CHAPTER FOUR
He was late. Not late enough to hold anything up but enough that Paige shot him her ice princess look when he strolled past with two-dozen donuts for the crew. Gannon hid his grin when she turned her back on him and stormed off, her windbreaker rustling in indignation.
He wasn’t as big of an asshole as he made himself out to be, but damn if he didn’t like getting a rise out of her. It made the frigid early morning calls, the long hours in downpours and drywall dust, and the general bullshit from the network more tolerable when he could see that little tic in her jaw, the blaze in her blue eyes.
She never once lost her temper, a fact that fascinated him. Gannon came from loud, passionate Italian stock that wasn’t afraid to smash a plate to make a statement. Paige, on the other hand, systematically choked down any temper and, with frosty efficiency, made him dance like a fucking puppet.
He paused to check out the façade of the house they’d be essentially gutting. The weathered two-story jammed in between two other homes was just the kind of project he liked to sink his teeth into. The house was showing its age in sagging gutters, dingy siding, missing shingles, and from what he remembered from photos of the interior, décor that paid a horrendous tribute to the 1970s.
The tight lot would be an issue, he mused. But the neighbors on either side were big fans of the Russe family and had volunteered to help with the show, which usually meant no noise complaints. Plus, to be extra safe, Paige had worked her magic to get a stipend to put both families up in a hotel for the week of the shoot.
Gannon found his sister huddled under layers of coat and sweatshirt guzzling an iced coffee on a chair. She was flipping through the day’s call sheet while crew buzzed around her laying cable and erecting pop-ups.
“Morning, Cat.” He flipped the lid on a donut box and watched her eyes light up when they spotted the Boston crème.
“Best brother ever,” she said, taking a decadent bite. She checked her watch. “You’re late.”
He grinned.
She gave him a bland look. “You were ready to go when I left. You could have gotten a ride with me.”
He shrugged, all innocence. “I had donuts to pick up.”
“It’s the first day of shooting for the season, and you’re already torturing poor Paige,” Cat complained. “Why do you mess with her?”
“She’s too buttoned up. One of these days, I’m going to push her over the edge, and she’s going to have to scream at me and call me an asshole to my face instead of saying it in her head and pulling the ice princess routine.”
“You’re totally into her,” Cat accused.
“I am not!” He wasn’t. His gaze tracked to Paige where she had her head together with the local contractor they were using for the project and a production assistant. Her hair—a rich brown cut in a chin length bob—was pulled back in a stubby ponytail and fed through the back of a battered ball cap. She wore jeans, work boots, and a shapeless windbreaker probably over one of the t-shirts she favored.
Cat raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s probably a good thing if you’re not. Looks like the contractor’s son has the hots for her, and I’d love to see her get laid.”
Gannon’s head whipped around on his neck as if it were possessed. He zeroed in on the lanky guy in ripped up jeans and a Clawson Construction fleece who strutted up to Paige and the GC. He couldn’t hear what he said, but the guy had Paige laughing and looking up at him like he was a fucking comedian.
“Yep. Good thing you’re not into her,” Cat said, hopping off the chair and patting his shoulder.
Muttering under his breath, Gannon decided to muscle in on their little pow-wow. He was the host of the show. He should know what was going on. He stepped over cables and around one of the two production assistants their little crew boasted.
“Hey, Mike, right?” he said offering his hand to the burly bearded contractor. “I’m Gannon. We talked on the phone.”
Mike’s ham-sized fist closed around his in a hearty handshake. “Good to finally meet you, Mr. King” Mike said with the quick grin of an actual morning person.
“It’s just Gannon.”
“I was just telling Paige here how excited we are to get started. The Russes are personal friends, good people.”
“Well, Paige will make sure we do a good job for your friends,” Gannon promised, sliding an arm around Paige’s shoulders and hauling her up against his side. She stiffened under his touch. “She does a great job puppet mastering chaos.”
“We’ve certainly been impressed so far,” Mike agreed. “This is my son, Brandon,” he said, jerking his thumb at the guy in the fleece.
“Brandon,” Gannon offered his hand. He put a little extra power into the shake. “Paige and I are looking forward to working with you both. Clawson Construction has a solid rep.”
