CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Paige scowled at her reflection and stood on her tiptoes trying to see more of the dress. The tiny bathroom vanity mirror only afforded a boobs-up view. “We need to move,” she announced.
Becca stuck her head in from the hallway. “Damn, you look amazing. Why are we moving?”
“We need a bigger mirror. And a dining room table. And I sleep on a twin mattress. I’m twenty-eight, and I don’t have any real furniture. My life is sad, and we should move right now so I don’t have to go to this thing.”
Unperturbed, Becca twirled her finger in the air. “Spin, babe.”
Paige complied, not feeling any excitement at all when Becca applauded.
“It’s perfect.”
The dress was the color of crushed cranberries. The skirt was a short A-line that hit at mid-thigh. The top was fitted with a modest scoop neck. But the modesty disappeared when she turned around and the back was almost completely open, framed from the neck to the waist with a scalloped opening. It was gorgeous, but Paige wished that she was wearing it anywhere but where she had to go tonight.
“I don’t want to go.”
Becca crossed her arms and tapped her fingernails on her arm. “Okay. It’s time whether you want to hear it or not.”
“No. It’s not time. I definitely don’t want to hear it. I want to wallow.”
“You’ve wallowed for twenty-five days. Time’s up. You are going to this party. You are going to smile for the cameras. You are not going to burst into tears when you see Gannon King. And you are not going to shrivel up and die when you see Meeghan Traxx. You are going to go be your fabulous, professional, strong, independent, hot-as-hell self.”
“But I don’t wanna.”
Becca jabbed a finger in her face. “Uh-uh. Does that sound like something the director of a society-changing, award-winning documentary would say?”
“No,” Paige grumbled.
“What would a director of a society-changing, award-winning documentary say.”
Paige pasted on a brilliant, phony smile. “Fuck off.”
“That’s what your eyes say to Meeghan, to the camera,” Becca told her.
Paige noted she didn’t mention Gannon. It was probably because her roommate was enamored with the custom King coffee table he’d had delivered to their place. Sure, it was beautiful, sexy, stunning. All of Gannon’s furniture fell under that label. But it fit so perfectly into their space that Paige had wondered just how quickly Becca had booted Gannon from the apartment. It looked as though he’d had ample time to take measurements.
“I can do this,” Paige gritted out.
“Reputation is everything, and tonight is the night you cement yours as a professional,” Becca reminded her.
“I’m a damn professional,” Paige announced to the mirror.
“That’s my girl. Don’t be anyone’s doormat tonight. Who knows? Maybe you’ll walk out of there with a job offer.”
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Paige got out of the cab and studied the twenty-story building where she would meet her worst enemies. Normally, she didn’t go to these kinds of things. This was a party thrown by the network to showcase the Manhattan apartment recently renovated by Drake Mackenrowe, the network’s real estate flip darling. When she received the invitation, she’d politely declined knowing that: A. It would be filmed for the show’s finale and B. Both Meeghan and Gannon would be there and C. That it was futile to say no. They’d find a way to coerce her.
The network had stood firm, insisting that her presence was required. After all, now that this season’s episodes of Kings Construction were running, she’d become quite popular, they reminded her. When she’d declined again, they’d called out the big guns, and Eddie had invited her to lunch to explain that if she didn’t show her pretty face at what was sure to be a staged humiliation, her services would no longer be required by any show.
With her yes confirmed, Gannon had texted her twice to make sure she was coming. His calls and texts had slowed down to a point where she assumed he’d moved on. But tonight was the first time they’d see each other since New Mexico. And she’d give her left kidney to not have to walk into that building.
Paige clenched her jaw so hard it had reminded her to schedule a long overdue dentist appointment.
It wasn’t that she was a coward, she reminded herself as she straightened her shoulders and headed for the doorman. She just didn’t like drama.
She could do this, damn it. She was a St. James, after all.
“Hi, I’m here for the Welcome Home Network thing,” she said. The doorman in a smart black suit tipped his hat to her in perfect Manhattan fashion and held the door for her.
“Enjoy your evening, Miss.”
In the swank lobby, she discovered a red carpet of sorts set up with a photo station and a network reporter doing live interviews. Fully intent on skipping the fuss, Paige started toward the wall of elevators only to be stopped by a fresh-faced intern with a headset and a clipboard.
“You must be Paige,” he said, smiling with teeth whiter than nature allowed.
“It appears I am,” she said.
“Great. Now you’re just going to have your picture taken there on the WHN backdrop, and then Esme will do a quick thirty second on-camera chat, and then you can go upstairs.”
“I’m not talent,” Paige reminded Toothy. He was adorable and friendly. Just the sort of person she’d want as a PA on a project.
He smiled, unperturbed. “You’re on my photo and interview list, and you look fabulous.”
She certainly did in this dress. And if the network wanted her to play the heartbroken whatever to Meeghan’s heroine, they could admire both of her metaphorical middle fingers.
