CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The ruffled red throw pillow hit Paige squarely in the face.
“You’ll think about it?” Becca shrieked.
“Ouch! Geez, Becca,” Paige tossed the pillow on the floor out of her roommate’s reach.
“Let me get this straight in my addled brain,” Becca insisted. “Gannon offers you a promotion and a raise that will not only give you directorial experience and enough cash to launch the docu early, giving you the opportunity to say ‘fuck off’ to Kings next season, and you tell him you have to think about it?”
“In a nutshell.”
“Why wouldn’t you say yes and then jump him in gratitude?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe because he lied, ripped my heart out and stomped on it, and let me be humiliated on TV twice by his fake girlfriend?”
Becca scrubbed her hands over her face. Her earrings, tiny bells on thin silver wire, jingled in frustration.
“Babe. I know you don’t blame Gannon for the production company amping up the drama quotient.”
“No, of course not. But I could have been better prepared for it if he’d been honest,” Paige pointed out.
“I’m going to say this because you need to hear it. The bad guy here is not Gannon King. It’s those assholes at Summit-Wingenroth and the damn Welcome Home Network. From where I sit, they played Gannon by setting him up with that shitbag blowup doll, and they played you. All you two did was have real feelings for each other.”
Paige squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay. Maybe it’s more because I can’t trust myself around him. You ever think about that?”
She opened her eyes, her confession stretching out the silence.
Becca crossed her arms, tapped her fingers on her upper arms.
“I just spent thirty minutes in the car with him, and all I wanted to do was climb over the console. How am I supposed to work with him for months on a very personal project for him and not get sucked back into that world?”
Becca raised a questioning finger. “Would it be so bad if you got sucked back in?”
“Bec! I wouldn’t survive that again. He’s so… intense and raw and overwhelming. How can I concentrate on anything when I’m being consumed like that?”
“You think a relationship with Gannon would keep you from pursuing your dreams?”
“I don’t know.” Paige heaved herself off the couch and stormed into the kitchen for a bottle of water. “I don’t feel steady when I’m with him. He’s so… much.”
She shook her head. “No. There’s no way I could go back to him and start everything up again.” She’d be too vulnerable, too scared about losing him again. She’d make decisions based on him, his plans, his goals. Arrange her life around him and do it all gladly. And then one day, she’d wake up and see that she wasn’t her own person.
She was a St. James, and St. James women didn’t organize their lives around a man.
Her mother hadn’t let a relationship stand in the way of her career. She’d known what was important to her, what would get her there, and what would take her further away from it.
But was Leslie St. James happy? A little voice inside Paige asked the question. Was happiness the same as success?
Becca took a deep breath. “Look. I didn’t want to go here, but now I have to. Paige, this documentary thing? It’s not just you in it. It’s me, too. And if you don’t take this job, when are we ever going to start it? You can’t wait this out and go back to a show that’s humiliating you for sport. A show that, according to a friend of mine in post-production at Welcome Home, is blackballing you.”
“What?” Paige’s knees went weak.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that no one is willing to even talk to you about a job? They’re making noise about your non-compete. They want another season of you and Gannon sparking it up on screen.”
He’d known. Gannon had to have heard about the blackballing and offered the job out of pity, out of guilt. And she’d thought it was because he wanted her back. She’d embarrassed herself and slapped at him over his generosity. Beggars didn’t have the luxury of being choosers.
But they could take the opportunity offered and work their asses off.
No matter what it cost her personally.
Paige looked down at the water bottle in her hand and, as if from a distance, watched herself hurl it against the front door before calmly walking down the hall and closing herself in her bedroom.
--------
The brownstone rose four stories out of a tiny brick courtyard within a low wall that butted up against the sidewalk. The front of the building boasted a trio of arched windows on each floor except for the lower level, which lost one window to the tall front stairs in the same milk chocolate tone as the rest of the façade.
