Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

Paige pointed a stern finger at Nina. “As your boss, I forbid you from being on his side.”

  Nina shrugged. “It’s kinda hard not to like the guy, you know?”

  Yeah, she knew. Paige was well aware of Gannon’s appeal. She just wished she only had her inner conflict to deal with, not everyone else’s opinions.

  She made her way down a floor on the in-progress staircase to the main living level. She’d done her best to stick to her guns since their conversation two weeks ago, but Gannon’s words echoed in her head on repeat. And damn if she didn’t feel just the tiniest sliver of doubt creeping in.

  Had she walked away from him because it was easier than standing up for what she wanted? What kind of a feminist was she if she only wanted to call attention to double standards and unfair treatment rather than actually fight them? Or was she just too far under Gannon’s sexy spell to see things clearly? That was a possibility that deserved examining.

  She’d tried to explain the conversation to Becca, but when Becca announced they should interview him for the docu, she’d given up. It was a complicated situation that she seemed to be intent on complicating.

  “You roared?” Paige said, picking her way around sawhorses holding two-by-fours and piles of discarded copper pipes.

  “What do you think?” he asked pointing at the spread of cabinet, countertop, and tile samples. He stood in the middle of the gutted space that would be the new state-of-the art kitchen.

  “What do I think of what?”

  “What would look good in here?” He was impatient, hands on hips, shoulders tense.

  “It’s your house,” Paige reminded him.

  He closed his eyes, blew out a breath. “Just humor me.”

  He’d asked her opinion here and there on other things in the house. Flooring, paint colors, light fixtures. She studied Gannon and the space. White cabinets were the trend, but this space and Gannon King didn’t need trendy. They required substantial, solid, masculine.

  “Cabinets,” she said, pointing at the black walnut sample in an espresso stain two steps down from black. “Counter tops, light and clean. Probably quartz so you don’t have to seal it every year. One of these,” she said, waving her hand over two nearly identical samples of white quartz with gray veining.

  He crossed his arms, brought a hand to his mouth, and watched her thoughtfully. “Backsplash?” he asked, giving nothing away.

  She examined the samples, weighing and rejecting each one. Too feminine, too contemporary, too boring. Paige shook her head. “If you want my opinion, none of these. You need something with texture that fits with the rest of the building. Brick. But in a rough finish, nothing too smooth. Something that plays off of the exterior. It would be a pain to clean, but it would look really good.”

  Really, really good, Paige decided. Not that she really cooked, but with a kitchen like this, she might learn to make a few dishes here and there. Gannon would probably just use it to store beer and pizza boxes. Lucky bastard.

  He nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

  “That’s it?”

  His massive shoulders lifted. “Yep. That’s all I needed. You can go on back to whatever directorial crap you were doing.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She headed out but Gannon stopped her. “Paige?”

  She turned. “Yeah?”

  She saw the twinkle in his eyes, the dimple next to his mouth. “You’re doing a great job.”

  Flustered, she gave him a brisk nod and escaped.

  “A pleasure working with you,” he called after her, an odd emphasis on the word pleasure.

  Paige shook her head and headed for the stairs but was flagged down by her associate producer poking her head in the front door.

  “Hey, Tina. Welcome to King’s Castle.” Paige offered her hand.

  Tina, a compact woman in a red hoodie and sneakers, gripped and shook. “After running through last week’s footage with the editors, I had to come in and poke around myself. Hope you don’t mind.” She cracked her gum as her eyes took in the half-finished framing, the new HVAC ducts that a crew was wrestling into place.

  “Not at all,” Paige said. “It’s a mess right now but an organized one.”

  “The footage of the guys in the tub,” Tina began, taking a look at the view out the front windows. “It was freakin’ hilarious. We get more of that? Gannon King acting like a human being? We’re looking at a solid hit… provided this shithole miraculously transforms into a castle.”

  “Leave it to Gannon,” Paige told her.

