Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

Genres: Romance; Romantic Comedy; Contemporary Romance; Small-town Romance

Synopsis

He started to work the laces of his boots loose. Toeing them off, he tugged his t-shirt over his head.

“Oh my God. What are you doing?” Paige’s voice barely rose above the spray from the showerhead.

“I’m washing your damn hair.”

It’s a constant battle on set between sexy home renovation reality star grumpy Gannon and his no-nonsense field producer. Paige has zero time for temperamental talent, especially one who acts like being in front of the camera is the last thing he wants.

Mr. Sex in a Toolbelt has made it his mission in life to get a rise out of her, but Paige is a master at locking down her temper. They’re on the road together working long hours fixing houses and changing lives. When cracks in her legendary coolness start to show and sparks fly, Gannon is infatuated and the cameras are there to capture it.

But he’s fallen for pretty packages before and Paige won’t be taken seriously if she’s caught sleeping with the star of her show. She also can’t seem to resist those big, rough hands. Those smoldery hazel eyes. The dimples. The toolbelt. That fiercely protective vibe.

Too bad it’s all about to fall apart.
She never should have trusted him.
He never should have let her go.

Author’s Note: A protective grumpy hero, a not easily impressed heroine, the worst human being on TV ever, a grand gesture so big you’ll need a box of tissues, and THAT SHOWER SCENE.

Release date: July 6, 2017

Publisher: That's What She Said Publishing

Print pages: 375

Reader says this book is...: entertaining story (2) escapist/easy read (2) happily ever after (2) high heat (2) realistic characters (2) rich setting(s) (2) satisfying ending (2) sex scenes (2) strong chemistry (2) strong heroine (1) terrific writing (2) unputdownable (2) emotionally riveting (1) heartwarming (1) swoon-worthy (1)

Sample

Chapter 1

 

 

Paige crossed her long legs restlessly under the glossy wood of the conference table. She wasn’t cut out for marathon meetings with multi-page agendas. The longer the suit with the receding hairline and the PowerPoint presentation droned on, the antsier she felt. She had things to do, and listening to a bunch of network drones salivate over how to milk more ratings out of an already hit show didn’t get her any farther down her to-do list.

 

“What we really need is to see some emotion out of Gannon,” the suit announced. The next slide appeared with Gannon King’s sex god face and a bar graph. Paige was pretty sure none of the handful of women in the room were looking at the graph. “That’s what the female demographic is clamoring for.”

 

“To be clear, you’re not talking about his usual emotion. Correct?” Eddie Garraza, the man on her right, was the executive producer and ringleader of the three-ring circus known as the reality show Kings of Construction. In a room full of designer suits and shoes that cost more than most people’s first cars, Eddie was wearing his trademark khakis and rumpled button down. His trusty moccasins tapped an incessant beat under the table.

 

Paige hid her snicker behind a cough.

 

Gannon King’s usual emotion was fiery temper that singed anyone within a forty foot radius. A builder by trade, he was an artist with woodwork, producing furniture pieces that were one-of-a-kind works of art. The female viewership worshipped Gannon’s shirtless physique, but Paige saved her lust for the furniture, not the man. With that talent came a passionate, argumentative, stubborn attitude that often held up shoots and pissed Paige off.

 

“We want to see the human side of him. Cat plays great in the ratings, but Gannon needs to soften up a little. Viewers will eat it up.”

 

Cat King was Gannon’s equally attractive and talented twin sister. Younger by two minutes, she shared Gannon’s long lashed hazel eyes but had miles of California blonde tresses where her brother had dark hair usually worn shaved short. Where he was abrasive, Cat was smooth. Where Gannon argued, she orchestrated compromise. Without their uncanny family resemblance, it would be difficult to make the familial connection by behavior alone.

 

“Paige.” The man in the too tight Hugo Boss—Raymond? Ralph? —gestured at her with the presentation remote. “You’ve gotten into a few skirmishes with Gannon. We’re looking to you to rile him up and catch him on camera. You know he’s a softie for kids. See if you can push him over the edge there. There’s a $5,000 bonus in it for you if there’s tears from him.”

 

She gave a nod, acknowledging that she’d heard the man without actually agreeing to anything. It was true. There had been more than a few on-set arguments between them in season one of the home renovation reality show. Gannon seemed to instinctively know what buttons to push to send her into an internal maelstrom. Given the instant success the show had been, the network had ordered a twelve episode second season, which would give her plenty of time to get into it with the brash host.

 

If she were that kind of field producer.

