“I know, I know. I’m late.” Michael Zorn tore into the production offices for Handymen and seized the black coffee the production assistant, Franka, held out for him. “Is Lacey on the warpath yet?”
“Lacey’s always on the warpath. Oh, and heads up. Apparently our fearless director has info on some exciting changes and new directions for the show.” An exaggerated eye roll accompanied Franka’s air quotation marks.
“Crap.” Michael took a gulp of coffee, scalding the back of his throat. He winced and swallowed some more. “I should have taken my clients out for a long, drawn-out lunch after our meeting.”
“Now, now.” Franka patted his cheek and ushered him toward the meeting room door. “You’re the star of the show, big guy. Time to face the music.”
Stifling a grumble, Michael opened the door. The whole team had gathered, everyone from the cameramen to the makeup ladies. He ignored the many looks and headed to his usual seat, the one next to his brothers and co-stars, Eli and Nick. Eli had the decency to cover his smile, but Nick just chuckled. Spoiled brat.
Lacey Styles, their director, had been in the middle of a speech, but closed her rouged mouth when Michael entered. She waited until he was seated comfortably. Well, as comfortable as he could get in the ridiculous designer chairs she’d insisted on buying for the office. They were so delicate they barely contained his bulk and creaked as he settled in.
As he’d grown accustomed to doing, Michael waited for the zing of electricity he used to feel in Lacey’s presence. There had been a time when he couldn’t wait to see her, when a glance from her would make the hairs on his arms stand at attention, to say nothing of various other body parts. However, as he sat across from her today, it was as one co-worker facing another. He wasn’t even angry any more. If anything, he felt sorry for her.
“Michael, how good of you to join us.” She glanced at her watch. “A whole twenty minutes late.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I just came from another meeting. It ran over.”
“Oh.” She inclined her head. “I’m thankful you could squeeze us in. Considering this has been our regular meeting time every month for the past year, I can see how it might be hard to lose track.”
“Perhaps you’d like to reprimand me later, you know, in private.”
Louie, one of the camera guys, hooted from the back of the room.
“Knock it off, Louie,” said Michael.
“I’m happy reprimanding you here,” continued Lacey. “After all, you’re the one who disrupted my meeting.”
Michael bit back the comment on his tongue. Had he expected anything less from her? The woman had a flair for drama and sought it everywhere. It was only one of the reasons he’d called an end to their relationship.
“Lacey, when I accepted this job…”
“You mean when the Inspiration Network plucked you from obscurity and made you the star of your own home renovation TV show, fulfilling all your dreams?”
His dreams or hers? Some days, he wasn’t sure.
“Hey,” Nick piped up. “Michael’s not the only star here, remember? Last I checked, the show was still called Handymen, emphasis on the men.”
“I could never forget you, Nick. Or you, Eli.” She smiled at each of them in turn, dropping the grin when she turned to Michael. “But my issue is with your big brother today. When I call a meeting, it’s not for shits and giggles. We have important things to discuss and I need you to be here, Michael.”
“I realize that and I’m here now. But as you may recall, my brothers and I still run our own contracting company. It’s because of the reputation of our company that the Inspiration Network decided to pluck us. We have our own clients outside the show.”
“You employ people to handle your contracting clients.”
“It doesn’t mean we don’t stay in the loop. If a client wants my advice, he gets it. So now that we understand each other, how about catching me up to speed, rather than lecturing me?” He offered her his brightest smile, the one that told her in no uncertain terms he couldn’t give a toss for her shits and giggles.
Lacey held his gaze for a moment, her blue eyes sparkling with frost. That was Lacey for you. She alternated between playing the cold Amazon queen in public and the wounded doe in private. God forbid she show some genuine vulnerability or a hint of concern for others. She might like to see others squirm, but he wasn’t about to sit and swivel for her.
She straightened her pile of notes. “As I was about to say before you arrived, Michael, the network wants us to explore some new avenues. To be frank, they don’t think we’re sexy enough.”
“Sexy?” Eli asked. “Handymen is all about helping people renovate their homes. There’s nothing sexy about it.”
Lacey’s overly-bubbly laugh grated on Michael’s nerves. “Eli, in case you and your brothers have never looked in the mirror, you’re a good-looking group of men. If you stopped to read any of the demographic reports I send you, you’d know most of our viewers are women. As much as they appreciate the show for its helpful do-it-yourself renovation hints, many of them watch because they’re secretly hoping you guys might drop your tool belts. Have you seriously never checked out the social media pages? You all have groupies.”