  “I’ve got a couple pages of notes—some one-on-ones we need for episode one, some B-roll ideas,” she said. “If I can run through those with you and Gannon at the same time, it would save me some repetition.”

  “No problem. I’ll go wrangle him. Fifteen minutes enough?” she asked, consulting the call sheet. They needed to start setting up for the window installation, and delivery was scheduled in half an hour. She needed to talk to Gannon about where he wanted to start and then dole out shooting assignments.

  “Should be plenty,” Tina cracked.

  “I need to make a quick call, and then I’ll drag him away from whatever mess he’s in the middle of. Poke around if you want,” Paige offered. “The upstairs looks just as bad as down here.”

  She left Tina to it and went out on the stoop where the construction noise and the chatter of crews were at least muffled by the thick wood of the front doors. Gannon had chosen a quiet street so traffic was minimal. Things were moving along inside as if the work was a dusty, noising purging of the demons of the past, leaving behind a fresh, new start. Today especially was a day for considering fresh starts or recommitting to old choices, Paige thought. It was her birthday, not that she’d be sharing that information with anyone else.

  Birthdays in the St. James family weren’t for celebration. They were mile markers of successes, moments of pause to appreciate the journey, and hers hadn’t started yet.

  But instead of her journey, her future success, she found herself thinking about Gannon and fresh starts.

  He’d warned her flat out that he’d be seducing her. And with each morning cup of coffee that he presented her with on set, each time he’d asked her opinion or listened to her direction, he was doing just that. He brought her chopped salads for lunch and bought Paige her own pair of work gloves as she was always borrowing someone else’s for lending a hand.

  And anytime Gannon wasn’t hanging around, he had his crew and her own singing his praises.

  Chantay had taken one look at the playback of the bathtub scene and fanned herself. “That is one fine-looking man. I would not be kicking that out of my bed,” she’d said pointedly to Paige.

  If she wasn’t very careful, she’d end up exactly where she’d been… on her back under the powerful thrusts of Gannon King.

  The image hit her so hard that Paige thought she might be hallucinating. Impulsively, her fingers clenched and released. Her phone tumbled onto the concrete step. “Crap.”

  She shook herself out, stretching to rid her body and mind of the demons of Gannon. Satisfied she wasn’t about to enjoy a spontaneous orgasm, she dialed Eddie for their daily check in.

  “Hey, kid,” he said cheerily. Someone in the background yelled.

  “Golf course today?” she asked.

  “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta babysit the network VPs. How are things in Brooklyn?”

  “Moving right along. It’s the mess before the order. But I think this is going to be a show-stopper when the house is done.”

  “Good, good,” Eddie said in that distracted way of his. “You don’t need to check in every day, you know. I trust you. You know what you’re doing. You don’t need me to hold your hand.”

  “Just trying to do a good job,” Paige said.

  “According to Gannon you’re doing better than good,” Eddie told her. “And post-production is thrilled with what you’re feeding them. You and Gannon really work well together.”

  �
��Not you, too, Eddie,” Paige groaned.

  Eddie chuckled. “Sorry, kid. He got to me. That’s a man that cares a hell of a lot about you.

  “I’m not having this conversation with you or anyone else for the fiftieth time today,” Paige announced. “We’ve got the replacement windows coming on the truck, and I’ve got to go find the permit so I can wave it in the meter maid’s face when she shows up to yell at us again.”

  “Have a good one,” Eddie signed off.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Paige made another call to an in-house production assistant who was assisting Gannon’s team by organizing orders and deliveries to the house and then took a minute for herself. The autumn sunshine was warm, and there was a thick door between her and Gannon.

  He was slipping through cracks in her defenses right and left. She’d always been impressed by his talent, enough to mostly overlook his cockiness and attitude. But seeing him working with his whole crew, guys he’d known for years, some of whom had worked with his grandfather, was like getting to know his family.