 

But, as much as she needed an extra $5,000, she wasn’t going to set up Gannon and push him over the edge or stir up his emotions for fun. He might be an asshole, but he was an extremely talented asshole. And in her heart of hearts, his open hatred of “network bullshit” was something that she could respect.

 

Not that she’d ever tell him that.

 

Eddie jabbed her under the table with the capped end of his ballpoint pen. “We’ll do our best,” Eddie told Raymond-Ralph, his face a perfect poker mask while Paige’s fingers flew over the laptop making notes.

 

Behind the same wire-rimmed glasses he’d worn since the mid-nineties, Eddie never gave up what he was thinking with unnecessary facial expressions or body language. He spoke plainly and knew when a battle wasn’t worth fighting. That’s why, in an industry of perpetual youth-chasers, Eddie rocked a head of silver fluffy hair and had never been near a Botox needle.

 

The presentation moved on, and Paige’s gaze wandered to the view of New York through the wall of glass. They were downtown, six floors up at the production company’s headquarters. Summit-Wingenroth Productions sounded like a company with a long, respectable history, but it was founded five years prior by a former reality star and made its profits churning out dozens of barely unscripted shows for the networks.

 

Kings was the only show in the company’s lengthy credits that Paige could stomach. They helped people, and that—to her—was the end game. For Summit-Wingenroth it was a schmaltzy hook to reel in an audience and sell advertising.

 

The double doors to the conference room opened drawing everyone’s attention. Gannon King, larger than life, strode into the room. Cat breezed in behind her brother smiling warmly at everyone gathered. Smoothly, Raymond or Ralph clicked onto the next slide, and Gannon’s face disappeared behind another chart of audience demographics. Paige turned her attention back to the laptop screen in front of her and refused to stare.

 

Gannon was the kind of man who wrestled your attention from you as soon as he walked into a room. Built like a Norse god, his broad shoulders and muscled pecs gave way to a taut abdomen that had Twitter lighting up every time he took his shirt off on camera. The gray Henley he wore today stretched across his chest and molded to his impressive physique. A trio of leather cords wrapped around his left wrist.

 

Disheveled as usual but in the careless, confident way, his hair was a little longer on top than last season. Paige bit her lip. She was a field producer, not some love-struck teenage fan. And he was the narcissistic bane of her professional existence.

 

“There are our rising stars.” The suit’s tone had an extra layer of phony to it that had Paige barely controlling an eye roll.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Cat said, without a hint of apology in her tone. “But we were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop in.”

 

“You’re welcome to join us. We were just going over the demographics.”

 

And ways to break your brother on camera, Paige added silently.

 

Gannon ignored the pleasantries and stalked to the coffee station. He poured himself a mug— black—and leaned against the counter. Cat took a seat near the head of the table and stared raptly at the presenter until he turned a bright shade of fuchsia and fumbled over the word “ratings.”

 

Paige grinned. Cat was a master of manipulating men. What looked like a pretty smile and keen interest was actually a calculated move to disarm the enemy and get her what she wanted. The more she was underestimated, the more she was able to get away with before her victims realized they’d been victimized. Paige wondered what Cat was after this time.

 

Still smiling, she glanced in Gannon’s direction and cursed herself when she found him watching her. He must have taken her expression as an invitation because he rounded the table to take the empty seat next to her.

 

The denim of his worn, ripped jeans brushed her forearm as he took his seat. Paige immediately yanked her arm off the armrest and put her hand in her lap. Once seated, he shoved his long sleeves up, revealing a hint of new tattoo on his forearm, and settled in leaning on the arm closest to her.

 

She could smell sawdust and noted he was wearing his scarred work boots. He had probably spent most of the morning in his workshop in Brooklyn before Cat dragged him here for whatever scheme she was cooking up.

 

Why did he have to be so drop dead gorgeous and so profoundly talented? It wasn’t fair.

 

He leaned in closer. “What’s not fair?” he whispered. His breath was warm on her neck. Paige turned to look at him, finding him entirely too close. Was he a mind reader now?

 

He nodded toward her screen.

 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

 

Crap. Her subconscious was trying to make itself public. Paige bit the inside of her cheek. She shrugged. “Carpal tunnel exercise.” She wiggled her fingers, committing to the lie.

 

“Sure it is, princess.”

 

His smirk made it clear that he wasn’t fooled. And the “princess” pushed just the right buttons with her. He’d called her that ever since an unexpected downpour last season had soaked her to the bone. One of the volunteers happened to have her daughter’s gym bag with her, and Paige had spent the rest of the day into the night in a pair of volleyball shorts and a bedazzled too tight t-shirt that said Princess across the chest. As soon as Gannon found out the nickname irked her, he became steadfast in his regular use of it.

