Don't You Wanna Stay

by Kait Nolan

  Wyatt was in the middle of handing out assignments when Deanna thudded down the stairs. He caught a quick flash of fury on her face before she spotted the gathered volunteers and pasted on a facsimile of a smile.

  “Good morning.”

  Despite the shorts and tank top, this was the PR professional, not the woman who’d been getting up well before the crack of dawn and putting in several more hours on the house after she got home from work. Wyatt found he preferred the unfiltered version of her. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Deanna James. Blackborne Hall belongs to her.”

  He could still sense the simmer and bubble of her temper beneath the surface as he introduced the others. Rolling with the understanding that her client call hadn’t gone well, he offered her a sledgehammer. “The lady of the house gets first swing. Where do you want to start?”

  She curled her hands around the handle. “Kitchen.”

  “Perfect. Simon, go kill the power in the relevant sectors before we start tearing things down. Then you’re on camera duty.”

  “You got it.”

  The others followed as Wyatt trailed Deanna into the kitchen. She eyed the room as if it had personally offended her. What the hell had happened on that call?

  “Nothing in here is salvageable. We’re tearing it down to studs.” He steered her toward the water damaged wall and nodded toward the sledgehammer in her hands. “You know how to use one of these?”

  “Heavy end hits the idiots in the head.”

  “I mean, that’s one way.”

  “Wait, wait! I’ve got you, girl!” Bennet pulled a giant sharpie from somewhere and drew a stick man on the wall. Beside it, she added a stick woman. Above them, she scrawled “Blake” and “Mercy Lee,” then stepped back with a flourish.

  Jasmine snickered.

  Before he could offer any instruction, Deanna hefted the hammer, slamming it straight into Stick Mercy Lee’s face, caving in the plaster and laths beneath.

  “Well, okay then.” He’d known she had work ethic, but maybe those pretty, manicured hands were more capable than he’d expected. “Why don’t we give you some time alone.”

  He redirected everyone else to other rooms, pausing to open all the windows for cross ventilation. When he came back to the kitchen, Deanna was still systematically destroying the wall. Stick Mercy Lee was already half gone. Keeping one eye on her, he began prying up countertops.

  “So was it Mercy Lee on the phone this morning?”

  “Of course it was.” She swung the sledgehammer into Stick Mercy Lee’s knee.

  He’d been hearing bits and pieces of the bullshit she’d had to deal with as they’d worked together the past week. “Wasn’t the interview and photoshoot for that magazine spread today?”

  “Yep.” Another leg caved in.

  “Did she try to get out of it?”

  “She tried to change the location at the last minute, when the photographer was already set up at the spot designated weeks ago. When all the staff and the reporter and a dozen other people are already on site preparing to make her look amazing. Because inconveniencing people means nothing to her.” She knocked out the rest of Stick Mercy Lee.

  “I’m afraid to ask if the shoot got moved.”

  “It did not get moved, and she will be where she’s supposed to be—albeit late.”

  “Do I want to know how you convinced her of that?”

  “Voodoo.”

  Wyatt couldn’t tell if she was joking and decided it was safer not to ask as she started in on Stick Blake.

  “What about Blake? Is he a client or the ex-husband?” He wondered which had inspired this fury of destruction.

  “Ex-weasel.”

  “Got it.” He ripped off trim from the side of the cabinets. “What’d he do to merit having the shit beaten out of him in effigy?”

  With a savage glare, she growled again.

  Wyatt lifted his hands in surrender. “Whatever it was, he obviously deserved it.”

  Deanna swung, taking out Stick Blake’s arm. “I was fool enough to support the lazy son of a bitch while he pursued a music career—for a decade. I paid for the too lavish lifestyle he insisted he needed. I made a career entirely around learning how to make him look good. I fucking made him. And he thanks me by banging his mistress in our bed.” She drove the hammer through Stick Blake’s crotch. “And yet somehow, when I divorced his ass, I’m the one who got saddled with alimony and most of the debts he ran up in my name. Because it happens the judge was one of his daddy’s golf buddies.”

  That explained a lot about her financial predicament. Wyatt couldn’t fathom taking advantage of someone like that.

  “Damn,” Simon muttered. “Need someone to help you beat his ass for real? Because he totally deserves it.”

  When the hell had he wandered in?

  Deanna whirled, her face going a little pale as she spotted the camera. “You can’t post that.”

  “We won’t post any footage of you without your express permission,” Wyatt assured her. “Nobody will get used unless they sign a release.”

  “Offer still stands,” Simon added.

  One corner of her unpainted mouth quirked as she cleared broken laths with one gloved hand. “As gratifying as that would be, I’d be better off with a matchmaker. The only way I get free of him is if he marries someone else. Well, or pisses off someone else enough that he gets run over by a bus.”

  “Afraid I’m fresh out of matchmakers and buses. But we’ve got plenty of stuff for you to break.” Wyatt yanked the counter away and dragged it to the pile on the other side of the room. “C’mon. Take a shot at this base cabinet.”

