Chapter Four
“Nothing worthwhile will come from screaming. At least not outwardly.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #23
Cal stood at the red Formica countertop of the Cadillac House late Wednesday afternoon, sketching a small wine fridge onto the approved plans. Then he erased the lines and moved the fridge to another section of the soon-to-be-enlarged kitchen. He gave a quick nod. It would barely take away any usable space if put there.
He glanced up as Pete Logan entered the room. Pete had been working for him since Cal took over the business six years before, but they’d known each other long before that. They’d played on the high school basketball team together, and in the years since, their friendship had grown.
“You hear back on that final permit?” Cal asked.
Pete waved a piece of paper in the air. “Just came from the courthouse.”
“Good deal.” The city had come through, rushing all approvals as they’d promised.
Cal tossed a glance out the kitchen window, wondering if Jill had gotten hers, too. He had a direct line of sight into the Bono House living room, but there was no sign of her. He knew she was over there, though. Her pickup had been sitting in the driveway since he’d arrived early that morning, and every light in the house remained on.
Heather and Trenton were likely still on-site, as well. Like he and Pete, the three of them would have spent the last few days buried in details to ensure that demo could start first thing the following morning.
Along with lining up permits and inspections, and working out specifics for a very tight budget, he and Pete had also created a schedule for everyone on We Nail It’s crew who wanted to be a part of the work at the house. Men would be rotated out on a weekly basis, and though it would add a layer of difficulty to keeping things running seamlessly, Cal knew his men could handle it. He had a good team.
That would be the tip of the iceberg with the craziness of the upcoming weeks, though. Because as Cal had discovered today, filming a show about a renovation job was way more than simply doing the renovation job. By the time Cal had arrived that morning, Patrick and his crew had already been on-site wiring cameras and lighting throughout both houses. Interview stations had been prepared, both inside the homes and out, catering had pitched a tent and filled it with food, and no less than three producers had spent time “coaching” him for when the cameras started rolling.
Then Bob and Debra Raines had arrived. And that’s when the reality of filming a reality show had truly set in.
Cal hung his head in exhaustion, rubbing at the tight muscles in the back of his neck, and realized that Pete had left the room. He could hear footsteps coming from the second floor as Pete made a final sweep of the house, and Cal reminded himself to give his best foreman a hefty raise before the six weeks were up. Pete would be splitting his time between the Cadillac House and all the other jobs currently on their roster, and Cal knew the other man had to already be as bone tired as he was.
But then, Pete didn’t have quite the same mental contortions going on as Cal.
He looked out the window again. Jill had been screwing with his mind since the second she, Heather, and Trenton had stepped out of the truck two days before. By sending him to the café, Patrick had set up Jill to arrive at the houses ready to blow a gasket. Cal had understood that. He’d gone along with it. And then he’d seen the look on Jill’s face when she’d connected all the dots. He might be angry with her, but he hadn’t wanted her to make a fool of herself on camera. So he’d called Heather.
There had been no return call requesting a delay in filming, though. There had been nothing from them. Just three confident women climbing from the cab of the truck, all walking tall and looking as if they planned to kick anyone’s butt who got in their way.
Cal hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Jill for a second. She’d surprised him with her calmness. With her control. Of course, she hadn’t exactly followed Patrick’s plans for a meet and greet in the middle of the street, either. Instead, she’d acknowledged to Patrick that she could see who her competition was, and that Bluebonnet Construction was thrilled to be going up against such a talented competitor. They couldn’t wait to have their skills gauged against his.
Cal had overheard all of this from a safe distance, of course, due to the death stare she’d fired when he’d gotten within fifty feet of her.
Once Jill had finished laying out how she’d seen the day going, Patrick had struggled for an excuse to do any differently. He couldn’t very well admit that the entire point of putting them face-to-face right off the bat had been to capture her losing her cool, so the man had conceded, and they’d gotten down to the business of choosing houses.
A coin toss had happened, Cal had won, and they’d finally scored their first glimpses of the houses’ interiors. And against his better judgment, he’d ended up choosing the exact house that he hadn’t wanted.
He sighed with frustration. He’d picked the home that nearby residents swore housed a ghost. The home hadn’t been worked on in fifty years—therefore, he knew his contingency fund, as well as his timeline, would be on shaky ground—yet he’d chosen that house anyway. And he’d chosen it only to keep Jill from getting it. Because he’d seen the interest on her face.