 

Paige deleted the lines and tried to tune back in to the speaker, who was finally approaching the important part of the meeting. The families that would be featured on the show this season.

 

“Our first family for the season is the Russes.” A slide showing an older couple surrounded by kids of all ages filled the screen. “Phil and Delia Russe have three kids and nine grandkids.”

 

He clicked to the next slide showing the exterior of a non-descript commercial building. “Twenty years ago, they opened a soup kitchen in town and have served up something like one million meals. The entire family still volunteers there.”

 

Another slide. This one showing a shabby-chic office with the Russes accepting a giant check from two men in suits. “Five years ago, they added a job placement service to the operation. So we’ve got former homeless ready to volunteer, all of the kids and grandkids will be on hand, and the rest of the community is on board. It’ll be a schmaltz-fest. Perfect season opener.”

 

Paige purposely left “schmaltz-fest” out of her notes.

 

“We don’t have an update on exactly how extensive the renovation will be. I’ll send out a complete project scope when I have it,” Paige volunteered.

 

Gannon cleared his throat, and every gaze turned to him.

 

Kicking back in his chair, he swiveled toward the screen. “My guys touched base with the local crews and the township zoning board. There’s enough room in the back to add an addition for a first-floor master, and then we can reconfigure the front for an open concept. The areas of concern are the roof and the forty-year-old electric. Both are going to need to be replaced. The permits shouldn’t be an issue.”

 

Gannon King was speaking in a meeting. Willingly. And helpfully. Wonders never ceased. Of course, he was also making her look like an out-of-touch idiot.

 

The three women around the table were hanging on his every word. The half-dozen men were nodding thoughtfully as if he had just delivered the Gettysburg address. Paige spared a glance at Gannon, who cocked an eyebrow and opened his hands. “I can play nice, princess,” he said quietly.

 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

 

“I can hear you judging me.”

 

Ass. She bet he didn’t hear that.

 

“I’ll admit to judging you if you stop calling me princess for the season.”

 

Gannon leaned in. Again, too close. There were flecks of gold in his eyes that caught the light. The scar through his eyebrow made him look dangerous, rakish. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

By the time the meeting was over, Paige’s empty stomach was complaining, and she was dying to get away from Gannon. A glance at her watch told her she had half an hour to find something to stuff in her face before she and Eddie hooked up with the location manager to get details on the first three shows.

 

She rose to pack up her laptop and papers, but Gannon remained seated at her elbow. She felt his eyes on her and tried to ignore it, but the searing heat finally broke her.

 

“Do you need something?” she asked primly.

 

His mouth quirked into a crooked grin. “I’ve never seen you in a skirt before. It’s…” His gaze skimmed her. “Nice.”

 

Gannon had seen her in everything but professional clothing. On the road, the crew uniform was jeans, t-shirts, and any layers that could be added or removed. When they were filming, Paige considered herself lucky if she found time to swipe a coat of mascara on her lashes before heading to the set in the pre-dawn hours. There were some benefits to being behind the camera.

 

The tingle on her skin told her that her legs would blush if they could under his scrutiny. She resisted the urge to tug her pencil skirt down. “So glad you approve,” she said coolly. “See you on location.”

 

She scurried out the door at a pace she hoped suggested busy but not fleeing for life even though she could feel his eyes boring into her with every step.

 

“Paige!” Cat caught her at the door. “Hey, wanna grab lunch?”

 

Paige peeked at her watch. “What can we consume in twenty-five minutes?”

 

Cat wrinkled her nose, and then her face lit up.

 

“Hot dog cart,” they said in unison.

 

Paige laughed. “What about your brother?” The conference room door was closing behind them but not before she caught Gannon’s voice rumbling over two words that gave her the chills. “Meeghan Traxx.”

 

“He’s got business to take care of,” Cat said with a wave of her hand. “Let’s go eat terrible things and catch up.”

 

Paige stashed her bag and papers in an empty cubicle, and they took the elevator down. They found a vendor around the corner and headed into the park, loaded hot dogs in hand. The early spring sunshine immediately lifted Paige’s spirits.

 

“Oh sweet Jesus, this is delicious,” Cat said rolling her eyes heavenward.

 

Paige muttered in agreement as she worked her way through a mouthful of sauerkraut. “I don’t know how you eat like that and look the way you do,” Paige grumbled. Cat had two inches on Paige’s five-foot-seven and was built like a damn ballerina.

