CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun was still up when Paige dumped her laptop on the lumpy bed in her room at the Comfy Inn in Mobile, Texas. They were on their third house of the season, and their little band of misfits was really hitting their stride. They’d scored yet another gold mine of a contractor for this house, and Paige was looking forward to working with their crew.
She flopped down in the rickety desk chair and surveyed her room. They’d checked in this morning, and Paige had lobbed her bags into the room before heading back out to the site to tackle the prep work.
The room wasn’t awful. It could have been worse. The walls, once white, wore the yellowed cast of its storied past as a smoker’s paradise. The carpet too wore badges of honor in the form of cigarette burns. But the bathroom was clean, and there were extra pillows in the closet.
It would do for the week.
Paige stripped out of her jeans and t-shirt and pulled on a clean pair of capris and a tank top. She texted Cat to see if she wanted to do dinner and then pulled the bedspread back before flopping down on the mattress.
She closed her eyes and reviewed the details about the new family. Joy, at twenty-seven with her sunny smile and dirty blond pixie cut, raised enough money through 5ks, bake sales, and silent auctions to bring an art and pet therapy program to her local nursing home after her grandfather was diagnosed with dementia. She dedicated every waking moment outside of her full-time job as a social worker to caring for her beloved Poppy.
Poppy had played matchmaker and introduced Joy to the visiting physical therapist who volunteered at the home twice a week. Joy and Teagan were married in Poppy’s room when he fell too sick to attend their ceremony. He passed away shortly after their ceremony, leaving Joy and Teagan the home he’d built with his own two hands when he and his bride were first married. It had fallen into disrepair since his diagnosis, but the family connection made it home.
It was a sweet, heartwarming story, and Paige was looking forward to telling it.
Her phone signaled an incoming call, and she rolled herself up. Eddie’s name flashed across her screen.
“What’s up, Eddie?” she asked, bypassing any pleasantries. He trusted her to do her job and only called when there was news—usually bad—to deliver.
“Bad news, kid.”
Restless now, Paige dragged open the sliding glass balcony door. It squealed under protest. She stepped out onto her narrow strip of outdoor living space overlooking the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. A flimsy wall that separated her balcony from the one next door provided minimal privacy. “What’s the damage?” she asked leaning on the iron railing.
“Interiors at Home just came on board.”
The show and the chain of home décor stores had been courting each other in the off-season. They were a major advertiser, which meant a big influx of cash and most likely some pretty spectacular demands.
“What do they want in return for their massive piles of money?” Paige sighed into the phone.
“Cat and Gannon now get to make a trip to the store every episode to choose pieces for the finished project.” Eddie was big on ripping the Band-Aid off.
Paige slapped a hand down on the railing, making it rattle. Judging its instability, she took a step back from it and paced. “Are you kidding me, Eddie? Are they trying to strangle every ounce of sincerity out of the show? Viewers love how real Gannon and Cat are. This is going to make them look phony.”
“I know. I know. But it was the keystone of the contract.”
“That’s bullshit, Eddie. Can’t you change their minds? Gannon’s going to go nuclear over this, and I don’t blame him. It’s a stupid idea.”
“At this point there’s nothing we can do. The deal is done.”
Paige shoved a hand through her hair, scraping it away from her face. “I don’t like that these decisions are being made without at least consulting the Kings. It’s their show. They are the show.”
Eddie heaved the world-weary sigh of a man too long in the business. “I hear what you’re saying, kid. I really do. But…”
“Yeah, yeah. There’s nothing we can do,” she finished for him.
“When does this go into effect?”
“This shoot. There’s a store about a hundred miles from the shoot.”
Paige swore under her breath. “How much time per episode?”
“Three minutes, and the pieces shown in the store have to be used in the reveal.”
“Who’s breaking the news? You or me?”
Eddie’s pause told her everything she needed to know. “Great. Awesome.”
“So, how’s everything else?” Eddie asked cheerfully.
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Gannon stayed where he was leaning against the paint chipped railing of his balcony. He hadn’t realized Paige was right next door until he heard her husky voice getting pissed about something on the phone with the show’s executive producer. He could have felt guilty about eavesdropping, but since Paige interested him and he’d heard his name, he felt justified in listening.
She hung up with Eddie, and he heard the squeal of her door as she slammed it behind her.
It was further confirmation that Princess Paige wasn’t the “yes man” he had assumed she was. He never expected her to fight on his behalf, and listening to her dish it out to Eddie told him it wasn’t the first time she’d stood up for him and Cat.
Shit.
He hated being wrong.
He’d written her off from the very first day of shooting last season when she’d coolly told him he needed to be respectful of the network’s timetable.
A network shill, he’d labeled her then, he remembered. But that didn’t stop him from noticing her mile-long legs when she wore shorts to the sets in the dead heat of the summer. Or her full, usually unpainted lips that parted just before she laughed at something her crew or he said.
