Page 70 of Mr. Fixer Upper
What had she been thinking?her mother’s voice demanded smugly inside her head.What did she expect getting involved with Gannon? She should have known better.
She felt dizzy and sick. Crushed. She hadn’t noticed her feelings for Gannon growing so strong. It had snuck up on her. What a fool she’d been. And he let her be a fool. She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t reconcile the Gannon who held her in his arms and shared childhood stories with her with the Gannon who just dragged Network Barbie into his hotel room.
She wanted to rage at him, to pound her fists into his chest until he felt as bad as she did.
But that wasn’t how she handled problems. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t be chased off by a lying, cheating asshole. No, she would go Ice Queen and freeze his ass in the New Mexican summer heat.
Five minutes. It was all she’d give herself to feel this horrible, broken ache in her chest. And then it was back to business.
Before Paige returned to the set, she went down to the front desk and asked to change rooms. She moved up a floor, away from Gannon, and made the clerk promise that he wouldn’t give out her room number to anyone. She wasn’t sure if any of the female clerks would be able to hold out against Gannon’s charm, but it was better than nothing.
Stomach churning, she took a moment to sit on the edge of the bed. She let out a shuddery breath and immediately regretted it.
“Crap,” she murmured weakly. She made the dash to the bathroom just in time to lose her lunch.The sobs were from being sick, Paige told herself as she cried,not from hurt. Not from loving Gannon.
She stretched out, resting her face on the cool tile floor. It smelled vaguely and comfortingly of cleaner.
Her phone vibrated again. It had started mid-move, but she had no desire to answer it. Especially not when she saw who was calling. A dozen missed calls from Gannon King and another ten text messages. She was surprised he’d have time to call or text while he was banging Meeghan into oblivion.
Her stomach rolled again at the thought, but there was nothing left to cleanse. Just raw emptiness.
Paige please answer. I can explain.
Explain? What was there to explain? She didn’t need an explanation that the man she’d been sleeping with was a lying sack of shit. God, the whole season was one big lie. And she’d bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Are you okay? Please talk to me. Please.
Goddamn it, Paige. Answer your fucking phone and tell me if you’re okay.
The many shades of Gannon King, she thought sadly as she turned off her phone and stowed it back in her pocket. God, she hurt. Her chest felt like there was a weight pressing on it, crushing her. Her head ached at the base of her neck, the pain promising to only worsen. There was nothing she could take, nothing she could do to dull it. It was the price she had to pay for falling for a liar.
She made herself stand up and look in the mirror. She looked pale and sick. Sweat covered her ghostly pallor, so she washed her face. She grabbed her makeup bag. If any situation called for armor, it was this one. Carefully, she applied a tinted sunscreen and brushed on waterproof mascara. She still didn’t have much color in her cheeks, but nature would take care of that quickly enough. Her hair was a curling mess, so she did the best she could, parting it on one side and leaving it wild. She changed into fresh shorts and her favorite tank top that read BeastMode across the chest, a gift from Kings Construction foreman Flynn.
She could do this. She nodded at her reflection.
She wasn’t going to let some huge, colossal, gut-wrenching mistake chase her away from her job. Even if said huge mistake’s big deal girlfriend hung around set. She swallowed hard.
Christ on a cracker. Paige St. James was theotherwoman.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Paige stared into the dredges of her glass of bourbon and felt absolutely nothing. The numbness that set in was a welcome relief from the burning agony she’d felt on set for the last four hours of shooting.
He’d pounced on her the second she stepped foot on site. And she’d held him off with the iciest look she could muster.
“Now is not the time or place. Let’s be professionals,” she’d said coldly.
He’d tried to argue, had been ready for a throw down in front of everyone, but Cat had stepped in, dragging him off. Paige didn’t know what Cat said to him, but the sisterly advice had kept him away from her, and by the time Andy called cut on the last take, Paige was halfway to the van.
But once in her room, she felt the walls closing in on her, and she knew sooner or later he’d find her here. Or he wouldn’t. He could be too busyentertainingMeeghan.
The woman hadn’t returned to the set, and not a word was said about her by anyone. So Paige could only assume Meeghan was waiting on her shapely ass in the hotel’s air conditioning for Gannon to wrap for the day.
She kept her phone off, even left it in her room so she wouldn’t be tempted to listen to the voicemails or read the texts and then walked until she found a crappy bar. The bar top was sticky, and her barstool cushion was ripped, but at least no one knew who she was and what she’d lost today.
The bartender, a straight-faced beauty with an expertly drawn cat eye in black liner, pointed to her nearly empty glass. “Another?”
“Sure,” Paige said, neither enthusiastic about or opposed to the idea of drowning her troubles. She’d started with a beer and found it lacking before switching to the brand of bourbon Gannon had brought her once in a different hotel room in a different state.