  They all had a genuine respect and affection for the man, and as far as Paige could tell, the feeling was mutual. More often than not, after a long day of filming, beers would be cracked open, and wives and children would appear.

  It was so different from Kings of Construction. There they were constantly surrounded by strangers before picking up and moving on to a new group of strangers. Here was a community, a family, and Paige’s own crew was welcomed as such into the fold.

  She spotted a familiar woman, tall and impeccably dressed, approaching. Her dark hair was coiled in a sedate, yet classy chignon. The navy blue suit hinted at the fit figure beneath. But the stride, in nude heels precisely two inches in height, spoke of confidence and no nonsense. The walk, purposeful without being hurried, was as familiar to Paige as her own.

  “Hello, Paige,” her mother offered, standing hands folded over her stylish leather bag just outside the gate.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” Paige rose from the stoop, brushing off the seat of her jeans and hurrying down the stairs. Had her mother really taken time out of her day to come wish her a happy birthday? That would be a birthday miracle. Usually her mother sent her a perfunctory email, and Leslie’s assistant mailed her some shiny, expensive gift.

  “It’s lovely to see you as well, dear,” Leslie said, subtly correcting what she felt was a rudeness. “I was at a symposium down the block at the hospital, and I thought I might come visit my daughter at work.”

  “No special occasion?” Paige prodded.

  “Must there be one for a mother to see her own daughter?” Leslie asked pointedly.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Her own mother hadn’t remembered her birthday, Paige thought dryly. She could get some serious mileage out of this around the dinner table.

  “Would you like to come in and see the house?” she offered, hoping her mother would say no.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to end up on camera,” Leslie sniffed, her disdain evident.

  “We’re not shooting for another thirty minutes,” Paige promised. She could do half an hour with her mother without wine. Couldn’t she?

  “All right then.”

  Crap.

  Paige flipped the latch on the gate and swung it open for her mother. Leslie St. James didn’t open her own doors. “Just promise not to say anything condescending to anyone inside. They’ve been working their ass— They’ve been working nonstop. So put on your cocktail reception face,” Paige ordered.

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to be rude to your… co-workers. This is your work, such as it is, and should be respected,” she said, eyeing the plywood floor of the foyer with a dubious expression.

  Paige smiled through gritted teeth and led her mother through the main floor, praying that Gannon would stay wherever the hell he was and away from here. Her mother had indeed slapped on her professionally cool smile and politely greeted Gannon’s crew and Paige’s.

  Leslie listened intently as Paige gave Tony feedback on the B roll he’d just shot and sent Bradley downstairs to help Chantay set up the lighting to shoot.

  “I’d show you upstairs, but it’s even more of a mess than down here,” Paige told her mother, hoping that the brief tour would count as family quality time and they could be done.

  Leslie arched an eyebrow as she glanced at the construction materials and inches of dirt and dust surrounding them. “I find that hard to imagine.”

  “Paige!”

  She heard the rumble of Gannon’s voice coming from the staircase. Oh, hell.

  “She’s in here,” Flynn the traitor yelled, winking at Paige and her mother as he breezed by carrying sawhorses.

  Gannon appeared and zeroed in on her. “Princess, I want to talk to you about some off-site shoots.”

  “Princess?” Leslie’s voice took on the icy qualities of Antarctica.

  Gannon stopped and looked back and forth between Paige and her mother, a slow grin sliding over his face.

  “Mom, I’d like you to meet Gannon. Gannon, this is my mother, Leslie.”

  “Dr. St. James,” Leslie corrected. “And we’ve met.”

  “Who could forget a voice like yours, Dr. St. James?” Gannon asked.

  “I’ll assume that is a rhetorical question.”

  “Mom,” Paige said in a warning whisper.

  “Assume whatever you like, Dr. St. James,” Gannon told her with a magnanimous wave of his arm. “Of course, you know what happens when you assume.”

  “I see you’re consistently antagonistic,” Leslie announced. “Have you ever seen a therapist for that flaw?”