He’d gotten an eyeful of the body that was typically hidden by her usual jeans and t-shirt uniform last season when she’d had to borrow someone’s gym clothes mid-shoot. She wore her rich chocolate hair in a sexy short cut that allowed her to plow her hands through the layers when she was frustrated or tie it back in a stub when she was doing the heavy lifting.
Yeah, she was attractive enough that he’d frozen her out from the get-go. He’d fallen for a pretty package before and paid a steep price for it. He’d met Paige shortly after his self-imposed celibacy to get his damn head back on straight. And maybe, just maybe, he’d been unfair to put Paige St. James in the same category as his past mistake.
Anyone could see that she was strong, smart, and completely unflappable. It was the cool attitude that had thrown him though he hadn’t been exactly friendly to her either. Yet when she thought she was alone, she showed her human side with an unexpected empathy for the people they were generally exploiting on camera.
Snippets of conversations, insults he’d thrown in bad moods, accusations he’d made in jest came back to him now. She’d never bothered correcting him or defending herself, never commiserating with him that she too thought the network was a bunch of greedy assholes.
He didn’t like being wrong.
Gannon grabbed two beers out of his minifridge. He wouldn’t apologize. After all, she had never defended herself or trusted him with her opinion. It made him wonder if she ever confided in Cat. Those two were thick as thieves.
Before he could change his mind, he grabbed his key card and went next door to be neighborly.
She opened the door with hardly a trace of the anger Gannon knew she was feeling. But the telltale signs were there in the clench of her jaw, the flash in her eyes.
“Here,” he said, holding out a beer.
She looked down at it and then up again at him.
He wiggled the bottle, and when she took it, he brushed past her into her room.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He ignored her question. “How do you do it?”
She followed him but left the door open. “Do what?” she asked, frowning.
“Keep all that anger locked up like that?” he asked, sinking down on the yellow paisley couch next to the cloudy balcony doors.
“Come on in. Have a seat,” she muttered and took a swig of beer.
“I like seeing you pissed off. Makes me think you care.”
She gave him a long cool look. “Want to get to the point? I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.”
“First tell me how you keep it all inside. Don’t you ever feel like you’re gonna blow?”
“I’ve had years of practice dealing with frustrating people,” she said with ice in her tone.
“I wouldn’t know any of them, would I?”
Paige arched a sexy eyebrow at him. “You may have met one or two of them.” The show of amusement evaporated quickly, and she retreated behind her walls, taking another long pull on the beer.
“So what can I do for you, Gannon?”
“I was studying my call sheet—”
“Don’t be a smart ass,” she interrupted.
“Do you want to know what I’m doing here or not?” he asked.
She held up her hands in surrender. “Please, continue.”
“I was studying my call sheet when I realized I don’t know you very well.”
“And that’s suddenly a problem?” Paige looked skeptical.
“It is when we’re spending the next few months together, depending on each other.”
“Why wasn’t this an issue last season when we spent three months together depending on each other?”
She was quick and showed only a suspicious interest in his presence. “Who says it wasn’t?” Gannon countered.
He rose from the couch and prowled around her room. Being contrary, she took a seat on a rickety arm chair when he stood. She didn’t bother with any personal mementos, he noted. Neither did he. There was no use carting around pictures or knick-knacks when he spent so much time on the road. Besides, he traveled with his sister, and they usually had a weekend or two that allowed them to head home between states and shoots.
“It’s a problem for me now.”
“Gannon,” she sighed his name out, and it made him wonder how she would sound if she were naked and he was touching and tasting her. He’d never not been physically attracted to her. He’d just come into the show with a chip on his shoulder and a lesson learned about women that shouldn’t be trusted. But it appeared he’d been a little hasty when he’d shoved Paige into that category.
“Did I mention where I was when I had this epiphany?” he asked.
“No. But I’m sensing a punch line.”
“I was enjoying the sunset view of the parking lot from my balcony—”
She swore colorfully, and he laughed.
“How much did you overhear?”
“All of it. You’ve got balls, sweetheart, talking to an executive producer like that.”
“Eddie’s a good boss. He at least listens even if there’s nothing that he can do.”
She shoved out of her chair and got up to walk off her frustration. It was another tell. Whenever Paige was stressed, she had to move. She couldn’t stay still.
“Why aren’t you screaming and swearing at me?” she asked, stopping at the balcony door, her back to him.
He came up behind her, invading her space just a bit, letting her feel him there. She stiffened but didn’t retreat.
“Honest?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I was more interested in hearing you saying things no network kiss-ass would ever say and getting pissed about whatever scheme they’re cooking up for ratings or dollars.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I may have misjudged you, Paige.”