Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  “I can do this,” Paige gritted out.

  “Reputation is everything, and tonight is the night you cement yours as a professional,” Becca reminded her.

  “I’m a damn professional,” Paige announced to the mirror.

  “That’s my girl. Don’t be anyone’s doormat tonight. Who knows? Maybe you’ll walk out of there with a job offer.”

  ––—

  Paige got out of the cab and studied the twenty-story building where she would meet her worst enemies. Normally, she didn’t go to these kinds of things. This was a party thrown by the network to showcase the Manhattan apartment recently renovated by Drake Mackenrowe, the network’s real estate flip darling. When she received the invitation, she’d politely declined knowing that: A. It would be filmed for the show’s finale and B. Both Meeghan and Gannon would be there and C. That it was futile to say no. They’d find a way to coerce her.

  The network had stood firm, insisting that her presence was required. After all, now that this season’s episodes of Kings Construction were running, she’d become quite popular, they reminded her. When she’d declined again, they’d called out the big guns, and Eddie had invited her to lunch to explain that if she didn’t show her pretty face at what was sure to be a staged humiliation, her services would no longer be required by any show.

  With her yes confirmed, Gannon had texted her twice to make sure she was coming. His calls and texts had slowed down to a point where she assumed he’d moved on. But tonight was the first time they’d see each other since New Mexico. And she’d give her left kidney to not have to walk into that building.

  Paige clenched her jaw so hard it had reminded her to schedule a long overdue dentist appointment.

  It wasn’t that she was a coward, she reminded herself as she straightened her shoulders and headed for the doorman. She just didn’t like drama.

  She could do this, damn it. She was a St. James, after all.

  “Hi, I’m here for the Welcome Home Network thing,” she said. The doorman in a smart black suit tipped his hat to her in perfect Manhattan fashion and held the door for her.

  “Enjoy your evening, Miss.”

  In the swank lobby, she discovered a red carpet of sorts set up with a photo station and a network reporter doing live interviews. Fully intent on skipping the fuss, Paige started toward the wall of elevators only to be stopped by a fresh-faced intern with a headset and a clipboard.

  “You must be Paige,” he said, smiling with teeth whiter than nature allowed.

  “It appears I am,” she said.

  “Great. Now you’re just going to have your picture taken there on the WHN backdrop, and then Esme will do a quick thirty second on-camera chat, and then you can go upstairs.”

  “I’m not talent,” Paige reminded Toothy. He was adorable and friendly. Just the sort of person she’d want as a PA on a project.

  He smiled, unperturbed. “You’re on my photo and interview list, and you look fabulous.”

  She certainly did in this dress. And if the network wanted her to play the heartbroken whatever to Meeghan’s heroine, they could admire both of her metaphorical middle fingers.

  “What’s your name?” she asked Toothy.

  “Bradley.”

  “Bradley, you get me through this without looking like an ass, and I may have a use for you in a few months.”

  “If you can get me out of carpet arrivals, I will kiss your feet.”

  She fished through her clutch for a card. “Email me. I have a project coming up next year that’s going to need a lot of underpaid but enthusiastic people.”

  “You’re a goddess. And just so you know, they’re planning to ambush you in the video interview.”

  “Bradley, you’re hired.”

  Riding the high and ready for battle, she strode over to the photographer and flashed her the power smile, one that vibrated in her bones. A harried looking assistant with a headset then escorted her over to the camera crew. She was in line behind one show host, a popular designer, and the network’s online editor. The host she recognized as a vlogger for the Welcome Home Network’s website. Esme was in full on camera makeup, and her hair had the look and sweep of a fresh blowout. The assistant snuck behind the camera and whispered something to the host, and the woman’s gaze flew to Paige.

  Esme waved her forward and Paige shot an uneasy look behind her. “Sorry. Excuse me,” she said, slipping past those ahead of her.

  “Paige!” Esme greeted her as if they were long lost friends, and Paige took a moment to desperately miss being behind the camera. “It’s so wonderful to have you here today. Now, you just stand right there exactly like that, and we’ll have you on your way in no time.”

