Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  Repacked in less than ten minutes, Paige flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. On a whim, she took out her phone and dialed Becca’s number. Her roommate answered on the second ring, surprising and delighting Paige.

  “Holy shit, do we have so much to talk about,” Becca announced.

  “Are you busy? Can you talk?” Paige asked, enjoying the energy she heard in Becca’s voice.

  “I’ve got ten, probably more. We’re resetting for a big action sequence that is sucking the life out of all of us,” she said, not sounding the least bit discouraged. “How are you feeling? Healing well?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, glancing down at the yellow, mottled bruises on her legs.

  “You sure? I saw the teaser. It looked pretty rough.”

  “You know how TV works. Gotta make it look worse than it really is,” Paige said glibly.

  “I can tell you don’t want to talk about it, so I’ll be an awesome friend and change the subject. Are you really dating Gannon King?”

  “Can we go back to the injuries? I’d rather talk about that.”

  Becca squealed. “I knew it. I just knew it. When you took me to the wrap party last season, didn’t I tell you he looked at you like he was into you?”

  Becca had indeed insisted to Paige that Gannon looked far more interested than disinterested. “Yes, you told me, and if there is something going on there, I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll pretend to respect your boundaries, but I’m dying to know where Boobalicious Traxx fits into all this.”

  “From what Gannon says, they were never a thing.”

  “You believe him?” Becca asked.

  “Yeah. I do. He’s got no reason to lie, and it does sound like something the network would do to drum up attention for a new series.”

  “And now they’re drumming up more attention by making it a love triangle,” Becca hypothesized.

  “Yeah. Okay, enough on that topic. Where are you and what are you up to?”

  “No time for that. Let me get to the good stuff. We’ve got Sarah Holden.”

  “For what? The movie?” Paige asked, flexing her feet at the ankles and wondering if she should pack another pair of sandals.

  “Nope, the doc.”

  Paige sat up, her feet hitting the floor with a thump. “Our doc? The documentary you and I will be producing?”

  “One and the same. She’s on set doing a cameo, and I told her I read her piece she wrote in the New Yorker on pay standards. I may have gushed a little and then told her what we’re working on.”

  “And what? You tied her to a chair and threatened her until she agreed to be a part of it?”

  “No! I didn’t have to. She was all over it. Gave me her email and her agent’s number so we can stay in touch. And get this—”

  “There can’t be more.”

  “Oh, there is. Our pal Sarah is friends with several of TV’s most acclaimed stars, and she hinted that she may have a few more ladies willing to chat with our cameras.”

  “I am totally in love with you right now, Becca.”

  “I know, right?” her roommate laughed. “This is going to be bigger than we hoped, babe. I can’t wait to start.”

  “One more season,” Paige sighed. It would be like waiting for Christmas morning.

  SUMMER

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Paige wondered whose asinine idea it had been to shoot in New Mexico in July. As far as she could tell, the dry heat of the south west was just as damn hot as the sweltering humidity of the south. It was a special kind of misery that had their entire crew working in the bare minimum of clothing, a sure boon to ratings she predicted as she watched Gannon swipe his arm over his forehead, droplets of sweat collecting on his broad, bare chest.

  It was their last episode. Unfortunately one-hundred and six degrees had a way of dampening spirits, and no one was feeling particularly enthusiastic about wrapping. They had two days left on the shoot after today, and Paige was ready for it to be over. What she wasn’t ready for was not waking up to Gannon every day.

  He still snuck out of her bed every morning before the rest of the crew stirred to life. The rumors were still circling, and now that the first episode had aired—with a few after-the-fact interviews with Paige and Gannon they’d filmed on a different location—there was probably no hope that the gossip mill would run dry on its own. She dreaded when she had to come face-to-face with the fallout. Right now, the network and production company were singing her and the show’s praises.

  But sooner or later, shooting would end and it would be time to find more work before next season. And she had the distinct feeling that this season was going to hold her back. However, she at least had the pleasure of being guilty of what the network had suggested… having an affair with Gannon.