Nick’s eyes widened with intrigue, proving Michael’s theory about him and his brothers. Michael had inherited the take-charge attitude. Eli was the calming influence in their relationship. Nick, as younger brother, had long ago landed the biggest ego in the trio.
“Really? I need to go online more.” Nick whipped out his cellphone and clicked the screen. “Where exactly does one find Twitter?”
Lacey clapped a hand over her mouth. “I swear you Zorns live under a pile of two-by-fours.”
Michael glared at Nick. “Could you troll for groupies on your own time?” He returned his attention to Lacey, somehow even more annoyed than he had been ten seconds ago. “Define sexy.”
“Well, for starters,” she replied, reaching into a bag at the side of her chair, “they’d like the three of you to ditch the blue jeans and modest shirts and wear these under some coveralls.” She pulled out white sleeveless tees emblazoned with the show’s logo and held them up.
Michael’s jaw dropped. Someone, in his wisdom, had also included little cartoon avatars of the brothers next to the logo. The tiny handymen each wielded a tool of the trade and had exaggerated muscles. Popeye on a spinach bender could not have looked more ridiculous.
Judging from the masculine gasps next to him, Eli and Nick had also entered states of abject horror. The guffaws echoing around the room must have come from their burly crew members.
Michael crossed his arms. “I am not wearing a tank top. Especially that one.”
“You tell her, bro.” Eli looked at the shirt the way he might look at a fresh wad of mucus on the sidewalk.
“I think they’re cute,” said Lacey. “Come on, guys. The women want close ups of your guns. You have muscles. Most men would be happy to show them off.”
“No offense, Lacey.” Nick shook his head. “I’m all for sex appeal, but those shirts look like what fake contractors would wear in porn movies. Not that I’ve seen any.”
“Out of the question.” Michael sat up straighter. “Are we done here?”
“Not quite.” Lacey rolled her eyes. “Look, I’ll go back to Inspiration and let them know you’re uncomfortable with the suggested wardrobe. As a compromise, however, I need more energy, more oomph. I’d like you to play a bit more on camera. The three of you come off stiff sometimes. Flirt a little.”
“Flirt?” Michael rotated his shoulders, stretching out the tense muscles. “But most of the guests on the show are couples. I doubt the men want us flirting with their girlfriends. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
She had the sense to blush. The only people who knew about his affair with Lacey were his brothers, but she’d still likely feel the sting of chastisement.
“No one wants you to flirt with the women,” she explained. “Flirt with the camera. You know. Little asides. Winks to the audience, that sort of thing. Act as if you’re speaking directly to the female consumer. Engage her. Make that viewer feel as if she’s the only woman in your life.”
Eli put up his hand, like a kid in class. “You want us to make love to the camera?”
Louie made kissy noises at the back of the room, until Nick silenced him with a crumpled up paper missile.
“This is insane,” said Michael. “When we agreed to host this show, we did so because it would be a reflection of our contracting business. Professional, helpful, and efficient. We didn’t sign up for some weird TV version of Tinder.”
Granted, perhaps he’d already made a mockery of his professionalism by sleeping with the director, but he was only human and he’d learned from his mistakes. Besides, he realized now sleeping with Lacey had been a welcome distraction at a time when he’d needed one. Would he do it all again differently if given the chance? Of course.
With Lacey, he’d found a means to an end. He’d been able to lose himself in mindless sex in order to forget one horrible moment in his past. He hated to admit it, but if it hadn’t been her, it would have been some other woman. He knew that now and he doubted anyone would blame him.
“Look, Michael.” Lacey lowered her voice, an attempt to placate him. “Just keep an open mind for now and trust I will do everything in my power to make you all look good. But in case you’ve forgotten, guys, our competition is not above a bit of gratuitous sex. We’re dealing in fantasy here, and if we can’t deliver it, someone else will. We can’t forget about ratings. If you can help me achieve those ratings in some other way, I’d love to hear it.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet?”
