Page 92 of Mr. Fixer Upper
“Why aren’t you asking her where she likes to vacation or what books she likes to read?” He stabbed at a piece of chicken.
“Bah! I like to ask questions that get to the heart of a person,” Francesca insisted. “What would I know about Paige’s heart if she says she likes the beach or autobiographies? I want to know who she is in here.” She pointed a gnarled finger at her own heart.
Paige smiled. Francesca Bianchi was a woman she could understand.
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Paige felt nerves vibrate over her skin. It was dark and the air cool by the time Gannon pulled up in front of her apartment building. It wasn’t the end of a date but, to her anxiety level, it felt like one. Only she knew exactly what it would feel like if he leaned over and laid those warm, hard lips on her, spread those callused hands over her.
That awareness of memory, of anticipation, crawled through her veins until she was desperate for air, for space.
She wanted to speak. To thank him for dinner and introducing her to his grandmother and then slide out of the truck and forget about the evening. Or did she want those lips and hands cruising over her until she was desperate for more?
Finally, it was Gannon who spoke. “Promise me you’ll think about the offer.”
Still she was silent, weighing words and consequences.
“Paige. Promise me.”
“I promise.” The words left her mouth on a reluctant sigh.
He was watching her, and the cab of the truck felt small, confined. The air was too warm inside. There wasn’t much protecting her from his raw appeal. Nothing but the console that divided the front seat.
“Thank you for dinner. I loved Francesca,” Paige breathed out, keeping her tone light.
“She’s the center of our entire family,” Gannon said, a half-smile on his shadowed face.
“It must have been very hard to lose your grandfather.”
His hand skimmed over hers where it rested on her leg, squeezed. “It was a nightmare,” he admitted. “No one’s ever ready to say goodbye but especially not us Kings.”
“I imagine he’d be very proud of you, Gannon.”
He squeezed her hand again and then released it. “Thanks. That means… a lot.”
She took a deep breath. “Listen. Whether or not I take this job, thank you for the opportunity.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, was fighting the urge to say it.
“Now who’s censoring themselves,” she teased lightly.
“Take the job, Paige. I won’t hurt you again.”
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 TVtwiceby his fake girlfriend?”