  There were times when Paige wondered if they were fooling anyone at all with the subterfuge. She could tell by Andy’s smug smiles behind his monitors that their chemistry was translating loud and clear, but what could she do?

  She was happy. Really happy.

  And Gannon seemed to be pretty pleased with life, too.

  As if she’d called his name, he glanced up at her over the bookcase he was sanding and winked.

  She knew he was remembering the very enjoyable shower they’d shared last night when she’d slid down that gorgeous wet body of his and teased him with her mouth until he’d fisted her hair in his hand, demanding a knee-buckling release.

  The water had gone cold before they’d finished with each other.

  Yeah, things were good, and Paige wondered what the offseason would hold for them. They’d crisscrossed the country together, working on impossibly tight deadlines. Could they survive real life? Not yet. As far as she could tell, they were just having sex… and working together. Was a relationship something either of them was capable of? Was it even something Gannon would be interested in exploring? They hadn’t discussed it.

  Now, battered under the breezeless oven of New Mexico sky, was probably not the best time to have a “where do you see this thing going” conversation, she decided.

  Andy guzzled water behind the screen, studying Gannon as Tony followed his every move. Felicia wiped her forehead on her raised arm and moved the boom pole in closer to catch whatever Gannon was muttering under his breath.

  A white Escalade rolled up to the curb behind them, and Paige squinted through the mirages shimmering over the white concrete. Without being ordered to, Rico broke away from shooting Gannon and focused on the SUV. The driver, in suit and tie, hustled out and around to open the back door. One tanned, shapely leg ending in a bloody red stiletto appeared and then another.

  What. The. Hell.

  Meeghan Traxx slid out of the backseat in a fitted red pencil skirt and nearly sheer white sleeveless top. The cowl neck lay atop her spectacular breasts, calling even more attention to their sheer volume.

  Her blonde hair was salon fresh, set in perfect beachy waves. Movie star sunglasses obscured most of her face, drawing more attention to her perfect painted red lips.

  She brought a finger to those lips and wiggled her fingers, tipped with fresh fake nails, at Rico’s camera. Andy’s mouth fell open, surprise written all over his sweaty face. Paige glared at him, willing him to yell cut, but he kept rolling.

  Meeghan waited until Rico moved into view and then pranced over cables and around fans that were doing nothing but stirring the heat. She came up behind Gannon and put her hands over his eyes. Paige clapped a hand over her mouth as Gannon nearly fumbled the electric sander. Worksite safety be damned.

  “What the—” What was sure to be a colorful question was cut off when Gannon spun around and Meeghan attacked.

  She launched herself at him, and the kiss she laid on him was enough to suck the oxygen out of his lungs. The kiss that he didn’t exactly fight his way out of, Paige couldn’t help noticing. It wasn’t until she’d dragged in a sharp breath that Paige reali
zed she’d stopped breathing.

  That lying sack of—

  “Kitty cat!” Meeghan squealed, spotting Cat approach. She released the dumbfounded Gannon and grabbed Cat in a chokehold. “It’s so good to see you!”

  Cat shot poison dart eyes at Gannon who stared back blankly at them. Cat wiggled out of Meeghan’s hold and moved to stand next to her brother.

  “Surprise!” Meeghan said, spinning back to flash her million wattage smile at Tony and Rico.

  “Uh, cut?” Andy called weakly. He glanced in Paige’s direction, confusion and embarrassment evident in his eyes.

  Meeghan’s driver, eager as a golden retriever, tottered over to hand his mistress her giant Michael Kors tote.

  “Here, sweetie,” Meeghan said, tossing the giant tote into Paige’s arms. “Do something with that for me and get me an iced skinny soy vanilla latte extra whip.”

  Paige’s breath left her in a silent woosh. She glanced down at the bag in her arms and dumped it on a chair as if she’d accidentally accepted a fresh roadkill. She wouldn’t look at Gannon or Cat.

