Page 87 of Mr. Fixer Upper
“I was lying about Flynn.”
AUTUMN
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The air was finally starting to cool, fading from the roiling simmer of summer that had hugged the pavement to the crispness of fall. New Yorkers embraced the coming of autumn with thigh-high boots and pumpkin spice everything. For Paige, fall had never lost that anticipation, that excitement, of the promise of new beginnings. It stemmed from childhood with the beginning of a new school year, a chance to be someone new, learn something new.
However, her new beginning was refusing to present itself.
It had been a month since her on-camera run-in with Meeghan. She was done being a pawn and had said as much to Eddie. She’d find another network, another show, and produce her ass off for eight months. She didn’t care what it was. Unfortunately, it was becoming painfully evident to Paige that job pickings were not merely slim but anorexic.
While she scoured New York for jobs, she entertained herself by sticking a toe into the very early stages of planning and research for the documentary. She’d gotten an official and enthusiastic commitment from the actress Sarah Holden for the documentary and had begun reaching out to others: actresses, production crew, directors, producers, and then expanding her web into women’s rights advocates, politicians, professors, authors. She’d tapped her mother for her suggestions on who to interview and had been shocked when Leslie emailed her a detailed list of five women in specialized fields with a brief synopsis and contact information for each one.
Of course the resources had come with the caveat that Paige not embarrass the family name.
It gave her a buzz every time Paige found she’d spent an entire afternoon buried in work and loving every second of it. And that buzz evaporated every time she checked her bank balance or got a “sorry, not hiring” email.
She’d just received another one, her eighth, and put her head down on the absolutely stunning coffee table that Gannon had made. The heavy reclaimed pine top served as her desk and—more currently—her pillow of misery. She rested her forehead, inhaling the faint scents of stain and wood. It was thick, beefy, with two supporting pedestals for legs, and Paige loved it. It was exactly her. And, unfortunately, exactly Gannon.
The man had embraced their “friendly” relationship and run with it. She’d turned down all his invitations for coffee, for lunch. The episodes ofKings Constructionthat aired did plenty to further the rumors of a relationship between them. She had zero interest in being seen in public with him and adding fuel to the fire.
She missed him, which surprised her. So Paige did find herself responding to his texts and occasionally his calls. She was just used to him, she told herself. And now that they’d cleared the air between them, she figured she was allowed to miss pieces of what they’d shared.
The truth behind his “relationship” with Meeghan? It made her hurt for Gannon. She could see it, had seen it. Getting swept up in the glitz and shine of TV was easy. Getting hurt by the darker side of it was even easier. Gannon’s pride had been damaged, his faith in himself tested.
In many ways, Gannon’s situation mirrored that of women in the industry. Women whose stories she would be telling. The overzealous appreciation of looks, being tempted into a bad choice, and then being forced into conforming to a role that had no appeal. She could empathize with that. But it still didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t be in a relationship with him without fear of losing something of herself.
Her phone buzzed at her elbow, and she glanced at the screen.Gannon.
The bump in her pulse, the flutter in her belly, those were good reasons to ignore the call. Just because he had reasons for not being entirely truthful didn’t wipe away his transgressions. And nothing seemed to dull her physical reaction to him. That alone spelled danger.
She should ignore the call, ignore the man. Move on with her life. Decision made.
“Hello.”
“Hey, princess.” That gravelly rasp hit her at the apex of her thighs. Her body clearly wasn’t interested in holding anything against the man… unless it was her body.
“What’s up?” she asked lightly.
“Are you busy tonight?”
No! Yes!
“Gannon, I—”
He cut off her early denial. “Hang on. Listen to my proposal first before you shoot me down.”
She was already regretting picking up the phone. She was having a weak moment, a weak week, and he would know and pick apart her defenses. “Go on.”
“I have a lead on a job for you, one that starts now and should carry through to the end of December.”
“What is it? Where is it?” Who cares? She’d take anything at this point.
“Have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll tell you.”
“You can’t blackmail afriendinto having dinner with you,” she reminded him.
“This is worthy of a face-to-face conversation. I have details, numbers, even a timeline. I’m not doing that over the phone. Besides, we’ll be chaperoned.”