“No.” Michael knew Lacey had protected their interests for the past year, despite their personal problems. The brothers had agreed to do Handymen because they thought it would promote Zorn Contracting. Truth be told, business had boomed, so much so they’d had to take on extra help. Still, none of the brothers had embarked on this venture to become Hollywood stars, or even Canadian TV stars. They simply wanted to promote good workmanship and help home owners recognize the pitfalls of renovation. However, since the show launched a couple of seasons ago, it had become popular. Apparently, just not popular enough.
“I don’t want to let any cats out of the bag,” said Lacey. “But I need everyone here to up their games. Important people are starting to watch this show. In fact, someone at HGTV has even expressed interest.”
This time, jaws dropped all around.
“The HGTV?” asked Michael.
“Yes.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Even Michael had to admit he was impressed. If HGTV picked them up, the show would be broadcast almost everywhere. This was the sort of development for which the team had been hoping. A broader audience, greater resources, and access to better supplies. It was a contractor’s dream come true.
Was it really his dream come true, as Lacey suggested? He supposed he’d be an idiot to say no. As long as the show didn’t become tacky. Michael refused to lower his standards to appeal to the common denominator.
Nick was the first to pipe up. “Will HGTV make us wear tank tops?”
“They’re not tank tops. Look, forget the shirts for now.” Lacey’s eye twitched. “I want everyone here to think about how you can bring more excitement to the show, more emotion. I promise I won’t ask anyone to do a strip tease. Now is everyone set as far as the next taping? Our guests are Emily Daniels and Trent Andrews, the couple who want to renovate an old house in Little Italy so they can sell organic soup.” Her lip twisted. “Apparently the world is in dire need of more watered-down food. Michael, is your team set for supplies?”
“Yeah. I’ve been in touch with Ms. Daniels by email several times. She’s confirmed all her preferences. There have been no issues with sponsors. We’ve got all our appliances and hardware ready to go at the warehouse.”
“Good. Thanks, everyone.”
The crew members stood and began to disperse.
When he stood up, Lacey called him over. “Michael, do you have a minute?”
Here we go again. A dull pain flared at his temple. Stress headache. He’d been having them ever since the incident at the daycare last year. Lacey’s antics only made them worse.
Nick leaned over. “She’s totally going to ask you for a strip tease.”
“Funny, little brother. Just remember, I know about all the skeletons in your closet too.” When Michael winced, both of his brothers looked at him with concern.
Eli pulled him aside. “You got another headache?”
“I’m okay.”
“You need to go back to that doctor.”
“Eli, I’m fine.”
Nick joined in the clamor. “Why are you so stubborn?”
“Oh, because that’s not a trait we all share?”
“Seriously, dude,” said Nick. “It can’t be good to bottle all that shit up. You don’t want to drop dead of an aneurysm.”
“Thank you for the comprehensive diagnosis, Doctor Zorn.”
“Nick’s right, in spite of his tragic bedside manner.” Eli leveled a look at their younger brother. “You need to talk to someone about what happened. You sure as hell don’t talk to us.”
“I did talk to someone. It didn’t help. Besides, there’s nothing more to talk about. Don’t you guys have something to do, you know, other than nattering in my ear?”
Once Eli and Nick finally left the room, Michael reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. What if there was something wrong with him? What if his aches and pains were indicative of something other than plain old stress?
No. He was letting his brothers and their dumbass opinions get under his skin. So he got headaches here and there. Lots of people did. It didn’t mean he was on his last legs. He popped a couple of pills and chased them down with a swig of coffee.
When everyone else had exited, Lacey glided over to where Michael was standing, her stiletto heels making no sound on the carpeted floor. She nodded at the Tylenol bottle in his hand. “You’ve been popping a lot of those lately.”
“Not you too. I have a headache, that’s all.”
“What happened to us, Michael?”
“Exactly what should have happened. We broke up.”
“We didn’t have to.”
“Lacey, how many times do we need to discuss this? You slept with Alistair. That’s sort of a deal breaker.”
She claimed she still held a candle for him. She’d been telling him so at least once a week for the past month. And at least once a week, he told her he’d have nothing to do with her. If she thought he was such a catch, she shouldn’t have jumped into bed with her ex.
It wasn’t often he allowed himself to dwell on the scene the night he caught them, on the sight of their tangled legs and sweat-moistened skin. And when he did now, he barely even felt the acid sizzle in his gut as it had in the moment. Once the initial indignation had worn off, Michael had realized he was only pissed because it seemed like the appropriate reaction at finding another man’s hairy ass in his bed.
