Delightful: Big Sky Pie #3 (8 page)

“Sentimental crap?” A flash of anger flared in Andrea at these offensive words. She gaped at Bobby, her disgust curling her hands into fists. These clueless oafs. She’d never felt more like punching someone. She’d give them a tongue-lashing if it would penetrate their alligator hides, but she’d dealt with too many rednecks not to know that these Hollywood cowboys were just as dense.

Tempering her voice, she said, “Gentlemen, this is their wedding reception.”

“Yeah.” Flynn spoke up for the first time, setting his hefty camera onto a nearby table. One she had just set. “Who can’t relate to wedding plans going awry?”

She felt as if steam hissed from her ears. “You guys don’t seem to appreciate what a wedding and reception mean to a bride. How many years she dreams of every perfect detail falling into place. How upsetting it can be when even one aspect of those plans doesn’t work out.”

Ice raised his hand like a kid in class waiting to be called on. A glimmer of understanding filled his eyes. Andrea didn’t say anything, just gave him a look that he should enlighten them all as to his newfound insight. In response, he said, “What Bobby meant is that this kind of life situation is something people can relate to. It has universal appeal.”

Ice didn’t seem to realize that, even phrased more nicely, the request itself was as tacky and insensitive as it got. Maybe it spoke to his true nature. Maybe the only thing he was hiding under that uncaring attitude was crudeness.

Welcome to reality TV.

Suddenly the thought of dating a decent guy like Wade held surprising appeal, while spending another minute with Ice didn’t.

I
s this that TV thing that Quint and Nick told me about?” Wade Reynolds asked, glancing around the cold room like a big dog looking for a hole in a fence.

“We’ve been keeping that our secret, Wade,” Molly said, “and it would be best if that continued.”

Andrea agreed. Once locals figured out they could get on TV by dining or shopping at Big Sky Pie, she figured business would either come to a complete halt or boost sales to new highs. She prayed that if, and when, this happened, the ensuing result would be the latter.

“I don’t want, er”—Wade cleared his throat—“I’m not comfortable with”—he cleared his throat again—“I’d rather not—”

“I think Quint would appreciate it if you’d do this for me,” Molly said in a voice as sweet as her frozen cherry pie.

Oh, brother.
Andrea offered him a pitying smile. Molly had pulled out the big guns. Wade didn’t have a chance. There was no way this nice guy could reject her irresistible cajoling. He was toast.

“Okay. I guess.” He stretched his neck like a man dreading an impending noose. Andrea bit back a smile, her gaze raking absently over his loose-fitting, long-sleeved T-shirt, which displayed a defined upper body, while faded jeans cupped every intriguing masculine angle, dip, and curve beneath a low-slung tool belt.

Damn. You might not be my type, Mr. Reynolds, but you are serious man-candy
.

Molly thanked him, then added, “I’ll send you home with a fresh caramel apple pie today when you leave. Oh dear, is that the timer I hear?”

She hurried away, leaving Andrea and Wade alone. He shook his head as if to ask,
What did I just agree to?
There was an innocence about him that was charming, and something else vibrating beneath the surface like a revved motor that begged a heavy foot on the gas pedal. She’d always kind of blown him off, never looked beyond the surface. Maybe she should look.

“I think that woman could talk a drunk into quitting cold turkey,” he said, lifting his baseball cap and replacing it.

“It’s the pie,” Andrea said. “She knows the way to a man’s stomach.”

A smile warmed his handsome face and stirred an urge to bring on that smile more often. He didn’t smile much, she realized. Life had given him some hard knocks, given them some things in common. She suddenly wondered if he’d like to go out for coffee sometime or a drink. Maybe a pizza. Before she could suggest it, though, Ice came into the cold room.

“The handyman will also need to sign a release.” Ice extended a hand to Wade, introduced himself, and asked, “Mr.…”

Wade didn’t seem to notice Ice’s offer of a handshake, a frown furrowing his brow. “A release form?”

Ice dropped his hand and stepped back. “In case we use whatever footage you’re in for the pilot. It’s a standard industry form. If you’re okay with that, then you can go ahead and get to work on the wall.”

Andrea could see the only thing Wade wanted to “get” was out of the promise he’d just made to Molly. But again, she knew he wouldn’t. He was a man of his word.

“Wade is not a handyman, Ice,” Andrea said. “He’s a building contractor. The only reason he’s doing this, and not having one of his crew do it, is as a favor to the McCoys.” In other words, show him some respect.

Ice’s gaze locked with hers, another dangerous game of dare, the energy between them like a live wire. She felt herself getting turned on. No. No, no, no. She did not want anything more to do with Ice. As long as this pilot was being shot, it had to remain strictly business.

