Page 99 of Mr. Fixer Upper
That was the plan,Gannon thought.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Paige watched Gannon as he speared a piece ofbulgogiwith his chopsticks. He was always finding reasons to see her off set and off hours. Tonight, he’d demanded a dinner meeting with her, and she’d offered to have it at her place. There’d be no public speculation that could get stirred up if they met at a restaurant, and she had a roommate, so they wouldn’t end up in bed.
Not that she wanted to go to bed with Gannon, Paige reminded herself. It was more a precautionary measure in case she had a weak moment and too much wine. It was harder to be weak when Becca might storm in at any moment.
So they settled on her couch, eating good Korean food off of an excellent coffee table and juggling timelines.
Gannon was sobig, somale. His presence made her apartment feel even smaller than it was.
“Okay, so your voice work is scheduled for when?” Paige asked, scrawling notes on paper and trying to ignore how close his knee was to hers.
“Tuesday into Wednesday. Why they need two days for me to say ‘initial quality award’ is beyond me,” Gannon complained. “Sounds like a bullshit award anyway.”
Paige scooped up somekimchiand eyed him. “I’m sure it will sound impressive the way you say it.”
“Yeah, right.”
He’d gotten two endorsements since season two began airing, and Paige thought he seemed more uncomfortable with those than the filming of the show. “You didn’t have to say yes to these deals,” she reminded him.
He shrugged. “Pays the bills. Especially since I’m dealing with a money pit of a house now.”
“Well, you could cut back on what you deemed the necessities.” She pointed at him with her chopsticks.
“That’s an asinine idea,” Gannon countered. “We’re already in, doing the work. There’s no point in leaving it for later.”
“Because every bachelor in Brooklyn absolutely needs a six-foot walk-in steam shower.”Great. Now she was picturing him in the shower.She was going to have to take a nerve pill or show up drunk to work the day he finished the shower. It would remind her too much of the first time she’d seen him in all of his naked splendor.
“You’re just jealous because you live in a walk-in closet.” He spun a finger over his head, encompassing the cramped apartment.
“Ha. Okay. Maybe a little,” she admitted.
“Speaking of your tiny, ridiculous cabinet of an apartment,” Gannon said, reaching for his beer. “How the hell are you going to produce a documentary out of this space?”
She’d cleaned up most of her research before he came over—and changed into a nicer sweater and fussed with her make-up a little, too. But there was still a stack of binders and papers shoved into the corner under the TV. Her laptop perched precariously on top. Color-coded sticky notes littered the wall in an organized flow.
There wasn’t enough room to spread out and really dig in to anything. She’d hung up one of those portable whiteboards in their hallway, jammed in between a light switch and a bedroom door, but it wasn’t big enough to storyboard more than thirty minutes of film.
She shrugged. “We’ll make it work somehow.”
“If only you knew a generous, friendly, accommodating, handy friend who was about to have more square footage than he needs,” Gannon said, stroking his chin in mock contemplation.
“Work in your house?”
“Don’t look at me like I just came out of a lobotomy. You’d have to wait until it was done, first. So don’t even think about moving in now.”
“You don’t even have any bathrooms right now.” They’d gutted the one and only bathroom two days ago, and everyone was making due with the permitted porta potty in the courtyard.
“That’s why I said wait until it’s done. You and Becca could use the fourth floor.”
“You’re insane,” she shook her head and made a grab for her wine.Why couldn’t she stop looking at his hands?“You’re just trying to find a way to keep me around after the show.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful, talented,andastute?”
“Literally no one ever. And I’m not running my documentary out of your house, Gannon.”
“Why not? We’re friends.”