He didn’t really blame Lacey although he questioned why she felt a need to go behind his back. He’d known deep down they weren’t right for each other. She might like to put up a fuss, but she knew it too. They’d grown tired of each other so quickly he hadn’t even felt it coming on. Admittedly, the sex had been outrageous at first, but they’d been incompatible in every other way. After a while, even the high-octane acrobatics between the sheets had bored him. Clearly, they’d bored her as well.
“I realize I made mistakes, but even before my ex dragged his carcass back on the scene, you and I had stopped sleeping together.”
He wouldn’t argue there. At the end of the day, their priorities were too different. Lacey loved gourmet restaurants, films with subtitles, and boutique shopping. He was pretty sure the sales clerks in every one of those hoity toity Yorkville stores had her credit card number memorized. She just liked…stuff, and lots of it.
Michael wasn’t opposed to stuff. He had stuff. But if someone told him he’d have to live without designer labels for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t shriek and collapse on the floor. On the other hand, if anyone tried to take away his favorite pair of Timberland work boots, there would be hell to pay.
He and Lacey occupied different worlds. Still, she was smart, and beautiful, and he supposed he’d felt a thrill standing next to her at one time. Not any longer. Now he just needed to work with her and keep his cool, something he didn’t do too well.
In fact, if someone were to grade him on his ability to keep cool lately, he’d get a failing grade. At best, a “Participant” ribbon.
After what happened to Jane Ashton, he hadn’t felt very calm or collected. He certainly hadn’t been in the mood for romance. His failure with Lacey was just as much a case of bad timing as it was incompatibility. They’d been over before they began. “We rushed into things. This whole experience just proves we were never right for each other.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“Hell, yeah. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think I’m cut out for the swinging lifestyle.”
“I’m not a swinger, Michael. I had a…lapse in judgment.”
“Among other things.” The headache made Michael’s tone sound gruffer.
“Look, no matter what you think of me, we still have to work together. That means you need to cut out the open animosity. You can’t arrive late to my meetings and treat me with contempt. Whether you like me or not, we are part of the same team.”
“You’re right, but I agreed to do this show because it had integrity. Little by little, I see it changing. I don’t want any part of that, even if HGTV shows interest.”
“Michael, I have your back, but I also need to uphold network decisions. Our show is doing well right now, but it can do better. You can’t call it a day because the network vision doesn’t match yours. Think of the crew. People’s livelihoods are at stake.”
“I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but I’ve built my career providing a superior service. If the network wants this to become Handymen, Kardashian Style, they’ve got the wrong guy.” Throb, throb. He rubbed his temple.
“Just have faith in me, okay? We’ll find a way to make it work, but surely you understand this isn’t just about hammering nails into the wall. We need to tug at the viewers’ heartstrings and share stories that will make them laugh and cry. We’re not just fixing homes, we’re changing lives.” She dropped her gaze and her long dark lashes swept over the tops of her cheeks. “And for the record, I acknowledge sleeping with Alistair was the worst decision of my life. I know we had our problems, Michael, but I miss you.”
He didn’t reply. That saddest part of the whole situation was the fact he didn’t miss her. A warped part of him felt relief upon breaking off their relationship.
“Would it help if I say I’m sorry? Again.”
Michael believed Lacey felt remorse but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure why she still pursued him. He’d always annoyed her as much as she annoyed him, and it wasn’t like she didn’t have other offers.
She ran a hand up his sleeve. “Let me show you how sorry I am. Don’t keep pushing me away. We could be good together again. You know we could.”
He removed her hand. “Don’t.”
“Oh, come on, Michael.” She moved closer, crowding his space. Her strong perfume made his headache flare. “Don’t tell me you’re not even a little bit tempted.”
Anyone else might be. Lacey Styles was a sought-after woman. With her long, dark hair, blue eyes, and model figure, she turned many heads. She’d turned his for months. As soon as he’d begun work on Handymen, he’d grown entranced. Their affair had begun one night after meeting with a potential sponsor for the show. One unexpected kiss had turned into a week-long sex fest, and before he could catch his breath, she’d moved in.