  “I’ll take it.” Choking up on the handle, she swung, crashing the sledgehammer into the end of the cabinet. Wood splintered and a satisfied grin peeked out.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does.” She swung again.

  Wyatt couldn’t help but notice the bunch and flex of her surprisingly toned arms and the long, smooth legs exposed by her shorts. He really dug capable women, and Deanna James was proving to be both a quick learner and extremely competent. But beyond all that, he was finding all these brief glimpses of the woman underneath the mask as intriguing as the potential of Blackborne Hall itself. He remembered that unguarded moment here when she’d said that this house was like her life.

  What would Deanna herself look like if all the bullshit in her world were stripped away and she could actually be herself? Would she even know what to do with that? And why did it feel just as important to help her with that as it did with the house?

  She’s a client, idiot.

  Determined to redirect his attention from wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked, he reached to yank at the loosened base cabinet and found Simon with the camera pointed in his direction, tongue firmly in cheek.

  Chapter 7

  On a heartfelt groan, Deanna dropped to the front porch steps. At least that had been her intention. The reality was more like a slow folding of her creaky legs until her butt hit the stair tread. With a slow exhale, she pivoted the few necessary inches to lean against one of the front porch columns and closed her eyes, soaking up the blessed silence. After two days of furious, unrelenting hammering, prying, and sawing, the dumpster was full and their seemingly tireless volunteers were gone. Every single inch of her body ached, including a whole host of muscles she was reasonably certain had never been used in her life.

  She’d never felt so satisfied.

  She didn’t bother opening her eyes at the sound of footsteps coming out the front door. “Just so you know, I’m sleeping out here tonight. There’s not a chance in hell I can make it upstairs.”

  Wyatt’s low chuckle rolled over her like warm molasses, eliciting an unwelcome clutch between her thighs. “This will help.”

  He wrapped her hand around a cold bottle. For a few moments, the feel of his touch overrode the aches and pains. Her awareness sharpened as his hands folded around her f
ingers, his calluses trailing over her skin as he placed something in her palm. Wary, she cracked open her eyes and stared at the little white pills.

  “You wash it down with the beer.”

  Deanna could hear the amusement in his tone, but didn’t dare look up at him. He’d be smiling, and in her current state, she wasn’t at all sure she could avoid staring at his mouth. She kept her focus on the painkillers. He was taking care of her. It was a tiny thing. A simple, kind gesture. But it wasn’t something she was used to from a man.

  “Thank you.” She tossed back the pills and washed them down with the crisp strawberry ale that tasted like heaven.

  Wyatt dropped down beside her, holding up his own bottle. “To the end of demo. For now, anyway.”

  The musical clink of their toast was almost lost in the summer song of cicadas and frogs. Tipping her head back against the column, she stared out into the night. “It’s nice to sit here and enjoy a cold drink after a hard day’s work.”

  “Hard two days. You did good.”

  Uncomfortable with the praise, Deanna shrugged. “It doesn’t take a tremendous amount of skill to destroy things.”

  “It does to keep from breaking shit you didn’t mean to. You did really well pulling out that tongue and groove we found to use later. You’re a fast learner, and you’re not afraid to dig in and get your hands dirty.” He sounded impressed by that. By her.

  When was the last time that had happened anywhere but in her job?

  “We’ll see if you say that the further we get on this project. It will become more than apparent I don’t know what I’m doing.” She’d been painfully aware of it over the past week as he’d talked over the lengthy list of necessary repairs, recommendations, and renovations. Her notion that she could ever tackle such a project on her own was pure delusion. Thank God he was saving her from even more costly mistakes.

  “You don’t lack knowledge. It’s obvious you know how to do research and that you’ve done a lot of it prior to buying this place.”

  “A million hours of HGTV and YouTube hardly count as true education. There are miles of difference between theory and practice.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it. Those are a hundred percent observational learning opportunities. And anyway, that’s why you have me.”

  He didn’t mean it how it sounded. Deanna knew that. But something in his tone had her looking over at him. Though she couldn’t clearly see his face in the dark, she could feel the weight of his gaze. There was a pulse of—something—before he looked away, taking another swallow of his beer.

  She did the same, wetting a throat gone tight with yearning. Shut it down, James. You can only handle one mistake at a time.

  Getting involved with any man was a minefield of shit biscuits, and she’d already stepped in it with buying this house. The last thing she needed to be doing was undressing her contractor with her eyes. This wasn’t about her for him. It was about getting what he needed for his show, and it was in her best interest to help him however she could with this skill for skill trade. It was time she ponied up.

  “You’re certainly holding up your side of the bargain. Let’s talk about what I’m going to do for you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I’ve been doing an evaluation of your current platform. In general, you’ve done a good job on YouTube. You understand the format and produce good quality videos—better as you’ve gone along—that have a lot of views. The periodic fan call-outs and thank yous in those videos are a definite good move, but there’s room for improvement in engagement with those fans who are commenting on each video. The product placement for the stuff you use is also good, but you’re missing out on an opportunity for affiliate income. I’d recommend a website for the show, linking to the playlist for each flip you’ve done, as well as a searchable DIY section.”