Flynn bounded into the room, camera hugged to his side, Zoe and her makeup satchel right behind him. Ice pointed to Wade. “Zoe, this is your latest victim. Do your magic.”

Wade’s eyes widened, but Andrea wasn’t sure if it was at being called a victim or at Zoe advancing toward him with her makeup kit.

“Makeup?” he protested. “No way, José. Either we do this without that or I’ll fix this wall after all of you are tucked into bed for the night.”

“But you’ll look like a ghost on camera, Mr. Reynolds,” Zoe whined, her rainbow tresses bobbing with dismay.

“Don’t care.” Wade stood his ground, and he was too tall for Zoe to reach his face with her blusher wand.

Zoe glanced toward Ice, seeking intervention.

Ice shook his head. “Whatever. His choice.”

Zoe looked crestfallen. But Andrea would swear Ice was more interested in the interaction between Wade and her than in what kind of player Wade would be in his production.

“Would you like me to leave, or stay?” Andrea asked. Ice’s expression said what he’d like was to have his way with her, the smoldering fire in his intense blue eyes stirring inappropriate yearnings, but she’d be damned if she would blink first. “Stay? Go? Which one, oh, great director?”

A slight smile touched his sexy mouth. “Stay. Interact with him like you would any service person.”

“I’m not an actor,” Wade said, stating the obvious.

“Neither am I,” Andrea reminded him. “Don’t fret about the camera. Just ignore everything in your peripheral vision and do what you’d do as if no one were here but you…and me.”

“I need to do Andrea’s hair and makeup first,” Zoe said.

Andrea groaned silently. She hated the heavy makeup and oversprayed hair-dos, but having seen some of the video dailies with and without those, she understood the necessity.

“She looks pretty good already,” Ice said. “Just be quick about it, Zoe. I want to get this shot done.”

Pretty good?
The backhanded compliment smarted. She glared through her lashes, her gaze raking over his chinos and polo shirt. Some designer brand, no doubt. Her clothes might only be top-of-the-line Walmart, but she thought she rocked today. Hot pink sweater and skinny jeans tucked into her white Durangos with the tiny blue hearts and silver grommets. Okay, the boots were designer. The only thing she splurged on, but only if they were on sale.

She followed Zoe to the ladies’ room, encouraging her to hurry, too. “And don’t go heavy-handed on me today, okay?”

“Do I ever?” Zoe gave a toss of her rainbow-hued head, causing a row of fake eyelashes to dislodge and land on her fuchsia-blushed cheek.

Andrea plucked the faux eyelashes between her finger and thumb and handed them to Zoe. “Less is more.”

“God, I so don’t agree with that. If given the choice, always choose more.”

Andrea did a silent eye roll, earning her a frown from Zoe. A few powder puffs and comb teases later, she stood near Wade in the area of the damaged wall.

The light on the camera on Flynn’s shoulder shone green, and Ice had set up klieg lights to expose the repair sight. The heat from the intense carbon bulbs had already raised the temperature in the cold room. Molly would not like that. They had to get this segment over and done with in the first run-through.

Ice slammed the clapper. “Action.”

Wade jumped, then laughed at himself and wiped his palms on his jeans. “This is like real Hollywood-y. I didn’t expect that.”

“Okay,” Ice said.

Andrea was surprised Ice hadn’t told Wade that the pilot wasn’t some home movie, but as “real Hollywood” as it got.

“Again from the top,” Ice said. “Action.”
Clap!

Wade took a deep breath as though getting a hold on his nerves. He hunkered down on his haunches.

The bright lights meant for filming actually helped to visually delineate the moist plasterboard, Andrea saw. “What do you do first?”

“I’m checking the perimeters to ascertain the outermost edges of the dampness.” He patted his hand above and around the center of the damage. He pulled a tool from his belt.

“What’s that?”

“Retractable utility knife.”

“Looks like a box cutter.”

“Same thing,” he said, touching the wall again and scoring the plasterboard as he went. “I’m marking the damaged area and a wider band above the dampness.”

Andrea was vaguely aware of Flynn moving about for better angles, Ice overseeing the whole scene. She watched Wade work, fascinated and curious about the process. Her former experience in real estate hadn’t included going out to new builds or viewing houses under construction. She ran the office.

Wade said, “Next step is cutting out this section that needs to be replaced.”

Andrea nodded absently, her mind still on the past. Although she’d toyed with the idea of obtaining her real estate license a couple of times, she realized that the crazy hours the job required of Quint would be required of her, too. That gave her pause. Yes, when the market was up, she could’ve made more money than she earned running the office, but potential buyers expected realtors to be available weekends and evenings. To manage that, she’d have had to move in with her mother. She shuddered. She loved her mother to pieces, but she equally loved her independence, and besides, her mother would worry 24/7 if she and the boys lived in her house. They’d all go nuts.