  Paige blinked in horror. But Gannon simply laughed, which was always the wrong thing to do in front of Leslie St. James.

  “Have you lost your damn mind?” Paige hissed at her mother, but Leslie wouldn’t be cowed.

  “I assume since you’re working with my daughter, you must be sleeping with her again. What a shame. I’d thought she had better taste,” Leslie announced.

  Paige let out a breath that sounded like air leaving an accordion. “Okay. Enough,” she finally snapped.

  “Thank you for the tour, Paige. I can show myself out. I’m getting a headache being surrounded by all this… filth.”

  “I’d be happy to show you out, Leslie,” Gannon offered, pushing yet another button. “It’s such a shame you can’t stay longer.”

  “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do for the cameras.” She glanced around the empty dining room with its stripped floors and bare walls. “I suppose some find it gratifying to make their fortunes by debasing themselves on television.”

  Gannon’s grin bared his teeth.

  “Mother!” Paige snapped. “Enough. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

  “So nice to finally meet you in person, Gannon,” Leslie said, the picture of phony pleasantries.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Gannon said, offering his hand.

  Leslie shook it disdainfully and then wiped her palm on her skirt as Paige dragged her toward the front door.

  “Just what have you done that earns you the right to be an asshole?” Paige demanded as she slammed the doors behind them.

  “Your language leaves quite a bit to be desired.” Leslie’s voice carried enough frost to curdle the leaves of the pin oak above them.

  “Your attitude leaves quite a bit to be desired. Gannon happens to be a loyal, hard-working, generous man. He beats anyone that you sneak home from your symposiums and your fundraisers for a tasteful fuck.”

  It was a cheap shot, but hey, she was a St. James, and they never backed down from going for the jugular.

  Her mother sputtered in indignation.

  “Gannon could be building custom furniture worthy of your snobbish friends and making millions, but he puts his family first. He ‘debased’ himself on TV to save his grandfather’s construction company so his grandmother
wouldn’t have to sell the only home she’s known and so he could keep the crew that he grew up with and their families on the payroll. What have you done? Decorated a house and written a few books? If I were you, I’d watch what insults I’m throwing in other people’s faces.”

  Paige had worked up a full head of steam, and it wasn’t just going to fizzle out. No, she was going out with a bang.

  “Are you insinuating that I’ve done things I should be ashamed of?” Leslie demanded.

  “I’m insinuating that there is nothing in your life that comes before your career. Not your marriage, not your children, and certainly not your generosity of spirit!”

  “I have never been so disappointed in you, Paige.”

  “Yeah, well right back at you, Mother. I find your disregard for humanity to be damned disappointing.”

  Leslie’s ice blue eyes chilled Paige to the bone. “Someday, daughter, you’ll understand how to prioritize your life. Men will come and go, but success that you’ve earned can never be taken from you. I just pray that whenever you do learn, it won’t be too late.”

  “So noted, thanks,” Paige snapped.

  Her mother, head high, strode down the stairs and across the uneven courtyard to the gate. She turned and raised a sculpted eyebrow. “I’ll still expect to see you at Thanksgiving.”

  “I’ll bring the stuffing.”

  Paige watched her mother hail a cab and then disappear around the corner.

  “I’ll bring the stuffing?” Gannon sounded amused.

  “Ugh.” Paige threw her head back to curse the gods. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to realize you should be way more screwed up than you are.”

  Paige turned to face him. “It’s nothing personal, so please don’t take it that way. It’s never personal. My mother and I just baffle each other. She was out of line and then embarrassed about being out of line.”

  “And then disappointed in you for calling her out.”

  Paige winced. “My, what big ears you have.”

  “Come here.” He reeled her in, giving her no option other than to slip her arms around his waist and rest her face on that broad expanse of chest. Gannon placed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re an exceptional woman who is living a life you designed. If you feel one second of guilt for not doing what’s expected of you, you’re really going to piss me off.”