. The gust of wind caught them all by surprise, and she almost didn’t hear the snapping sound. Ashton’s hand slipped from hers, and he started to run toward the craft service tent. One of the lines securing the tent whipped up, slicing through electrified air.

  God, the tent was going to collapse, and Ashton was running right for it.

  “Mommy!” he yelled, his voice fearful.

  “Regina, you go with Tony to the house,” Paige yelled over the sound of the wind and thunder. She took off at a dead sprint. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to think. Another tent stake broke loose, and with one slow motion flutter, the front half of the tent lifted off the ground. Ashton froze in place, and Paige threw herself over him. She caught something heavy across her back, and had she been standing, the blow would have felled her.

  Canvas covered them, blocking out the light but also the rain. The pain was shocking, but she didn’t want to scare Ashton any more than he already was by crying like a baby.

  “Paige!”

  It sounded like Tony’s voice, but she couldn’t tell over the wind. Her headset was gone, and all she was conscious of was Ashton shivering under her and the weight of something crushing down on top of her. There was a moaning shudder, and something sliced over her bare leg. It hurt like a hundred bee stings. Something solid smacked her in the side of the face, and she saw a flash of light before her head fell limply to the ground.

  She wasn’t unconscious. She was floating on pain and confusion. She could smell blood, taste it too. Or was that tears?

  Ashton was sobbing. The poor kid had already been afraid of thunder. Now he was going to be scarred for life. She hoped to God everyone had gotten out of the craft ser
vices tent, hoped everyone on site had made it inside.

  Somewhere, over the whip of wind and the crack of thunder, she heard sirens. She felt a trickling warmth over her skin and hoped it wasn’t as much blood as it felt like. Nothing hurt too badly right now, but the fog that was closing in on her could be shock. Hopefully it wasn’t anything that would interfere with her plans with Gannon tonight.

  “Hey, Ashton? Buddy? Are you okay?” she asked. She was surprised at how weak her voice sounded.

  “I’m s-s-scared,” he howled in the throes of tears.

  “It’s okay to be scared, but I promise we’re going to be okay.”

  His next wail was a little quieter.

  “Do you know your ABCs?”

  “Uh-huh,” he sobbed.

  “Let’s sing the ABCs until our friends come find us,” she suggested.

  “I want my mommy,” he sniffled.

  At this moment she wouldn’t say no to her own mother either, Paige thought.

  “Well, let’s sing until your mommy and my friends come help us.”

  He smelled like bubble gum shampoo, and Paige found it oddly comforting. She tried to shift her weight off of him, but something was pressing her into the earth from above.

  “A, B, C…” he started off with a shaky voice, and Paige joined him. She wondered why she could see colors behind her closed eyes and was glad that she didn’t feel cold anymore.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gannon adjusted his welding goggles and watched as Rocco, a skinny man in his mid-fifties with a bushy mustache, finished off a clean weld. They were shooting in a tiny rural town and hour and a half west of Portland in a custom welding shop.

  He didn’t mind shooting scenes like this, giving other artisans some camera time while he looked on or tried his own hand at it.

  It was, to him, one of the better parts of the show. Showcasing local artisans was a good karma kind of thing to do. Not only did viewers love the custom stuff they were able to do for families, but the artisans got a boost in business after the episodes aired.