That lapse in judgment had not set the tone of the competition the way he’d hoped. Nor had his inability to understand this “new” Jill. Since returning to Red Oak Falls, Jill had either changed course whenever she’d seen him, or turned her head as they passed. And if neither of those were options . . . she’d launched mental daggers via her eyes. She’d hid her hatred of him from no one.
Yet during the last three days—though never actually saying anything nonscripted directly to him—she’d been pleasant, cute, and downright funny every time they’d had to be in the same vicinity together. And damned if it hadn’t been hot to watch. As hot as when she lost her temper. Which she hadn’t done once since arriving on set.
Not during the multiple times Patrick had tried to trick her into sharing a camera with Cal, nor during the official meeting of the teams after Bob and Debra had arrived, the filmed walk-throughs, or the redoing of the coin toss. Throughout all of it, Jill had been nothing but charming. She’d even had Bob and Debra rolling with laughter on several occasions. All while practically glowing every single time a camera had turned her way.
It had all made Cal want to test her. To poke at her just to see if he could get her going.
Because, first . . . he was the one who was supposed to be charming on this set. He had it in his blood, after all. That was his role to play.
But also, if he wasn’t positive that Jill still hated his guts, he’d almost swear she didn’t. She’d been that convincing.
He returned his attention to the reno plans, trying his best to shove his ex from his mind. He’d spent far too much time thinking about Jill over the years, and it should have stopped a hell of a long time ago. He pulled out the kitchen design once more and lined it up with the drawings of the dining room and living space. They intended to knock down the interior walls running between the three rooms, so they’d need to get going on that first thing. Patrick’s team would be back to film the demo tomorrow, and along with capturing the action on camera, they wanted to start one-on-ones with the talent.
Cal looked out the window again. He and Jill were part of that talent. And he found himself wondering how long she could keep up her charade. Or if he should do something to try to crack it.
He leaned forward to see more of the other house and finally caught sight of her coming in the back door. Her hair, as usual, was the first thing he noticed. He’d never crossed paths with another human being whose hair had the same inky blackness as Jill’s.
He let his gaze scan over her body as she passed in front of the dining room windows. Not one thing about her had changed over the years.
“Need me to do anything else before I go?”
Cal jumped as if Pete had stabbed him. He hadn’t heard Pete return from upstairs.
Then, when he realized that Pete stood at the back door instead of on the other side of the room, he glanced behind him to peer through the kitchen’s opening, toward the front of the house. How had he missed Pete coming back downstairs?
“We’re good.” Cal returned his attention to his friend. Clearly, he’s been too engrossed in thoughts of Jill to pay attention. He put his back to the window. “I plan to get out of here myself soon.”
Pete nodded, then he angled his head toward the window behind Cal. “Do I need to cover that up? I can bring over a piece of cardboard.”
Pete had been around when Cal returned alone from Vegas. He was the only one Cal had ever talked to about his and Jill’s breakup, and the months that followed it had been pretty rough.
“No.” Cal offered no other words.
“She’s a cool one.”
Cal lifted a shoulder. “I can be just as cool.”
Pete’s brows rose before he crossed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Cal. He peered through the glass that looked out over Jill’s house, while Cal remained stoically facing the other direction.
“Not hard on the eyes, either,” Pete mused. “Impressive the way she’s been a full participant during filming so far . . . yet has managed to never once acknowledge your existence.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything different.”
The truth was, though, that Cal had once expected a heck of a lot different. From both of them. And it pissed him the hell off the way she continued to ignore him after all this time.
Pete finally turned from the window, and as he mimicked Cal’s stance by leaning against the sink, he shot Cal a hard look. “Five and a half more weeks. Keep your head in the game.”
“My head’s always in the game.”
Pete nodded. “No need for me to be concerned, then.” He walked out of the room, and as the front door closed on the opposite side of the house, Cal let out a ragged breath.
Then he turned, and once again looked out the kitchen window.
Music from an ’80s hair band blasted from the portable speakers sitting in the front room, echoing throughout both floors of the house. Trenton had brought the speakers over earlier that day in preparation for demo the following morning, and Jill had located an ’80s station on her phone and plugged it in. The music choice seemed fitting, given that they were working on the Bono House. She’d never been a big ’80s music buff, but the almost incomprehensible screeching filling her head was exactly what she needed.
She’d convinced Heather and Trenton to leave about thirty minutes before, swearing she wouldn’t be far behind them, then she’d checked to make sure the lights were off at the house next door. She was alone.
And there was one thing she had to do before she could go home.