  Esme beamed at the camera, and Paige followed suit feeling like her jaw would freeze from the effort.

  “I’m here with Paige St. James, field producer and assistant director of everyone’s favorite surprise reno show, Kings of Construction!” Esme announced to the glass lens. “I heard you had some excitement this season.”

  Of course she’d heard that. “We had a fantastic season,” Paige said, not taking the bait. “We were fortunate enough to work with some really wonderful families and very talented local contractors. I can’t wait for everyone to see their stories and experience the renovations.”

  “You look like you’re all healed up after your on-set accident,” Esme said, flashing her a faux pouty look.

  “Some bumps and bruises from a wind storm. No permanent damage.” Inspired, Paige did a slow turn for the camera as if to show she was injury free.

  “That dress is stunning,” Esme gushed.

  “Thank—”

  She was nudged hard from behind into Esme. Turning, she saw Meeghan Traxx, arms akimbo, cleavage erupting from the tight white bodice of her lace up dress. She looked like a prostitute pretending to be a virgin.

  “Why don’t you ask her about her supposed relationship with Gannon?” Meeghan said, drumming her fingernails on her hips.

  When Bradley said ambush, he hadn’t been kidding.

  “I’m sure everyone is curious to know if you and Gannon—” Esme began.

  But Meeghan was running the interview now. She tossed those heavy blonde curls over her shoulder, her extensions slapping Paige in the shoulder. “It’s not true,” Meeghan announced looking into the camera. “Our little Paige here had a crush on my man, and who could blame her? I mean, look at him.”

  Paige thought about defending herself and then decided she might as well see where this idiot was going.

  “So you and Gannon were never together?” Esme attempted the clarification, but Meeghan pulled the mic away from Paige.

  “Never. In fact, it’s kind of sad that she thinks some worthless little production assistant could tempt Gannon King away from this.” She smoothed her hand down her side.

  “Meeghan, I feel like we should get a few things straight,” Paige said, smiling sweetly. “First of all, production assistants are not worthless. Without them you wouldn’t have anyone picking up your iced skinny soy vanilla latte with extra whip. Secondly, I used to be a production assistant, and I’m now a field producer, and I don’t recall asking for your opinion on me or my life.”

  “You’re just jealous that he wants me,” Meeghan tossed her hair again, and Paige felt the breeze.

  “I couldn’t care less who you do or don’t date. I’m here to do a job, and I take my responsibilities very seriously,” Paige said coolly.

  “Listen, you pathetic little nobody. Someone like you,” Meeghan said swiping her finger down the front of Paige’s dress, “could never come between me and Gannon. No hard feelings, sweetie.”

  Paige’s hand balled into a fist as all of her calm down techniques flew out of the window.

  She felt an arm slip around her waist. “I leave you alone for five seconds, and trouble just finds you.” Paige looked up, way up, at the newcomer. He was tall and lean, blonde and built, with bright blue eyes and a crooked grin. Drake
Mackenrowe was even more attractive, in a polished preppy way, off screen than he was on.

  If Gannon was the rough-around-the-edges bad boy of TV, Drake was the elegant knight in shining armor.

  “I’m not sure what your problem with Paige is, but I don’t think she’s spared you a second thought, Megan,” Drake said smoothly without looking away from Paige.

  “It’s Meeghan.”

  “Of course it is,” Drake sighed. He finally spared Meeghan a look. “Your eyelashes are coming unglued.”

  Meeghan gasped and reached for both eyes.

  “Come on, gorgeous,” Drake said, aiming that crooked grin at Paige. “Let’s get you some champagne.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “I’m Drake, by the way,” he said, gallantly offering his hand as the elevator doors closed on the lobby. He wore a sleek grey suit and no tie. His gleaming loafers were the color of rich caramel.

  Paige bent at the waist to catch her breath. Anger was rolling through her system like a thunderstorm, and she didn’t want to take it out on the man who’d saved her from further on-camera humiliation.

