Page 6 of Mr. Fixer Upper
The chicken sandwich she’d scarfed down in two minutes flat had been hours ago. She ignored the internal rumbling and got up to inventory her set bag. Phone charger, bandages, a digital camera and charger, pens, paper, iPad and charger, $50 cash and a company credit card, all in their rightful places.
The next growl from her stomach was echoed by a dull ache. Paige sighed. A vending machine snack on her first night did not light a beacon of hope for the healthy season she had planned, but there would be no going to bed with her stomach gurgling in protest.
She grabbed her room key and change and followed the nauseating orange and red hallway carpet to the vending/ice nook.
It was a toss-up between peanut butter crackers and a single serve bag of popcorn. Paige went with the popcorn in honor of Pop-Pop. She already had an email in to see if there was room in the budget for a theater-style popcorn maker.
She bent over to wrestle the bag free from the machine.
“Aren’t you the one who always says those machines are filled with poison?”
Paige jumped and swiveled.
Gannon was leaning against the doorway. He wore a leather jacket over well-fitting jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was shaved short now.
She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very naked. “Did youjustget here?” Gannon was notorious for arriving too close to the comfort of Paige’s carefully crafted schedule.
“I’m here, aren’t I? And don’t change the subject.” He strolled in and grabbed the popcorn out of her hand. Opening the bag, he shook out a handful and handed the rest back to her. “I catch you sneaking in here after all those lectures to everyone last year about the dangers of living off of vending machines.”
Paige had the good grace to look guilty. “It was a late night, and I haven’t had a chance to stock up on non-poisonous snacks.”
Gannon popped a kernel into his mouth. “It’s nice to know you’re human, princess.” He walked out of the room without a backward glance.
“You have an early call tomorrow,” Paige yelled after him. “Don’t be late!”
CHAPTER FOUR
He was late. Not late enough to hold anything up but enough that Paige shot him her ice princess look when he strolled past with two-dozen donuts for the crew. Gannon hid his grin when she turned her back on him and stormed off, her windbreaker rustling in indignation.
He wasn’t as big of an asshole as he made himself out to be, but damn if he didn’t like getting a rise out of her. It made the frigid early morning calls, the long hours in downpours and drywall dust, and the general bullshit from the network more tolerable when he could see that little tic in her jaw, the blaze in her blue eyes.
She never once lost her temper, a fact that fascinated him. Gannon came from loud, passionate Italian stock that wasn’t afraid to smash a plate to make a statement. Paige, on the other hand, systematically choked down any temper and, with frosty efficiency, made him dance like a fucking puppet.
He paused to check out the façade of the house they’d be essentially gutting. The weathered two-story jammed in between two other homes was just the kind of project he liked to sink his teeth into. The house was showing its age in sagging gutters, dingy siding, missing shingles, and from what he remembered from photos of the interior, décor that paid a horrendous tribute to the 1970s.
The tight lot would be an issue, he mused. But the neighbors on either side were big fans of the Russe family and had volunteered to help with the show, which usually meant no noise complaints. Plus, to be extra safe, Paige had worked her magic to get a stipend to put both families up in a hotel for the week of the shoot.
Gannon found his sister huddled under layers of coat and sweatshirt guzzling an iced coffee on a chair. She was flipping through the day’s call sheet while crew buzzed around her laying cable and erecting pop-ups.
“Morning, Cat.” He flipped the lid on a donut box and watched her eyes light up when they spotted the Boston crème.
“Best brother ever,” she said, taking a decadent bite. She checked her watch. “You’re late.”
He grinned.
She gave him a bland look. “You were ready to go when I left. You could have gotten a ride with me.”
He shrugged, all innocence. “I had donuts to pick up.”
“It’s the first day of shooting for the season, and you’re already torturing poor Paige,” Cat complained. “Why do you mess with her?”
“She’s too buttoned up. One of these days, I’m going to push her over the edge, and she’s going to have to scream at me and call me an asshole to my face instead of saying it in her head and pulling the ice princess routine.”
“You’re totally into her,” Cat accused.
“I am not!” He wasn’t. His gaze tracked to Paige where she had her head together with the local contractor they were using for the project and a production assistant. Her hair—a rich brown cut in a chin length bob—was pulled back in a stubby ponytail and fed through the back of a battered ball cap. She wore jeans, work boots, and a shapeless windbreaker probably over one of the t-shirts she favored.
Cat raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s probably a good thing if you’re not. Looks like the contractor’s son has the hots for her, and I’d love to see her get laid.”