She settled a pair of goggles over her eyes and twisted her hair up behind her head, then she picked up the sledgehammer she’d brought in from her truck. She tested the weight of the tool in the palm of her other hand as she eyed the first wall she intended to take down. It wasn’t that she wanted to get a head start on Cal by staying late, she just had pent-up frustration she needed to shed. Frustration that came from spending the last three days acting.
Or, at least, acting like she didn’t mind being around Cal.
She rolled her shoulders, loosening up her too-tight muscles, and angled her head from side to side to stretch out her neck. She could use a good massage. But more than that, what she really wanted was to rear back and treat the sledgehammer as if it were a baseball bat.
She dropped her gaze to the tool gripped in both hands. Cal had been the one to teach her this trick.
Then she grunted as she pulled back and swung. The head of the sledgehammer splintered slats between two studs, instantly showering the small kitchen with chaos, and she retracted her arms and swung again.
Damn man.
She brought the sledgehammer up over her shoulders and chopped down with a vertical strike. The section of wall she connected with shattered as if a small bomb had gone off inside it.
She didn’t want to think about Cal. Or be near Cal.
The hammer sliced through the air once more, this time connecting with the side of the lower cabinets. They splintered, as well, and the case of bottled water that had been sitting on top dropped to the floor.
And she certainly didn’t want to be thinking about the day that Cal Reynolds had first handed her a sledgehammer and told her to go to town.
She swiped loose strands of hair out of her eyes and jabbed forward with the head of the tool, pounding the weight of it over and over into another section of the wall until there was nothing left but studs.
Cal should not be in her life these days. He’d given up that right. And she should not have to worry about being caught on a stupid camera staring at him!
She took another swing at the cabinets.
Stupid cameras. She’d played the part they’d expected with Bob and Debra today, and she’d done an excellent job. She’d played the part for the last three days! And throughout it all, she’d been damn near perfect. However, every single time she’d so much as peeked next door—just to see if she could get a read on how things were going—she’d found at least one of the cameramen turned her way.
“They need to leave me alone!” she shouted as she wound up and took another swing. The redheaded cameraman’s name was Len. She’d learned that not long after getting into the house Monday morning and discovering that it was his job to stay on her.
Trenton and Heather liked Len. They thought he was a big teddy bear.
“Len needs a new hobby!” She swung again. That time taking out the pantry door.
“And to trim his stupid beard!”
After slamming the head of the sledgehammer into the last unmarred surface scheduled to come down in the room, she left the tool wedged in the wall, and bent over at the waist. With hands on her knees, she fought to catch her breath, her panting so loud that it temporarily blocked the music coming from the front of the house. Who needed a gym when they could have a sledgehammer and a couple of walls to tear down?
She scrubbed the back of her hand at the sweat collecting along her hairline and hung her arms and head toward the floor. Gravity pulled at her muscles, stretching them out, and when she once again straightened, she discovered that the door leading out the back of the house now stood open.
And that Cal Reynolds stood just on the other side of it.
“I see you still remember how to swing a sledgehammer,” he said.
Anger scorched her insides. “Get out of my house.” She pointed to the backyard.
He only crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m not kidding.” She would have swung the sledgehammer again, but her shoulder muscles pleaded for a break.
“And it’s good to see you actually speaking to me again.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I am not speaking to you.”
“Could have fooled me.” He lifted one booted foot onto the half step leading into the house. “Just like you have everyone else around here fooled. They think your little temper tantrum at the diner Monday morning was a fluke. That you’re nothing more than cute and charming little Jilly-Bean Sadler.”
“Do not call me Jilly-Bean,” she growled. She wanted to take the sledgehammer and pound it into his smug face, but since that would likely only get her thrown in jail, she grabbed it and went for one more swing instead. Only, in her disgruntled state, she connected with the wrong wall. She took out a chunk of an outer wall, punching a hole clear through to expose the pipe running the length of it—as well as the yard on the other side.
“Be careful there, Jilly-Bean. Wouldn’t want you creating more work for yourself.”
She whirled and jabbed a finger in Cal’s direction. “You don’t get to call me Jilly-Bean ever again. Or Jilly. Or Jill, for that matter. You don’t get to call me at all.”
She shoved her goggles to the top of her head as the music in the other room switched, the new song starting off with a heavy bass thumping in the background, and she worked to calm herself down. Nothing worthwhile would come from screaming at the man she hated most in the world. “This is not me speaking to you,” she began in a strained, but much more sedate voice. “This is a contractor informing a trespasser that if he doesn’t get out of the house she’s renovating, then he’ll be answering to the police.”