Wade grunted, pulling off the piece of wallboard, then he reached into the cavity and explained, “Checking to see if the framing is wet.”

She held her breath. “How bad is it?”

“Not as bad as I thought originally.” He pulled free of the hole and wiped his hand on a work cloth he pulled from his back pocket. “Quint will be happy. I won’t have to charge him as much as I’d estimated.”

“Finally, some good news.” Andrea heard the exaggerated relief in her voice and knew that this dialogue would end up cut and pasted for a dramatic sound bite, a teaser for promo purposes. Use a bit of dialogue that sounded like dire news, but when you heard the whole sentence, it was actually a positive, not negative, result. Viewers watched for the negative.

“In fact, the damage is pretty minimal.” Wade looked up at her, rising as he spoke. “It helps that the floor is concrete and that the liquid was contained for the most part. Just need to replace this damp, ruined drywall here.”

“Great, then you should have it done today.”

He shook his head, retracted the blade of the utility knife, and returned it to his tool belt. “I can’t replace the wallboard yet.”

“Oh?”

“In order to assure that there won’t be any molding to deal with down the road, the space needs to be completely dry before I can replasterboard it. I’ll set up a portable heater for the next couple of days.”

“A heater?” An image of the fresh fruit going the way of the frozen filled her mind, knotting her stomach. “This is a cold room. We can’t have the room heating up.” The klieg lights were already warming the air too much.

Wade bent over and grabbed the chunk of plasterboard he’d cut from the wall, extended his lithe body to his full six-plus, and offered her that rare grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll direct the heat to this one spot and set the temperature to the minimum.”

Andrea felt herself smiling back, reacting to this very good-looking man.

“Cut,” Ice called. “Thanks, Wade. Looked good to me. If you’ll go with Bobby there, you can sign the release form.”

“I need to set up the heater first. It’s in my pickup,” Wade said, then ambled out with Bobby.

Flynn lowered the camera and unplugged the kliegs. “Flynn, follow that Wade guy and get some shots of him with his truck.”

“Huh? Oh, okay.” Flynn hurried to catch up with Wade.

The bum’s rush, Andrea thought, delivered by the demon manipulator. She’d intended to walk with Wade to his truck and bring up the possibility of meeting up sometime for a drink. Damned Ice. She spun on her heel with every intention of chewing him out, but froze under the gaze of those mesmerizing eyes that haunted her dreams. His grin said he had her where he wanted her—all to himself.

He needed to be set straight on a few points, first that she wouldn’t be manipulated. Maybe he couldn’t help himself, being a director, but she didn’t like it. She closed the gap between them as though she were glad to be alone with him. She got up close and personal, in full-on flirt mode, fingering his collar, feeling the pulse at his neck quicken, hearing his intake of breath. She leaned into him as if she meant to kiss him and whispered, “If you’d wanted to get me alone, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

He started to reach for her, but she pulled back. He cocked his head, studied her, something bothering him, but not what she expected. “How’s Lucas?”

The question seemed to come out of the blue, like an angry hornet biting into her exposed flesh. Why had he asked about her son? What did Lucas have to do with him? Nothing, that’s what. “He’s none of your concern.”

Ice pressed his lips together, nodding. “You’re right. He’s not. I was just…being polite.”

She nodded, knowing she needed to draw a line with him. “The other day with you was an awful mistake. It can’t happen again. Ever.”

“Awful?” A soft laugh vibrated in his throat. “I don’t believe you…and you know as well as I do that it will happen again…” He was staring at her mouth, and then her breasts—which were standing at attention, either from the cold of the room or the heat of his gaze. She should leave now, but her brain wasn’t paying attention. It was listening to the baser requests being made by the glances of this so-wrong-for-her man.

“I don’t have any expectations,” she said. “I don’t want anything more. No strings.”

“What if I want strings?”

“You don’t want strings.” She couldn’t help chuckling at the absurdity of that. “Any woman harboring that fantasy only has to sleep with you to realize it’s a foolhardy notion.”

His eyes clouded, a sure sign that she’d dented his ego. “What does that mean?”

Oh, God, why had she opened this can of worms? How did she explain that she’d had a man exactly like him? That she knew from experience he was only in it for himself. He didn’t want her for her. He was only turned on by her loving wild sex as much as he did. What could she say that would make him stop coming after her for more? “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy hot, dirty sex as much as anyone, especially with a lover who knows his way around the female body. But like most women, I want something more.”

“Such as?” The glint in his eye said,
Bring it on.
He was up for any challenge she wanted to throw at him. Literally up for it, she realized, judging by the bulge in his chinos.