  “Isn’t that all already on YouTube?”

  “Yes, but you’re missing out on the audience potential for everyone who doesn’t already hang out there. The same with Facebook and Instagram. You’ve already got video content, so IG TV is a fantastic way to drive more traffic, find more viewers. TikTok might also be an avenue to explore, though I need to do some more thinking on that front. But, right now, you’re largely neglecting fan engagement.”

  Wyatt shifted, dropping his gaze to stare at the bottle dangling between two fingers. “That sounds like a lot of stuff. I don’t have a ton of time to put into answering every comment, and I don’t always have reliable internet where I’m working.”

  Deanna recognized the same sense of overwhelm in his posture that she felt about the house, so she opted not to mention some of the feelers she’d already put out with some network contacts. She’d keep it to the basics for now. “I won’t lie to you. It will be more work. That’s part of how you grow a platform. But I can show you how to cross post between different social media sites, and a lot of things can be pre-scheduled. You don’t have to answer every single comment, but you should go through and at least like them to indicate you’ve read them and are paying attention.”

  “How is all of this supposed to help me snare the attention of producers?”

  “It shows you come with a built-in audience and that you have skill in interacting with that audience.”

  He hesitated. “I’m not… good with words.”

  Deanna frowned. Since she’d met this man, she’d never seen him be anything but a hundred percent confident and capable. There was something underlying his statement that went beyond a simple case of the don’t wannas.

  “You seem perfectly good with words. You’re a natural host and teacher.”

  “That’s different. That’s talking.”

  “Talking is words.”

  “Not—” He cut himself off, looking out into the darkness.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re thinking.” With someone else, she might have been brusque. She seldom had patience for bullshit. But she sensed this was anything but, so she kept her tone mild.

  “I’m not reluctant because I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to play to my strengths.” He didn’t look at her, but she could see the fingers tighten on the beer bottle. “You want me to put up more video in other places, that’s fine. But the point of all this is to create something that’ll be sustainable when you’re no longer there to coach me, right? I’m never going to be that guy who does a bunch of commenting and written engagement with people.”

  “Okay.”

  That got him to look at her. “Okay?”

  “I’m not a dictator here. And you’re right. There’s no point in getting you on platforms you won’t continue to use over time. You like video and talking out loud. We can work with that. But we’re also going to up the ante there.”

  “Up the ante how?”

  Thinking of the plan she’d formulated over all the sweaty labor this weekend, she smiled and tipped back the last of her beer. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  The brick floor in the kitchen had to go. There were too many damaged bricks and no way to replace them with something that matched. But Wyatt was never one to waste materials, so he’d determined to salvage as much as could for some other project. He’d been painstakingly chiseling mortar and prying up bricks for three hours when he heard the car drive up and the front door open.

  “Wyatt?” Deanna’s voice rang out from the foyer.

  “Kitchen.”

  She strode in a few moments later in full professional mode, dressed in a little suit with some sky high heels that were a great way to break an ankle on a job site like this.

  “Watch your step.” His voice came out a little ragged, and he told himself it was just out of concern for her safety, not at the mental image of what she’d look like in nothing but those heels.

  She paused at the edge of the remaining floor. “Well, you’ve been busy.”

  “Always. Didn’t expect you to be home in the middle of the day.”

  �
��I carved out a little time to help Bennet get set up. Where’s Simon?”

  That distracted him from the shoes. “Sent him to pick up food. Help Bennet get set up for what?”

  The woman herself sailed into the room. “The cameras.”

  Wyatt sat back on his heels, confused. “We have cameras.”

  “You have very specific, planned shots right now. We want to set up more cameras, so there’s plenty of candid footage of the actual renovation and such. We’ll also set up an interview booth of sorts, to get some of that type of footage. I want to show the guy behind the renovation as much as the work itself.”

  “I don’t understand. You want to interview me on camera?”

  “Not in a formalized show with a host kind of way, but like those little call out segments you see in a lot of shows where it just looks like the people on there are answering questions. One of us will give you a prompt, and you’ll just talk candidly about whatever that is.”

  “Okay.” He drew the word out, trying to wrap his brain around what she was suggesting. “Why?”

  “A good construction reality show tells a story. Yes, viewers tune in for the transformation, but it’s as much about the people as the work. Since you aren’t typically working with clients, the people in this case are you and the volunteers and other craftsmen you work with. In order to get what you want from producers, you have to sell yourself as much as your work. I happen to have a lot of experience with that.”

  Because of Blake. She didn’t say it but the thought hung between them, emphasized by the faint tick in her jaw. Wyatt remembered what she’d said during demo. I fucking made him. He’d looked Blake Lucas up the other night and had to concede she was right. The guy certainly hadn’t made any inroads with his derivative, dude bro music, and Wyatt didn’t for a minute buy that aw shucks, good ol’ boy facade. But it seemed plenty of people were. Kudos to Deanna for her skill.