The DIY Groom

by Lori Wilde

  “We have to start over,” she insisted. “This isn’t a segment about doors.”

  “I’m going to saw the door lengthwise and install the cleat. One door makes two prefinished floating shelves. The only trick is getting them straight.”

  “I told you to stop the cameras,” Megan scolded. “We have to start over. Thank heavens, we’re only taping.”

  “Let’s get on with it,” Ed ordered without bothering with the little ear mics.

  Apparently, the show’s producer did have some clout when they were shooting. Megan settled down, outwardly resigned to doing shelves Zack’s way.

  He began where he’d left off.

  “You’ll need a chisel, a hammer, carpenter’s glue, a level, a stud finder…”

  “We’ve already found a stud,” a woman yelled from the audience, setting off a spate of giggles and titters.

  “Thank you, darlin’,” Zack said, becoming more comfortable with his role as handyman hunk, especially since he could see Megan silently fuming. “What I had in mind was finding the boards behind the drywall so the shelf is well anchored.”

  “Zack will show you how to do that,” Megan said, trying to regain control of the show.

  He said he’d do this gig, but that didn’t mean assembling idiot kits and looking like a dope. If she didn’t understand that after this show, he’d find another way to make it clear to her.

  Maybe it was her showbiz training, but she warmed to his project, asked some intelligent questions, and helped install one door-turned-shelf on the backdrop wall of the set.

  “We have time for a couple of questions,” she said in response to Ed’s prompting, which Zack could hear through his earpiece.

  A dozen hands shot up.

  “Yes,” Megan said, pointing at a grandmotherly woman with a benign smile.

  “Are you married, Handyman Zack?” she asked loudly.

  “Alas, no,” he said, so relieved the show was nearly over he felt playful. “I’m looking for a girl who can handle a hammer.”

  He got a bigger laugh than his response warranted. These women were easy to please.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” A middle-aged redhead shouted her question without waiting for Megan to call on her.

  “I do indeed,” he drawled, remembering his grandfather might watch the show. There was a collective groan from the audience.

  “That’s all the time we have for questions,” Megan said. “I hope you enjoyed today’s Do It Herself.”

  “Cut.” Ed’s voice boomed into Zack’s ear.

  Julie, the intern, rushed to Zack, detached the speaker from his jeans, and ran her hand under his shirt and up his back to pull down the earpiece he was wearing. “Can I do that?” he heard someone call.

  “That was a great show,” Julie said enthusiastically.

  He’d started to gather his saw and tools when the audience charged toward him.

  “Will you sign my grocery receipt, Zack? It’s all I have with me.”

  “Does your company do little projects like shelves?” another asked.

  “Not usually,” he managed to say as he signed a dangling receipt using his knee as a writing surface.

  He was bombarded by more questions and requests than he could sort out. These ladies weren’t shy. Why were they reacting like this? All he’d done was hang a shelf.

  He tried to sidestep his fans, but short of hurting someone, he was trapped.

  “Zack will do another show next Wednesday,” Ed yelled in the voice that had once carried the length of a football field on game day. “Anyone who would like a ticket should go to the reception desk now. We only have a limited number left.”

  The announcement started a stampede away from Zack, who had a whole new respect for the ex-jock. Seeing his chance, he grabbed his saw, wholeheartedly thanked the two interns who’d put all his tools in his box, and hurried to Megan’s dressing room, hoping she wouldn’t try to deck him.

  Apparently, he’d been a whiz-bang success, but he didn’t feel good about it—not good at all.

  Megan sat in front of the brightly lit mirror in the dressing room, trying not to think about the show they’d just taped. Unfortunately, she couldn’t erase it from her mind. Even with a good edit, the segment with Bailey would make her look inept. She didn’t have a chance with the hunky handyman running roughshod over her scripts.

  She wiped away the last of her stage makeup but didn’t have enough energy to dab on fresh lipstick. Zack didn’t know a wireless mic from a wad of bubble gum, but he was a natural when it came to pushing women’s buttons. He was exactly the kind of man she’d avoided since she started wearing a training bra.

  Her show worked without gimmicks because women needed to be more self-reliant. Bailey only muddied the concept by being the focus of attention.

  Trouble was, he was a natural with women. If she didn’t watch herself…

  No, it couldn’t happen. He was far too irritating to appeal to her. Anyway, her Mr. Right had to be a natural-born family man, and nothing about Bailey suggested he could ever fill the bill.

  The door, firmly closed, vibrated from a heavy-handed knock.

  “Go away,” she called.

  She wasn’t ready to rehash the show with Ed or anyone else.

  Again, the knock.

  “I said go away—”

  Zack came in and closed the door behind him.

  “Do you ever do what you’re told?” she asked.

  He frowned, appearing to give her question serious thought. “Nope.”

  He pulled a folding chair up to the mirror, then sat and looked at the assortment of cosmetics spread on the table.

  “You do your own makeup?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good choice. The makeup girl wields a wicked powder puff.”

  “Woman,” she said automatically.

  “No one ever accused me of being politically correct.” He leaned back, tilting the chair on two legs.