  Meeghan pranced over to Andy, shaking her hair over her shoulder. “Mind if I watch the playback?”

  “Uh, why don’t we all take an hour?” She heard Andy’s voice in stereo through her headset and her uncovered ear. She didn’t wait for anyone else to move. Paige yanked off her headset and mic and bolted.

  “Paige,” Gannon began. But she held up her hand and cut him off. He had nothing to say that she wanted to hear. Not with Meeghan Traxx’s lipstick smeared over his mouth.

  ––—

  Paige felt bad about taking the production van back to the hotel, but she couldn’t deal with being around anyone else. She needed to be alone.

  She stopped at a drive-thru and got herself her forbidden comfort, an ice-cold Coke, and numbly stabbed the elevator button for her floor. The doors closed, and finally sure she was alone, Paige slumped against the back wall. And began the internal debate that had wanted to rage for the last ten minutes.

  What the hell had happened?

  Gannon had lied. That’s what had happened. He’d lied to her repeatedly about his involvement with that… that… person. Did she hate Meeghan because she was Gannon’s whatever? Or did she have a legitimate reason?

  The doors slid open silently, and she shuffled out onto the red and gold carpet that reminded her of a casino.

  They didn’t see her, she realized as her heart thudded in her chest. Gannon, with Meeghan wrapped around him like a weed, was fighting with his key card to open the door.

  “I like it when a man is impatient,” Meeghan all but purred. Paige nearly vomited.

  “Get inside,” Gannon ordered dragging her over the threshold and slamming the door behind them.

  Hot tears burned Paige’s eyes. She turned and ran to her room on the opposite end of the hallway. Forcing her way through the door, she threw herself on the bed and pulled a pillow over her head.

  What had she been thinking? her mother’s voice demanded smugly inside her head. What did she expect getting involved with Gannon? She should have known better.

  She felt dizzy and sick. Crushed. She hadn’t noticed her feelings for Gannon growing so strong. It had snuck up on her. What a fool she’d been. And he let her be a fool. She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t reconcile the Gannon who held her in his arms and shared childhood stories with her with the Gannon who just dragged Network Barbie into his hotel room.

  She wanted to rage at him, to pound her fists into his chest until he felt as bad as she did.

  But that wasn’t how she handled problems. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t be chased off by a lying, cheating asshole. No, she would go Ice Queen and freeze his ass in the New Mexican summer heat.

  Five minutes. It was all she’d give herself to feel this horrible, broken ache in her chest. And then it was back to business.

  Before Paige returned to the set, she went down to the front desk and asked to change rooms. She moved up a floor, away from Gannon, and made the clerk promise that he wouldn’t give out her room number to anyone. She wasn’t sure if any of the female clerks would be able to hold out against Gannon’s charm, but it was better than nothing.

  Stomach churning, she took a moment to sit on the edge of the bed. She let out a shuddery breath and immediately regretted it.

  “Crap,” she murmured weakly. She made the dash to the bathroom just in time to lose her lunch. The sobs were from being sick, Paige told herself as she cried, not from hurt. Not from loving Gannon.

  She stretched out, resting her face on the cool tile floor. It smelled vaguely and comfortingly of cleaner.

  Her phone vibrated again. It had started mid-move, but she had no desire to answer it. Especially not when she saw who was calling. A dozen missed calls from Gannon King and another ten text messages. She was surprised he’d have time to call or text while he was banging Meeghan into oblivion.

  Her stomach rolled again at the thought, but there was nothing left to cleanse. Just raw emptiness.

  Paige please answer. I can explain.

  Explain? What was there to explain? She didn’t need an explanation that the man she’d been sleeping with was a lying sack of shit. God, the whole season was one big lie. And she’d bought it hook, line, and sinker.

  Are you okay? Please talk to me. Please.

  Goddamn it, Paige. Answer your fucking phone and tell me if you’re okay.

