Page 23 of Mr. Fixer Upper
“Eddie, there’s no way in hell—”
“Oh, hey,” Eddie interrupted. “Heading into another meeting. I gotta go.” He disconnected, and Paige had to fight the urge to throw her phone into the mud puddle in front of her. She won. Barely. And shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She stared down at the muddy water and counted to five. When that didn’t work. She counted to twenty.
They were essentially writing her into the story as a love interest for Gannon. Her career as she knew it was officially over.
“Paige?” Cat’s voice was tentative behind her.
Paige didn’t turn around. “Yeah, Cat?”
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. I’ve got to go take care of some things,” she told the Kings without looking at them and, much the same as Billie, wandered away claiming vague important tasks.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For the first time in her life, Paige cut out of work early. Granted, it was still a nine-hour day, but there was more to do before shooting started in the morning. She left detailed instructions with Andy and Mel and made sure Billie had her cell and hotel room numbers before heading back to her room. The advertising from Interiors at Home had boosted the show’s budget enough that the whole crew was staying at a nicer-than-usual hotel.
No cigarette burns, no bathroom ceiling mold, and the remote control wasn’t sticky.
But the ambiance was lost on her morose mood as she let herself into her room.
She dumped her laptop bag and sweatshirt in a pile just inside the door and face-planted on the queen-sized bed. She’d worked so fucking hard, and all of it was derailed by one picture. One fucking picture.
She let herself wallow for exactly five minutes before she dragged her laptop out and started reviewing the damage. Cat was popular enough that the picture had caught the eye of an entertainment gossip news show. They’d posted the picture, doctored with hot pink question marks and hearts, on their blog, wondering if Gannon King had thrown off the beautiful Meeghan Traxx for a tryst with his producer.
“Oh, God,” she murmured. They had her name. Thankfully, her fanatical privacy standards on social media had left them with little else.
Her mother, responsible for two of the missed calls, was going to be disappointed… and righteous in her, “I told you so.”
She reread the article and perused a handful of others before it started to sink in. She was worried about her career, but one innocent nap could have derailed Gannon’s relationship with his girlfriend, who was, by all accounts, not commenting on the situation.
Meeghan may actually be the gigantic bitch she was rumored to be, but if Gannon cared about her, and Paige had unwittingly done damage…
She felt like a jerk. A violated one. But she hadn’t even considered what this meant to Gannon. It was a hot fucking mess, and she couldn’t see a way out of it. Not with the network deciding she was now part of the story. If she refused, she’d lose her job. If she complied, she’d never be taken seriously again in the industry.
All of this just one season shy of actually accomplishing her dream. It was a nightmare. She didn’t even want to break it to Becca that she might have just shot their plans in the face. Who the hell was going to want to be involved in a documentary about television and feminism when the director had been accused of sleeping with her show’s talent?
More wallowing followed as did the desire for a good, stiff drink... or six.
It was dark now, and Paige didn’t bother turning on any lights in the room. She just wanted to sit in this dark room, all alone, and pretend that all of her carefully laid plans hadn’t just imploded in her face.
She heard the knock at her door and ignored it. She knew exactly who it was despite the fact that he’d only knocked on her door once before.
The knock came again followed by, “Open up, Paige.”
“Go away. I’m asleep.”
“Open the door, or I’ll get a key from the front desk.”
She could hear it in his voice, the bored determination that meant, no matter what, he was getting into her room. Paige recalled that it had been a sweet, perky brunette at the desk when she returned to the hotel. Exactly the kind of girl who would melt into a puddle of mush and do anything Gannon King asked.
In the dark, Paige dragged herself off the bed and stomped to the door. She yanked it open with more force than necessary and glared up at him.
Ignoring her lack of welcome, Gannon, juggling a paper bag and a pizza box, pushed past her into her room.
“You visiting me in my room isn’t going to make the rumors go away,” she snapped.
Immune to her attitude, Gannon switched on lights and dropped his supplies on the glass table in the corner. He flipped the lid on the pizza box, and Paige’s stomach growled reflexively at the smell of tomato sauce and pepperoni.