“What the hell was that?” Paige hissed, sliding out from under his arm when the Clawsons headed over to talk with their crew.
“What was what?” Gannon asked, all innocence.
She didn’t answer him. Someone needing something chirped in the earpiece of her headset. Paige adjusted the mic and told them she’d be right there. “Behave yourself,” she said, pointing a warning finger at Gannon.
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They had a pre-shoot meeting for the production team and both the Clawson and the King crews. Director Andy Sanders walked everyone through what they planned to accomplish that morning and then Paige took her crew aside to cover the finer points. It was a good, solid team. Traveling reality shows couldn’t afford the expense or headache of large crews, which meant much of their team played two or three roles to cover all their bases.
They had three camera operators, Tony, Ricardo—Rico for short—and Louis. Felicia was the sound mixer knocking on twenty years of experience. Mel and Sam were the fresh-faced production assistants who doubled as camera assistants and generally indispensable gophers.
Paige covered all the loose ends that were left over acting as production coordinator and assistant director. Andy liked to joke that she knew more than he did and should have been named director. It wasn’t really a joke, though. It was tough to break into the boys club, not that Paige would let that stop her. She had plans to get there.
The sun was up, the Russes and their extended family had arrived on site, and they were ready to roll. Satisfied that everyone knew what his or her job was, Paige did one last check-in with the family. They were clumped together in the Russes’ living room, nerves evident on all the adult faces. Trevor was in tears. “But I wanna wear it!” His wails added to the tension.
“What the hell’s going on in there, St. James? Stop pinching the kids,” Andy’s voice crackled in her ear.
“Gimmie a minute,” she murmured before cutting her mic. Trevor slid out of his mother’s arms and stomped over to Paige.
“Hey, buddy. Are you ready for the big day?” she asked.
“Mom says I can’t wear ’dis but I hafta!” Trevor ran his little hands over the toy tool belt he wore on his hips. “I’m gonna help build Pop-Pop’s house!”
“Wow, you came prepared,” Paige told him.
“He hid it under his jacket,” his mom sighed, running a hand through Trevor’s hair. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t wear it on camera.”
That statement started the tears again.
Paige dropped down to her knees on the orange shag carpeting that was in its last hours of existence. “This tool belt is awesome, and I think Gannon is going to be really impressed.”
Trevor wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and leaned morosely against his mother’s leg. “Yeah?”
Paige nodded. “Definitely. But listen, since we’re supposed to be surprising you, you have to pretend that you didn’t know we were coming. So you wouldn’t have your tool belt on yet.”
He frowned at her, his blue eyes thoughtful.
“But when we give Gannon and Cat the tour of the house, I think it would be awesome if you put the belt on to help show them around.”
Trevor’s eyes lit up, and his mother muttered an “Oh dear God” under her breath.
“Does that sound good?” Paige asked.
Trevor nodded emphatically.
“Great! So why don’t you give me your belt now, and as soon as we reset for the tour I’m going to have you put it on, okay?”
His little fingers worked the belt free, and he all but threw it at her. “Woo hoo! I get to help! Hey, Molly!” He ran off in search of his sister.
His mom sighed after him. “Thank you for that. Really, if it’s a problem at all—”
“A face like that showing Gannon King his tool belt?” Paige shook her head. “What a way to kick off the season.”
She moved on down the line to Phil and Delia who perched on the faded yellow and brown sofa where their oldest son was comforting them. Delia held a fistful of tissues. “How are you two doing? We’re just about ready to get started,” Paige promised.
Delia blew her nose mightily. “It’s hard to believe this is the last time we’ll all be in this house as a family.”
Smiling sympathetically, Paige sank down on the couch next to Delia. She’d dealt with this exact reaction from nearly every family the show had helped. It always amazed her, the connection that people could feel to a house. She’d never experienced that in her mother’s sprawling Long Island Tudor. Sure, she’d grown up there, but it had never felt like home. She put her hand on Delia’s.
“I promise you that Gannon and Cat and all the people on Clawson’s crew are going to make sure this stays home. We’re just going to make it more functional and safer for your family. This is just the beginning of the memories you’ll have in this house.”
Delia squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Paige.”
“Get your ass out here, St. James,” Andy ordered good-naturedly in her ear. “We’re ready to roll.”