Lacey had spent the next couple of months trying to fix him. Trying to dress him up and take him to gallery openings and museum galas. He appreciated culture, just not when it was being thrust down his throat. To make things worse, she’d treated him like a little girl’s doll. Hell, she’d gone so far as to ask him to wear a tie to a picnic lunch.
That hurt almost as much as her cheating.
Clearly, her affair was the universe’s way of letting him know Lacey wasn’t “the one.” If anything, her old boyfriend Alistair had given him the out he’d needed.
He would not go back there.
When all was said and done, Lacey wasn’t a bad person, and he knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him, not really. If he went back to her, he’d only end up filling her days with frustration. Michael, at thirty-six years old, knew what he liked and knew he wasn’t about to change. If a woman couldn’t accept him and his slouchy, “good old boy” ways, then she wasn’t the woman for him.
He extricated himself from her still-roving hands. “Lacey, I…”
“You haven’t forgiven me. I get it. You’re still hurting.”
“It’s not that I haven’t forgiven you. I’m just not interested anymore. I’m sorry.”
All of a sudden she became fascinated with her designer shoes, digging the pointy toe into the fibre of the carpet.
“I need to know you understand what I’m saying. We can’t have this conversation again. It makes no sense. If you snapped your fingers, Lacey, you’d have men falling at your feet. It’s time to move on.”
“Thank you, Michael. I think I’ve managed to absorb the message.”
It had to be said. He moved to the meeting room door and held it open for her, but she dropped into one of the chairs. She turned her back to him and pretended to skim through her notes. When she tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, he glimpsed her clenched jaw.
Michael hated breaking anyone’s heart, but deep down, he didn’t believe it would take Lacey long to get over him. He may have hurt her today, but he refused to let a woman dangle. Uncertainty bred fantasy, and in his experience, fantasy could be a dangerous thing.
He waited a moment longer, in case she changed her mind, and stood, but she remained seated. Michael exited the room and let the door shut behind him. Hopefully he’d also closed the door on an awkward chapter in their lives.
***
Emily Daniels turned the key and unlocked the old house at the corner of Beatrice and College Streets, the one her grandmother willed her a few months ago. She stepped inside the tiny foyer and held her breath. For a moment, she expected to catch the basil-infused scent of her grandmother’s tomato sauce or even her grandfather’s homemade sausages, but only stale air greeted her. On a sigh, she dismissed her happy childhood memories and marched into the kitchen.
Michael Zorn from Handymen would be here any minute and the perfectionist in her wanted to give the place another once-over. Not that there was any need. With renovations starting next week, no one would be concerned about specks of dust and a lack of air freshener. Still, it used to be her grandmother’s house, and Nonna Olivia always took pride in her home. Even after her grandfather died, her grandmother always kept up with the gardening and home improvements as best as she could, at least until her age put a stop to more strenuous activities. She owed it to Nonna to revive the old place.
Emily leaned on the cracked laminate counter and indulged in a little daydreaming. After the Handymen brothers tackled her grandmother’s house, her house, her business would finally take flight. She’d sacrificed a great deal to get to this point. If everything worked out, her family would be so proud of her.
She glanced at her watch. Where was Trent?
The familiar prickle of dread made her skin itch. It seemed to happen more and more when she thought of her fiancé.
Trent had promised to be here for their first in-person meeting with Michael Zorn. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to him.
Emily: Are you running late?
Emily was never sure anymore if Trent would text her back. He claimed to have no patience for text conversations. This time, he surprised her by answering right away.
Trent: Running late for what?
Her shoulders drooped. Not again.
Emily: It’s the meeting with Michael Zorn. I told you the details last week.
Trent: No, you didn’t. I would have remembered something like that.
Emily: Yes, I did.
Why did he always do this? She knew she told him. He’d been standing at the fridge, eating an apple. She’d made him enter it into his Google calendar.
Trent: I don’t think so, babe. This is the first I’m hearing about it.
Gaping at her phone, Emily searched her memory bank. Had she somehow fabricated the conversation? Maybe they’d been talking about something else? Trent’s certainty made her wonder. Perhaps she’d meant to tell him but got distracted. She’d had lots on her mind lately. She supposed she could have made a mistake.
Impossible. There was no way she would have screwed this up. Still, sometimes Trent made her wonder if she was losing her mind by questioning her actions and denying the things she said. Some days, she felt like a puppy chasing its own tail.
She’d have to handle that issue later.