She once again pointed to the backyard.
“Now leave.”
He didn’t leave, but he did slide his foot back down beside his other one. The laughter also disappeared from his eyes. He held up both palms. “I just came over to see if we could call a truce.”
“I don’t do truces.”
“Come on, Jill.” He tilted his head. “It’s been almost twelve years. I’ll admit that I handled things poorly back then. Very poorly. In fact, I’ve wanted to say that to you for a long time. I’m sorry about the way things went down.”
“But you’re not sorry that they went down to begin with?” she asked. Not that she expected him to be.
Or that she cared one way or the other.
“I’m sorry I didn’t handle things in a more grown-up fashion,” he clarified, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he actually meant the words. “I know my actions hurt you, and for that I do apologize. Sincerely.”
She didn’t want his apology.
The man had ripped her apart by doing the only thing she’d ever asked that he not do. That he’d sworn he would never do. So no, she didn’t want his apology. Not now. Not ever.
Not so long as she was drawing breath.
Yet as she stood there looking at him, for some reason, it felt as if a tiny portion of the anger she’d been so proudly hauling around for the last twelve years was trying its hardest to leak out. But not in a bad way. It was as if a pin had pricked her outer shell, and she could either plug it to keep her anger securely bottled tight . . . or she could allow the hole to be an escape hatch. Slowly releasing steam until there was nothing left. She wanted to ask if he’d told Heather the truth. Had he really not been the one to tell Texas Dream Home about them?
If not, he’d still jumped at the chance.
He didn’t need this opportunity the way she did, and he knew it. He was doing this purely to hurt her. Because knowing she’d failed in Hollywood clearly wasn’t enough.
She shook her head as if he’d asked her a question. The decisions he made were his alone. She neither wanted nor needed to know the reasons behind them. But she also found herself unable to immediately repeat her demand that he go. Instead, she dropped the sledgehammer to the floor and grabbed a bottle of water from where it had rolled across the room.
Unscrewing the cap, she drank the entire bottle, and when she finished she decided to say one thing to him before she kicked him out. Because it was important to her.
“You didn’t have to make that offer.”
When he only shot her a questioning look, she added, “In the truck Monday. To get them to delay filming.”
She couldn’t have him thinking his gesture had mattered.
“Oh.” He gave a casual nod. “I guess not.” Then some of his smugness returned. “Should have known you wouldn’t need any help from me.”
“I don’t. But I also have more sense than to lose my shit on camera.”
“Is that so?”
She braced herself, thinking he’d bring up the two chairs she’d sent flying across the linoleum as she’d left the café, but he surprised her by looking around at the damage she’d done tonight instead. At the dust particles floating through the air. The room looked like a war zone.
Then he brought his gaze back to hers. “Yet wouldn’t you call what you’ve just done a hefty dose of that very thing?”
“And do you see any cameras following me around at this very moment?”
When his gaze lifted to the far corner of the room, Jill had the violent urge to throw up. She’d completely forgotten about the cameras that had been installed “for those moments when the crew wasn’t around.”
Son of a—
“What do you think, Jilly-Bean?” Cal taunted. He brought his dark gaze back to hers, laughter dancing in it. “Think they’re recording right now?”
“It doesn’t matter if they are.”
He laughed out loud at her lie, and he laughed so loud and so long that his voice boomed right over the guitars shredding in the other room. As it continued, Jill found herself once again having the desire to pound the sledgehammer into his face. So much for that escape hatch.
“Tell me another one,” Cal said when he finally got himself under control. “No need to stop now. You’ve been entertaining me all week with your ‘acting’ skills.”
He air quoted the one word that he knew would get under her skin the most, and that was the final straw. Dammit, even after all this time, the man could slice her to the core. She marched across the room, stopping only when she got within two feet of him.
“My shit is fully intact, Calhoun Reynolds. Now and always. No need for you to worry.” She motioned to the mess around her. “What you see here is simply Bluebonnet Construction getting a jump on the competition. A competitor they’re going to grind into the ground. So you run along now.” She waggled her fingers at him. “Go find someone else to play your games with, because sweetheart, it is not going to be me.”
She slammed the glass-paneled door in his face, and when he didn’t immediately turn away, she shot him the bird.
He only smiled. And danged if her pulse didn’t try to flutter at that. The stupid man and his stupid charm.
“Go away,” she mouthed, and in return he winked.
Then he blew her a kiss.
She gaped. But before she could pick her jaw up off the floor and figure out how to retaliate, he’d disappeared into the night.