  “Those chairs have been known to collapse,” she warned.

  She brushed a wine-rose shade on her lips just to be doing something.

  “Probably what I deserve,” he said blandly.

  “You made me look like a fool.” She didn’t want a confrontation with him, but everything about him provoked her, even the way he’d unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang loose over his lean hips.

  “If I’d put together that trashy kit, I would’ve looked like an idiot. I know the company that made it. They forget to drill holes, package substandard materials, and put in directions written by chimps.”

  “It’s the kind of project my viewers are likely to do. And I checked for screw holes. Give me some credit.”

  “Isn’t your show about helping women do projects without a man to help?”

  “Yes.”

  His criticism really hurt. She tried hard to put herself in the place of her viewers. She sniffed, holding back a highly uncharacteristic urge to vent her frustration with tears.

  “Aww, don’t cry,” he said.

  “I never cry.”

  “Then you need a plumber ’cause you’re leaking.”

  “Is that your idea of a joke?”

  “Made you cut off the waterworks, didn’t it?”

  “No one told me you had the script,” she said, changing the subject.

  Both Ed and Joe had a lot to answer for.

  He shrugged. “I don’t want a battle over every show. But even more, I don’t want to look stupid—not to mention condescending—by doing lousy projects. Wouldn’t you rather do things that turn out well? Your viewers will try a good idea and feel clever, like they can really do home improvements by themselves.”

  “I suppose you have a point,” she grudgingly admitted.

  “The show is a pretty good idea.” He sounded even more grudging than she did. “Maybe you should toss the books and get out of the studio. Get more hands-on experience.”

  “I built a hummingbird condo when I was only elev
en. I have experience.”

  “Did the birds move in?”

  “I don’t remember,” she lied, knowing it was still in her grandfather’s attic with other things he was storing for her.

  She’d been too proud of it to put it outside to weather.

  He plopped the chair down on all four legs and leaned close, his arms resting on his knees.

  “We weren’t exactly cuddly-cozy on the show today,” he said.

  “Ha.”

  “When the audience asked if I have a girlfriend…”

  “I was there. My hearing is fine.”

  “The point is, if we were really dating, there would be some chemistry between us.”

  “Chemistry isn’t my field, but I seem to remember oil and water don’t mix.”

  He wanted something, and she wasn’t going to like it. Given his stage fright—she’d seen it before, and he had it bad—he’d agreed to do the show too easily.

  “My grandfather is sure to watch tomorrow, and he’ll pick up on your antagonism.”

  “Antagonism. What do you expect when you make a shambles of the show? It’s fine with me if you never come near this station again.”

  “No choice. I signed a contract, so you’re stuck with me. Now you owe me.”

  “I’m just your pretend girlfriend. You did say ‘pretend’?”

  “Of course, but it won’t do me any good if Marsh thinks I’m faking.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  She stood, her signal that there was nothing to discuss. “Marsh is coming to the construction site after work Friday to see how the work’s coming. He likes to play sidewalk superintendent every once in a while.”

  “He needs a hobby,” she said dryly.

  “It’s a chance to prove we’re really an item.”

  “We’re not.”

  He ignored her protest. “I already told him we hooked up after the first show. So, if you show up while he’s there, we’ll pretend we’re going on a date.”

  She knew it. She knew there was going to be more to this agreement than she bargained for.

  “That is so juvenile. You can’t really believe I’ll ever again set foot anywhere near that place.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to do your act again. Just show up, meet Marsh and—”

  “And you’ll tell Grandpa what a nice girl I am while your crew hoots and hollers for another performance.”

  “They knock off at five on Friday. You’re not in any danger if you come at six.”

  “What would my motivation be?”

  “Your show,” he said flatly.

  “You said you signed a contract.”

  “I did.”

  He said it with so much satisfaction she began to feel threatened.

  “You wouldn’t—”

  “Do every show exactly the way I want to? You bet I would.”

  She had visions of havoc on the set, screaming fans, total chaos. The show might get good ratings that way, but everything she’d worked to accomplish would go down the drain. She’d end up as a straight man in a cartoon, the underdog clown in a circus of mayhem.

  She groaned theatrically, but inside she was appalled at the power she’d blithely handed over to him.

  “You hate being on TV.”

  “Oh, yeah, I do, but you have to admit today’s show was lively.”

  “The second most lively I’ve ever done,” she admitted unhappily.

  “What was the first? Oh, yeah, the paint stripper.”

  “All right,” she said, her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached. “What time should I make my very brief appearance?”

  “Six will be fine. Cole can drive the company truck home, and I’ll go with you.”

  “Great, I’ll be stuck with taking you home.”

  “Be nice to Gramps,” he warned.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Oh, and wear clothes.”

  He ducked out the door before she could sputter an answer.

  That wasn’t all she was going to wear.

  6

  “He’s here.” Gus stuck his head into the trailer and delivered the bad tidings with glee.

  “Marsh is here already?”

  Zack checked his watch. It was only three o’clock, hours before his grandfather had said he’d be there.

  “Yup, he’s supervising the installation of the urinals. Mike isn’t too keen on supervision.”