Emily: Well, are you coming?
Trent: I can’t now. I have plans.
Emily: Trent, this is important.
Trent: Then you should have been clearer. Sorry, babe. Looks like you’ll have to meet with Zorn yourself.
She was about to make a comment about him being selfish but decided it wasn’t worth it. Emily knew Trent was stressed, but so was she. She’d never been on TV before. Surely he could put himself in her shoes for once. God only knew she’d been doing her best to step into his size elevens.
Ever since losing his chef’s job, he’d been unbearable. Forgetting commitments. Snide comments about her soup business dreams. She knew he didn’t mean it. After being fired from such a high-profile kitchen job, he hadn’t been the same. Although she was in no position to diagnose him, she couldn’t help thinking he might be dealing with a case of depression.
The Trent she met two years ago had been charming and funny. This new Trent withheld information and turned his sharp tongue on her all too often. The job loss was making him lash out. In his kitchen at the Imperial, one of Toronto’s top restaurants, he’d been the emperor. His staff had kowtowed to him and never questioned his choices. Emily secretly believed some chefs enjoyed this sort of hierarchy. It gave them an outlet for their inner despots.
In losing his job, Trent had tumbled off his mountain. With no staff to boss around, he’d turned his tyrannical attentions toward her. She’d assumed the role of flunky. Somehow she’d become his sous-chef. A feeble-minded one, if his occasional outbursts were to be believed.
Emily would have to be patient. Once her business took off, once they became financially stable again, she was certain old Trent would resurface.
If he didn’t, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
She scratched her chest to relieve the nervous itch there and looked at the ceiling to focus her thoughts. It would help if she knew Trent was still on board with the Handymen appearance.
“Of course, he is,” she chastised herself. “We both signed on to do the show. He’ll be here when the renovations start. That’s the important part. He knows how much this means to me.”
Although, if he let her down, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Emily ignored the voice of caution inside her, the one that had been putting up red flags ever since she spied the change in Trent. The first time she mentioned the soup business idea, he’d laughed. When she’d questioned him, he apologized but it hadn’t felt sincere. Ever since, he’d shown his derision in countless ways. Joking about her “cute business” to his buddies, all while continuing to live off the money she’d put aside to help her get started. He’d also insisted they postpone the wedding date. She understood that. He wanted to be settled and find work again but married friends had assured her the timing would never be perfect. If they waited for the ideal day and time, they’d be waiting forever.
Some days, she wondered if he wanted to get married at all. Most days, she wondered if she did.
“For better or for worse, right?” Emily found it helpful to remind herself of the vows she would one day take. The words meant a great deal to her. She’d never considered marrying any of her other boyfriends and had known early on she would never utter those vows lightly.
Only surely there was something in the traditional marriage vows that implied the better ought to outweigh the worse.
With a sigh, Emily chose to remain optimistic and concentrate on the positives. Putting Trent’s failings out of her head, she planned what she would say to Michael Zorn.
On a whim, she had written her business plan years ago, sketching it out on a doodle pad. However, she had only recently decided to make it a reality. After taking the plunge and quitting her hellish corporate job, she created a company called From Scratch. Her product? Healthy, organic soups made from her own recipes and some her grandmother taught her. Hoping to cater to busy families who wanted healthy options, she’d package her own spice mixes and even sell fresh soups from her own storefront. The products would have a down-home, rustic appeal. Comfort food that was good for you. Eventually, she hoped to branch out into other ready-to-serve products. She believed people craved a return to good, homemade food, or at least as homemade as possible, and wanted her customers to trust in her products.
Unfortunately, her personal life had taken a nosedive right around the same time she quit her job. Not long afterward, Emily’s grandmother had passed away. A confident, passionate woman, Nonna Olivia was beloved by all who knew her, and in Emily’s eyes, she was a saint. She was also Emily’s greatest champion in the kitchen. She’d left her the house on Beatrice Street with the dying wish her granddaughter renovate it and use it for her soup business. It was the perfect location, in the heart of Toronto’s trendy Little Italy, but the building was as fresh as peeling paint.
Emily had worked her way through her savings after Trent lost his job. Without enough money to renovate the old house on her own, she’d become desperate, searching for ways to keep her dream alive while helping her fiancé stay afloat.