If Paige’s dream home had stepped off her secret Pinterest board, it had landed right here on 7th Street. The building faced the greens and golds of a park just across the street, cheerful noise rose from the playground at the opposite end of the block.
“Well? What do you think?” Gannon ranged against the waist-high brick wall, ankles crossed. His jeans rode low on his hips, his green Henley had a rip in one wrist.
“I think if the inside looks anything like the outside, it’s going to be a quick shoot,” Paige said.
He smirked. “You may reconsider that when you see the interior.”
She followed him through the rusted iron gate and up the ten stairs of stoop. The front door, two doors really, were tall and arched to match the windows.
“I’m going in first because I want to see your face.”
“I always wanted my own reveal,” Paige joked.
“Not like this,” Gannon grinned. He gave the doors a shove with his shoulder, and they reluctantly screeched open on their hinges.
“Sounds like a horror movie.”
“Yeah, it’s about to look like one, too.”
She stepped across the uneven threshold behind him and gaped while Gannon found the light switch. It smelled like a horror movie too. Dusty, musty air that she could taste, not just smell.
“You’re insane,” she decided.
He leaned against the newel post of what had once been a grand staircase. It was missing more spindles than it still had. Cabbage rose wallpaper peeled off the wall of the front room and looked like it continued into the next. There were holes, gaping, jagged sections, where floor had once been.
“Just watch your step,” Gannon warned, grabbing her arm when she made a move. The hardwood, she noted, was unsalvageable. Water damage, stains, too many holes to patch. It creaked beneath their feet.
“Is it safe for us to be in here?”
“Mostly,” he said, his cheerful tone full of uncharacteristic optimism.
There were two fireplaces on this floor with white marble surrounds and cracked out slate hearths. Someone had converted one to a gas fireplace with an ugly brass insert.
“Well, at least your table and buffet will fit,” Paige commented, eyeing the space.
“That’s what I’m thinking. Living room up front, dining here, but I want to bust out the rest of this wall to open it to the kitchen. Which is—or was—back here.”
He kept her hand in his and led the way, weaving between holes and ducking under plaster that hung from the ceiling. The linoleum, green and white fleur de lis, peeled up from all corners. There was a faded red counter top with metal edge, a yellow refrigerator that screamed seventies, and nothing else. The tall, skinny door in the back right corner led out to what looked like a jungle of a backyard. Windows lined the rest of the back wall.
“Well, at least you got a fridge in the deal,” Paige said.
“That’s the spirit. I might move it to my office downstairs for beer.”
He took her downstairs, which was worse. Here, a previous owner had put down thick brown carpet that now smelled like cat pee. The walls were paneled a dark, knotty brown. The footprint was the same as above and despite herself, Paige started to see potential. There was another door all the way at the back that Gannon wrestled open onto a shabby patio with a rusted-out wheelbarrow and an old water heater. Above them, the remains of a definitely not-to-code deck wobbled with the breeze.
Gannon pointed out architectural details and talked repointing brick and running new wiring. Paige remained silent and took it all in. He led the way back to the main level and then up the rickety staircase, avoiding the missing treads.
“Easy fixes,” he insisted, holding her hand as she scrambled over two steps.
He flipped light switches and towed her through the space. “I think the master would go on this floor, maybe with a sitting room or some kind of den,” he said. More brown carpet, more cabbage roses, and cobwebs so thick she couldn’t see through them. There was a sagging mattress covered in dubious stains propped up against the wall.
“The bath’s here now, but obviously it needs to be bigger.”
The black and white checkerboard tile looked to be original. As did the plumbing that led to the cast iron claw foot tub. “Oh, Gannon,” she breathed. “You have to keep this.”
“I’m sure as hell not hauling it down that staircase,” he snorted.
“Plumbing, electrical, drywall or whatever,” Paige started ticking items off.
“I can fix it,” he said amicably.
They pushed to the rear of the third floor, finding more windows and another door. “A balcony?” Paige asked swiping a hand over the dirty glass to peer outside.