  The many shades of Gannon King, she thought sadly as she turned off her phone and stowed it back in her pocket. God, she hurt. Her chest felt like there was a weight pressing on it, crushing her. Her head ached at the base of her neck, the pain promising to only worsen. There was nothing she could take, nothing she could do to dull it. It was the price she had to pay for falling for a liar.

  She made herself stand up and look in the mirror. She looked pale and sick. Sweat covered her ghostly pallor, so she washed her face. She grabbed her makeup bag. If any situation called for armor, it was this one. Carefully, she applied a tinted sunscreen and brushed on waterproof mascara. She still didn’t have much color in her cheeks, but nature would take care of that quickly enough. Her hair was a curling mess, so she did the best she could, parting it on one side and leaving it wild. She changed into fresh shorts and her favorite tank top that read BeastMode across the chest, a gift from Kings Construction foreman Flynn.

  She could do this. She nodded at her reflection.

  She wasn’t going to let some huge, colossal, gut-wrenching mistake chase her away from her job. Even if said huge mistake’s big deal girlfriend hung around set. She swallowed hard.

  Christ on a cracker. Paige St. James was the other woman.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Paige stared into the dredges of her glass of bourbon and felt absolutely nothing. The numbness that set in was a welcome relief from the burning agony she’d felt on set for the last four hours of shooting.

  He’d pounced on her the second she stepped foot on site. And she’d held him off with the iciest look she could muster.

  “Now is not the time or place. Let’s be professionals,” she’d said coldly.

  He’d tried to argue, had been ready for a throw down in front of everyone, but Cat had stepped in, dragging him off. Paige didn’t know what Cat said to him, but the sisterly advice had kept him away from her, and by the time Andy called cut on the last take, Paige was halfway to the van.

  But once in her room, she felt the walls closing in on her, and she knew sooner or later he’d find her here. Or he wouldn’t. He could be too busy entertaining Meeghan.

  The woman hadn’t returned to the set, and not a word was said about her by anyone. So Paige could only assume Meeghan was waiting on her shapely ass in the hotel’s air conditioning for Gannon to wrap for the day.

  She kept her phone off, even left it in her room so she wouldn’t be tempted to listen to the voicemails or read the texts and then walked until she found a crappy bar. The bar top was sticky,
and her barstool cushion was ripped, but at least no one knew who she was and what she’d lost today.

  The bartender, a straight-faced beauty with an expertly drawn cat eye in black liner, pointed to her nearly empty glass. “Another?”

  “Sure,” Paige said, neither enthusiastic about or opposed to the idea of drowning her troubles. She’d started with a beer and found it lacking before switching to the brand of bourbon Gannon had brought her once in a different hotel room in a different state.

  The bartender poured. “Penis?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Paige blinked.

  “Usually the only thing that makes a woman look the way you look is a penis that turns into an asshole.”

  Paige snorted despite herself. How apt. “That’s a pretty accurate assessment,” she nodded.

  The woman put the bottle back on the top shelf. “Eventually you learn they’re all assholes in their own special snowflake kind of way.”

  She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, Paige noted without surprise. “So what are we supposed to do?”

  She shrugged strong, lean shoulders. “Love ‘em anyway or switch teams.”

  Paige drank to that.

  “I don’t suppose your guy is ripped and tatted and looks like he wants to murder anyone who gets in his way?” the bartender asked, her tone conversational.

  Paige’s gaze flew to the doorway where Gannon, his hard jaw set and his fists clenched at his side, stared at her. “Fuck.”

  “Is this a cop matter?” the bartender asked blandly.

  Paige shook her head. “No, just a temper tantrum waiting to happen.”

  “There’s a back door through the kitchen if you need it.”

  Gannon strode to her and then seemed to battle with himself when he got within striking distance. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped.

  Paige could have iced him out if he led with a half-assed apology. She could have ignored him if he pleaded with her to listen to his side. But jumping on her as if she was the one who did something wrong?