She’d spotted an advertisement for the Handymen show. It seemed an ideal opportunity to renovate with little cost. The Inspiration Network covered a lot of the big ticket items through the help of sponsors and Emily had enough to cover the rest. To her delight, the producers thought her a great candidate for the show. She couldn’t have been happier. Appearing on Handymen was the only way Emily would ever be able to get From Scratch off the ground without having to sell her grandmother’s house or her own body.
As a plus, she’d get to meet those dishy Zorn brothers. She’d been glued to their show since its inception. Even though her fascination stemmed primarily from older brother Michael’s dark bedroom eyes and bulging biceps, she admired their work. The Zorn men and their large crew paid attention to detail and craftsmanship. Their show wasn’t the sort where the team flew in for a weekend and glue-gunned a house together. They remained at the house over the course of a few weeks and made sure nothing would fall down once they left.
There was almost nothing Emily enjoyed more than watching the brothers during a “big reveal,” surprising the happy guests with new appliances and fixtures. Her gaze invariably darted toward Michael Zorn during those moments. He always looked so proud, so warm. So goddamn sexy.
She appreciated Trent’s meticulous grooming, but something about Michael Zorn’s scruffy exterior had her sighing. With his hint of a dark beard and unkempt, black curls, he was the picture of raw masculinity. Always dressed in faded jeans, worn Henley shirts, and work boots, Michael wielded a saw as if it were an extension of his arm. Some of Emily’s favorite moments on the show were when Michael leaned over to cut a piece of wood, his back rippling under his shirt.
She had taken his image to bed with her several times, only the Michael in her dreams always looked up from his projects and turned hungry eyes upon her. The dreams always ended the same way. He’d put down his tools, still sweaty from his hard work, and remove his tool belt. He’d stalk toward her in his steel-toed boots…
“Good Lord, Em.” She shook her head. “Lusting after a TV contractor when you have a perfectly good man in your life? When did you sink so low?”
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact Michael Zorn wasn’t just a TV contractor. If you asked the local papers, he was a hero. They’d christened him one some time ago, and Emily agreed with everything in her. She couldn’t help falling a little in love with the man when he’d rescued those children.
While doing repair work for one of his contracting clients, the owner of a home daycare, he’d stumbled into a violent domestic dispute. The owner’s ex-husband, angry about their breakup, had broken into the daycare with a loaded gun. He’d managed to shoot his ex-wife before Zorn tackled him. If the handyman hadn’t taken action when he did, the children in the daycare might also have been killed.
But Michael Zorn had saved the day, as much as he could under the circumstances. The media had been all over him, despite his apparent reluctance to discuss his act of bravery. Emily remembered seeing several pieces of footage on the local news in which reporters tried to ask him for his take on the incident, but they’d all ended swiftly and in the same fashion; Zorn refused to look at the camera, and said, “No comment,” as he darted away from the reporters.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she whipped it out. “Hello?”
“Emily? This is Michael Zorn.”
She swallowed and realized her throat was parched. She ran her hand through her hair. “Oh. Hello, Michael.” Was it her imagination or was his voice even deeper than it sounded on TV? Now, now, Em. You’re not single. Behave.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way. The traffic is a bit intense at Spadina, but I’m almost there.”
“That’s very considerate of you. Take your time. Thanks.”
The comparisons to Trent sprang to mind without her bidding. She couldn’t remember the last time Trent actually called to tell her he was running late. She swore he liked to keep her on her toes sometimes. Just last week she’d texted him, asking what he was up to and he’d accused her of “keeping tabs on him.”
She barely had time to keep tabs on herself, never mind another person.
She ended her call with Michael and walked into her grandmother’s powder room. The old mirror still hung there. Emily checked her reflection, only to see she’d grown flushed. Not only were her cheeks pink, the top of her chest was covered in red blotches as well. Her short hair stood up from where she’d run her hand through it.
“For crying out loud.” All Michael Zorn had done was call her on the phone, and she looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly debauched.
Pulling a brush out of her handbag, she adjusted her hair, feeling nervous. For some strange reason, the specter of guilt raised its hand, shaking its bony finger at her.
So she liked the sound of the man’s voice. So what? It didn’t mean she was about to run off with him and have his lovechild.
She splashed water on her face until she was content her guilt no longer manifested. Emily then squared her shoulders, returned to the front room, and awaited Michael Zorn’s arrival.