  She straightened up and accepted his hand.

  “I know who you are.” She shook his hand, noting that though it wasn’t callused like Gannon’s, there was still strength in his grip. “Network dream boat and New York realty king. I’m Paige.”

  “Paige, welcome to the seventh circle of hell.”

  She laughed and was surprised that she was able to with rage coursing through her blood. She leaned against the back wall of the elevator. And took a deep breath. “Thanks for your help back there.”

  “I’ve worked with Meeghan before. I know the warning signs of cat and mouse.”

  Paige shook her head. “I’m a producer. I didn’t sign up for this.”

  “No one signs up for that. She’s a narcissistic, unhinged nuclear explosion waiting to happen. Her show cycles through PAs faster than John Mayer cycles through girlfriends.”

  “Do you make it a habit to swoop in and rescue damsels in distress?”

  The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, an airy space of light and concrete and stainless steel. The quintessential Manhattan billionaire’s bachelor pad.

  A waiter wandered by with a tray of champagne, and Drake snagged two glasses.

  “The only thing I saved you from was a very public civil suit that she would have filed against you for breaking her nose. It would ruin the nose job she got last year.”

  Paige lifted her glass. “Meeghan’s plastic surgeon thanks you.” He mirrored her toast, and she drank deeply. If Drake hadn’t stepped in, she very well could have done something epically stupid. One season of too much exposure to Gannon King, and he’d turned her into a reactive, temperamental woman.

  “Can I offer you a piece of unsolicited advice?” Drake asked.

  “I feel that I owe you. Advise away.”

  “Don’t take it personally. Yeah, the network’s pulling strings to make you dance, but they’re not doing it to hurt you or humiliate you. They’re just doing it to drum up ratings and sell more advertising. They use everyone as they see fit. It’s nothing personal.”

  She knew it. Just as she knew not to take her mother’s constant judgment personally. But knowing it and not letting it eat away at her? Two entirely different things.

  “I appreciate the advice,” she said, not willing to delve further into it.

  There were photographers and cameramen mingling in the crowd, and Paige felt exposed. There was no sign of Gannon or Meeghan, but she didn’t want to look too hard.

  “So what do you think of the place?” Drake asked, sweeping his hand toward the glass and metal staircase that led to a second floor.

  “It’s impressive,” Paige said diplomatically. Her tastes didn’t run to industrial formal. She preferred warmth, character.

  He leaned in conspiratorially. “You can tell me it looks like a James Bond villain’s lair. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

  She bit her lip. “That’s exactly what it looks like.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret. This place belongs to the network president. He bought it and decided he wanted it gutted, and what better way to save a buck or two than have your own network handle the labor?”

  “Angus Pearson made you renovate his place?” Paige gasped.

  Drake looked around them and suppressed a shudder. “I tried to guide him in a more human direction, but he was insistent, and he has horrific taste. So I went with it with a dose of irony. There’s a concrete urinal trough in the master.”

  “There isn’t!” She laughed and then covered her mouth when she noticed a photographer turn in her direction.

  “Oh, there is,” Drake insisted. “I’ll show it to you.” He guided her toward the monstrosity of a staircase, a warm hand resting lightly at the small of her back. She felt it, that tingle, that awareness, that crept up her spine and knew.

  He was there at the foot of the stairs, hazel eyes boring into her with heat and frustration. A day or two’s worth of stubble graced his excellent jaw. Gannon’s broad shoulders gave shape to the navy blue blazer he wore. The white Oxford shirt was tucked into jeans tight enough to display his muscular thighs to their full advantage. He was so raw, so male, that even dressed in business casual, there was a predatory air about him.

  She felt like he sucked all of the air out of the room, and she was left struggling for oxygen.

  “Paige,” he said, leaning in and brushing a kiss over her cheek. His lips singed her skin.

  “Hi, Gannon,” she said weakly. Cameras clicked away in the background.

  Drake offered his hand. “Gannon King. I don’t think we’ve officially met at any of these things. I’m Drake Mackenrowe.”