  Great. Now he had to calm down a prima-donna plumber and find something to keep his grandfather out of everyone’s hair.

  Unlike the average sidewalk superintendent, Marsh felt completely free to share the benefits of his long experience with men trying to get their work done. What the chair of a baby products company could tell construction workers, Zack would never know.

  Maybe it was Marsh’s way of making amends for his vehement opposition to Bailey Construction when Zack and Cole first started it. Whatever his reason, the old boy could be a nuisance. Zack hurried to the building where workmen were finishing the inside.

  “Marsh, good to see you,” he said, tracking him down in an unfinished men’s room.

  And Megan thought he wasn’t an actor.

  “I thought you might have some ideas on traffic flow around the bank,” Zack continued, offering to let his grandfather do what he liked best—give advice.

  “Another time, maybe, Zack. I’m going to Palm Springs for the weekend. Maybe get in a few decent rounds of golf. Never saw so much rain in May.”

  “Megan’s picking me up here at six. I thought you’d want to meet her.”

  “I saw the television show. She didn’t seem to like you much.”

  “That’s just show business. The audience likes it when we disagree.”

  “Well, I have a plane to catch.”

  Marsh Bailey was a silver fox, still handsome for his age. His hair wasn’t visibly thinning, and he wore it cropped in a precise short cut. His idea of informal was khaki slacks with his black wing tips.

  “Another time then.” What else could he say?

  Marsh left for the airport, and Zack had another problem. Megan was coming to meet his grandfather. He had to stop her. No way did he want her to think she’d been lured there for a phony reason.

  Cole returned to the site before Zack could call Megan, and by the time they talked about five or six pressing work-related problems, he couldn’t reach Megan at the studio. The receptionist said she’d gone out to run some errands.

  If she got mad about Marsh not being there, what could she do? Fire him? He’d be glad to have her try.

  For the next couple of hours, he lost himself in tedious desk work. He didn’t realize what time it was until Cole stuck his head into the trailer.

  “Your pizza is here,” his brother said.

  “What pizza? I didn’t order a pizza. I’m just waiting for the queen of the airwaves to show.”

  “Well, you’ve got one. I’m leaving. See you Monday.”

  Zack stretched lazily and went to the door. Outside, a frizzy-haired redhead in owlish shades was holding a giant pizza box. She was wearing a bulky, dirty yellow leather jacket with navy wool sleeves that probably went to her knees.

  “You’ve got the wrong place. I didn’t order pizza.” She whipped off her sunglasses, and he recognized the baby blues.

  “Megan, you didn’t need to bring dinner.”

  “Okay.” She tossed the box into the trash bin. “It’s an empty box left from the crew’s lunch.”

  “Why the delivery girl routine? Where’d you get the clown wig?” He had to suppress a laugh.

  “I have my sources. You said to meet you here. You didn’t say anything about coming as myself.”

  “A technicality. What are you wearing under that getup?”

  “You’ll have to keep guessing. I’m done with construction-site performances.”

  “About my grandfather…”

  “Where is he?”

  “On a plane. He showed up a couple of hours ago. C
ouldn’t wait for you. Sorry, I tried to call.”

  “Great, I psyched myself up for nothing.”

  “How about I spring for dinner? Not a date. Just compensation for wasting your time.”

  “Okay, but only because I’m starving. All I had for lunch was one piece of pizza.”

  “Let me change my shirt. Aren’t you hot with that jacket on?”

  “I’m not taking it off.”

  Why was she being so secretive? He was leery of taking her to a restaurant. She could be wearing something really bizarre under it—imagination failed him—or nothing at all.

  He fantasized about the possibilities for a couple of seconds, then cleared his mind with a cold dose of reality. He wasn’t attracted to Megan. That was the whole point in having her pose as his girlfriend. He didn’t want to be involved with anyone for real, and she won hands down as the woman least likely to trip his trigger.

  He did a quick wash in the trailer john and came out shirtless. In spite of his intention to stick to business with Megan, he enjoyed teasing her. He may have put his bad-boy days behind him, but he was still one of the Bailey twins. Getting a rise out of her was fun.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  “You won’t get fan mail from me by parading around half-naked.”

  The trailer seemed hot to him, but she hadn’t unsnapped the jacket.

  “You could’ve waited outside.”

  He found a navy knit shirt in his gym bag and slipped into it.

  “What about the clown wig? Are you going to wear it all night?”

  “You’ll never know what I wear all night.”

  She didn’t take it off.

  He hadn’t counted on taking her into a restaurant looking like a circus act. If he chose someplace nice, would she relent and ditch the Halloween costume? If she did, what surprise lay under the oversize jacket?

  Maybe a fast-food joint was safer, but he had a better idea.

  “Let’s go, Red. You’re my ride.”

  He opened the door and gave her a playful pat on the bottom, not that she could feel it through the crackly old leather of the jacket.

  Megan supposed she should be mad. She’d dressed silly to show Zack she wasn’t taking this fake-couple business seriously, but his grandfather was a no-show—if he’d ever planned to be there at all. Still, she could cut Zack some slack on this part of the deal. It was messing with her show that really riled her.