“What’s your name?” she asked Toothy.
“Bradley.”
“Bradley, you get me through this without looking like an ass, and I may have a use for you in a few months.”
“If you can get me out of carpet arrivals, I will kiss your feet.”
She fished through her clutch for a card. “Email me. I have a project coming up next year that’s going to need a lot of underpaid but enthusiastic people.”
“You’re a goddess. And just so you know, they’re planning to ambush you in the video interview.”
“Bradley, you’re hired.”
Riding the high and ready for battle, she strode over to the photographer and flashed her the power smile, one that vibrated in her bones. A harried looking assistant with a headset then escorted her over to the camera crew. She was in line behind one show host, a popular designer, and the network’s online editor. The host she recognized as a vlogger for the Welcome Home Network’s website. Esme was in full on camera makeup, and her hair had the look and sweep of a fresh blowout. The assistant snuck behind the camera and whispered something to the host, and the woman’s gaze flew to Paige.
Esme waved her forward and Paige shot an uneasy look behind her. “Sorry. Excuse me,” she said, slipping past those ahead of her.
“Paige!” Esme greeted her as if they were long lost friends, and Paige took a moment to desperately miss being behind the camera. “It’s so wonderful to have you here today. Now, you just stand right there exactly like that, and we’ll have you on your way in no time.”
Esme beamed at the camera, and Paige followed suit feeling like her jaw would freeze from the effort.
“I’m here with Paige St. James, field producer and assistant director of everyone’s favorite surprise reno show, Kings of Construction!” Esme announced to the glass lens. “I heard you had some excitement this season.”
Of course she’d heard that. “We had a fantastic season,” Paige said, not taking the bait. “We were fortunate enough to work with some really wonderful families and very talented local contractors. I can’t wait for everyone to see their stories and experience the renovations.”
“You look like you’re all healed up after your on-set accident,” Esme said, flashing her a faux pouty look.
“Some bumps and bruises from a wind storm. No permanent damage.” Inspired, Paige did a slow turn for the camera as if to show she was injury free.
“That dress is stunning,” Esme gushed.
“Thank—”
She was nudged hard from behind into Esme. Turning, she saw Meeghan Traxx, arms akimbo, cleavage erupting from the tight white bodice of her lace up dress. She looked like a prostitute pretending to be a virgin.
“Why don’t you ask her about her supposed relationship with Gannon?” Meeghan said, drumming her fingernails on her hips.
When Bradley said ambush, he hadn’t been kidding.
“I’m sure everyone is curious to know if you and Gannon—” Esme began.
But Meeghan was running the interview now. She tossed those heavy blonde curls over her shoulder, her extensions slapping Paige in the shoulder. “It’s not true,” Meeghan announced looking into the camera. “Our little Paige here had a crush on my man, and who could blame her? I mean, look at him.”
Paige thought about defending herself and then decided she might as well see where this idiot was going.
“So you and Gannon were never together?” Esme attempted the clarification, but Meeghan pulled the mic away from Paige.
“Never. In fact, it’s kind of sad that she thinks some worthless little production assistant could tempt Gannon King away from this.” She smoothed her hand down her side.
“Meeghan, I feel like we should get a few things straight,” Paige said, smiling sweetly. “First of all, production assistants are not worthless. Without them you wouldn’t have anyone picking up your iced skinny soy vanilla latte with extra whip. Secondly, I used to be a production assistant, and I’m now a field producer, and I don’t recall asking for your opinion on me or my life.”
“You’re just jealous that he wants me,” Meeghan tossed her hair again, and Paige felt the breeze.
“I couldn’t care less who you do or don’t date. I’m here to do a job, and I take my responsibilities very seriously,” Paige said coolly.
“Listen, you pathetic little nobody. Someone like you,” Meeghan said swiping her finger down the front of Paige’s dress, “could never come between me and Gannon. No hard feelings, sweetie.”
Paige’s hand balled into a fist as all of her calm down techniques flew out of the window.
She felt an arm slip around her waist. “I leave you alone for five seconds, and trouble just finds you.” Paige looked up, way up, at the newcomer. He was tall and lean, blonde and built, with bright blue eyes and a crooked grin. Drake Mackenrowe was even more attractive, in a polished preppy way, off screen than he was on.
If Gannon was the rough-around-the-edges bad boy of TV, Drake was the elegant knight in shining armor.
“I’m not sure what your problem with Paige is, but I don’t think she’s spared you a second thought, Megan,” Drake said smoothly without looking away from Paige.
“It’s Meeghan.”
“Of course it is,” Drake sighed. He finally spared Meeghan a look. “Your eyelashes are coming unglued.”
Meeghan gasped and reached for both eyes.
“Come on, gorgeous,” Drake said, aiming that crooked grin at Paige. “Let’s get you some champagne.”