“Careful, you might get tetanus or diphtheria touching shit around here,” Gannon warned.
“Can we see the backyard… safely?”
“If we don’t breathe too hard on the kitchen deck we should be able to get an idea of the forest for the trees.”
Back down the long flight of stairs to the main floor, Gannon twisted the loose brass knob and wrestled the door open wide enough they could slip out one at a time. The knob fell off and hit the floor with a clang.
“I’ll fix that.”
They carefully moved to the railing, white paint flaking into piles beneath. “Try not to inhale any of that he said, running a hand over the flaking paint. Probably lead-based.”
“Gannon, the entire house is probably dripping in asbestos and mold. You’ll have to bring the electrical and the plumbing up to code, which will be astronomical and a huge pain in the ass with four floors. You can’t keep anything except the tub.”
“What about the mattress upstairs? It’s practically brand new.”
She shook her head, closed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“The question is, are you up for this?”
She looked out over the weeds and tumbling paver walls. The overgrown backyard was more impassible jungle than forest. But Gannon King had vision. Ambitious vision, but if he could pull this off, he’d have a showcase home that he could be proud of.
“What do you see back here?” Paige asked, nodding toward the foliage disaster.
Gannon stepped up behind her, his arms caging her in against the railing. “Down there, a flagstone patio, curved edge into yard,” he said, pointing beneath them. “I’ve always wanted a big ass outdoor fireplace and that would go there.”
“And back there in the corner?” She pointed.
“What do you see?” he countered.
A slow smile worked its way across her face. “A hammock right next to a water feature. Something that makes some noise. Your own oasis in the middle of the city.”
“You’re hired.”
She turned carefully in his arms, and the decking groaned under her feet. She could see it, all of it. If there was anyone in this world who could bring the lovely brownstone back to life, it was Gannon. And she wanted in.
“When do we start?”
The victorious grin she expected from him didn’t come. Instead, he looked serious, intent. “There’s something else you need to know before you officially accept.”
She wet her lips, nervous now because she wanted it so badly. She wanted this job, this house. “What’s that?”
“First, are you dating that Mackenrowe guy?”
Paige blinked. “Who? Drake?”
“You two looked pretty cozy at that thing last month.”
He looked like he felt aggravated that he had to ask the question.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. He kept me from flattening your fake girlfriend’s new nose on camera.”
Gannon, looking relived, ignored the jibe. “I need you to know that I don’t want to be just friends with you. I have every intention of wearing you down and getting back in your bed.”
Her pulse kicked up, thudding away under her skin until she was sure Gannon could hear it.
“I’m not interested in revisiting us,” she said firmly. Except that her voice wavered just slightly. “This is business.”
He shook his head. “It’s never just business with us, Paige. I’m giving you the head’s up, but understand I’m not going to be harassing you, chasing you around set. I’m going to seduce you.”
“Gannon—”
“You want honest, and I want to give you what you want. I need you to take this job because you’re the only one I trust with something this important to me. But I also want to be near you, to see you, touch you.” His rough palm caressed the side of her face with a gentleness she didn’t know he possessed.
“Business and personal don’t mix,” she reminded him. “We already tried that.”
“For you and me, business is personal. Work is our lives. Everything we do is tangled up like that. And I just want you to understand that while I’m going to depend on your professional skills to make this project happen, to make this shithole a home, I’m going to be working my way back into your life.”
“What if I tell you no?”
“To the job or me?”
“Is there a difference?”
“I would never hold a job over your head just to get you back in bed, and if you actually think that I would—”
His flash of anger comforted her.
“I don’t,” she promised. “You’re not that guy.”
“Damn fucking right I’m not that guy.”
“Slow your roll, King. I’m saying yes to the job, and I’m saying I’m not interested to the relationship.”
“I accept your yes, and we’ll see about your ‘not interested.’”
“What’s the name of the show?”
“King’s Castle.”