  “I try to get out of these things whenever possible,” Gannon said. His tone was light, but Paige felt like the weight of his gaze was crushing her.

  “Do you ever do any commission pieces? I’ve got this idea for a buffet and no knowhow,” Drake said raising his flawless hands.

  “It depends on the customer.”

  “It’s for my grandparents. Fiftieth wedding anniversary’s coming up.”

  “Gannon has a soft spot for grandmothers,” Paige said quietly.

  “I’ve got a soft spot for a lot of people,” he countered, eyes boring into her.

  “Liar.” Cat shimmied up in a designer dress worn with her typical careless perfection. “My brother doesn’t like most people,” she told Drake with a wink before she wrapped Paige in a warm hug. “Miss you, Paige. When are we going shopping?”

  “When you start shopping at Target,” Paige said, returning the hug.

  “Lunch then. I hate not seeing you every day. Paige is not just a brilliant field producer. She’s also a wonderful human being,” Cat told Drake.

  With Cat joining them, even more photographers began to circle, and Paige felt her skin flush.

  “Cat, do you know Drake?” Paige began the introductions, and the two began to chat animatedly. Her entire system was on fire with Gannon standing so close, staring at her. His eyes telegraphed messages to her.

  I’m sorry. I miss you. We need to talk.

  She needed to escape. She’d shown her face, let the network have its little fun, she’d even given the photographers shots of her with Gannon and Drake. No one could ask her for more, and if they did, she had two middle fingers itching to be used.

  “Would you two excuse us for a minute? I’d like to talk to Paige alone,” Gannon interjected.

  Cat and Drake shared a look, and Paige started to shake her head, but his hand was closing around her wrist, and if she resisted it would be one more scene for the cameras.

  ––—

  Gannon felt her working up the urge to fight free as he tugged her up the ugliest staircase he’d ever seen in his life. It looked like the result of a drunken one-night stand between an escalator and a glass elevator.

  “Keep it together, princess.” He nodded at the pho
tographers shooting from below. Cat, his favorite sister in the world, had blocked them from climbing the stairs after them.

  Beyond the glass railing, an acre of nearly black carpet stretched out in some useless open gallery area that housed a few pieces of ugly art. There were two bedrooms and a handful of people touring both. Gannon tried a door at the far end of the loft and, finding it empty, dragged Paige inside.

  “Are you kidnapping me?” Paige yanked free and tried to get away from him in the cramped space.

  “It’s a linen closet, not a secret passage,” Gannon argued. “You look incredible by the way.” She did. He’d spotted her the second she’d walked in, taking in the view like a fist to the solar plexus. She was gorgeous in everyday shorts and tank tops with no makeup and sloppy hair. Now, she was downright stunning.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  There’d been a time when he’d teased her just to see a flash of anger, curious to see what was below that calm, frosty surface. And now he needed to put the beast back in the cage.

  “I’m explaining.”

  “What’s there to explain? You lied to me, and I fell for it. Lesson learned.”

  He grabbed her, gripping her arms. He couldn’t keep his damn hands off of her. “No, you’re listening, and I’m talking. Meeghan and I were never in a relationship—”

  “But you still had sex.”

  “Paige.” The deep breath he took wasn’t helping his blood pressure out of the stratosphere, and when she lunged to get around him, he moved first and thought later.

  He spun her around, wrapping her in a bear hug from behind and pinning her against the empty shelves. “Goddamn it. Listen to me. I went on one date with her. The network set us up and sent us to some stupid party just like this one.”

  She stopped struggling in his arms.

  “It was a publicity thing. The show was getting ready to film, and they were trying to build the hype. I went from Googling bankruptcy to taking my first ride in a limo and standing on a red carpet. The booze was flowing, and when she put the moves on me, I didn’t stop her. I thought…” He shook his head, embarrassed at the memory. “I thought my big break had finally come. I could save my grandfather’s business and enjoy a piece of the good life. But I didn’t know.”