 

“Please. Pot. Kettle.”

 

“Yeah, I’m going to spend an hour and a half in the gym tonight regretting this. You’re probably going to go home and eat six pounds of fettuccini.”

 

Cat patted her flat stomach. “Good genes and liposuction.”

 

“You’re such a liar,” Paige accused.

 

“I’ve been assured that it will catch up with me, and when it does, I’ll look like the adorable Italian meatball my nonni is.”

 

“As long as it evens out in the end,” Paige waxed philosophically.

 

Cat shot rapid-fire questions as they walked and ate. “So how was your break? Holidays good?”

 

“Yep. How about yours?”

 

“Crazy and hectic, but awesome. Are you seeing anyone yet?”

 

Paige rolled her eyes.

 

“I’ll take that as a big fat no.” Cat’s platinum ponytail swung rhythmically. In her skinny jeans, boots, and tunic sweater she looked as if she had just strolled away from a photo shoot.

 

“You know what my schedule’s like. I’m too busy for men.” Paige crumpled her napkin and tossed it in a trashcan as they passed.

 

Cat shoved the last bite in her mouth. “Your priorities are out of whack.”

 

“I can’t understand you with all that meat in your mouth.” Paige teased.

 

“Oh!” Cat high-fived her. “Nicely done. Now, back to me pressuring you to date or at least get laid. You’re a beautiful, young woman, Paige. It’s a crime to keep all this—” she gestured at Paige’s chest, “buttoned up.”

 

“You’re ridiculous. Please tell me you’re not seeing anyone right now.” Cat had a history of falling head over heels for the occasional unworthy man who proceeded to break her heart or piss her off. The whole cycle usually lasted around three weeks, and when it happened during filming, havoc was wreaked.

 

“Nope. Mama’s going through a dry spell. Want to be lesbians?”

 

“Well, it would be more convenient on the road,” Paige mused. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

 

“The middle.”

 

“Nope. It would never work. I can’t be crowded under the covers.”

 

Cat sighed. “Fine. I’ll go back to men. Distrustful and confusing though they may be.”

 

“Speaking of confusing, what’s with you and Gannon crashing the production meeting?”

 

“We’re strong-arming for a raise for the production crew and our guys.”

 

“My dwindling bank account thanks you,” Paige said. Gannon and Cat had very strong principles about spreading the wealth. The production company had offered them both astronomical raises for the second season, and Paige wasn’t surprised that they wanted to make sure everyone else was taken care of too.

 

“I heard Gannon mention Meeghan on our way out.”

 

Cat mimed vomiting. “Gross, let’s not talk about that over-inflated, poor excuse for a human being.”

 

Meeghan Traxx was the network’s biggest star. She had the blondest hair, the biggest breasts, and an infamously super-sized ego. A designer with two of her own shows, she was also Gannon King’s girlfriend.

 

Crews talk. And Paige had heard enough to know that Meeghan was considered a monster on and off set. As obnoxious as Gannon could be, even he didn’t deserve Meeghan.

 

“Does she show up at your family functions? Like, did she bring some gold-plated designer sweet potato side dish to the King Thanksgiving?” Paige pressed.

 

Cat snorted. “God, no! We’ve never met her. Gannon’s never even talked about her. Which is a good thing because if he were all, ‘Meeghan is so amazing,’ I’d be all, ‘I’m taking you to the ER to get a head scan because you obviously have a head injury.’”

 

Paige laughed. “I’m just now realizing how much I missed you.”

 

Cat wrapped her in a one-armed hug. “Mutual, babe.”

 

“Oh my gosh! It’s really you!” A woman in a pink jogging suit squealed at Cat, hands fluttering. “My husband is not going to believe this! Cat King just walking around the park like a regular person.” She started digging through her giant purse.

 

Cat winked at Paige. “It’s always nice to meet a fan of the show. Would you like a picture?”

 

The woman triumphantly rescued her phone from the depths of her bag. “I would love one!” She shoved the phone at Paige. “Is your brother here?” The woman’s head swiveled from side to side fast enough for a low-grade whiplash.

 

“Just me today.”

 

The woman sighed. “It’s probably a good thing. I’d faint if I met him.”

 

Paige grinned as Cat good-naturedly accepted the bear hug turned headlock. She took a couple shots making sure she captured the excitement and Cat’s best side.

 

The woman unhanded Cat and immediately flipped through the pictures. “This is so exciting!” She hurried off without a backward glance.

 

Cat grinned. “How long before she realizes she didn’t say good-bye?”