The DIY Groom

by Lori Wilde

  “I’ll do three.”

  “That won’t save the show or Ed’s and my jobs.”

  “I don’t get it. Why don’t you hire an actor who’ll follow the damn script?”

  “I wish. The boss wants you.” Megan still had trouble believing it. “Something about our onscreen chemistry.”

  “Chemistry?” Zack snorted. “More like animosity.”

  “I agree.”

  “Six episodes, and I can pick the times.”

  “Twenty, whenever you’re scheduled.”

  “No way.”

  “Okay, you do the show as long as you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend. I’ll let the legal department work out the details.”

  “Guess I can’t fault that,” he conceded.

  She knew what he was thinking. He could bail out any time by dumping her—well, pretending to dump her, since you have to be involved with someone to do it for real.

  “You’ll come to the studio next week?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll have Ed call you.” Let her brother-in-law struggle with this tenuous arrangement.

  He rose languidly and walked over to where she was standing. “Okay, I guess this will work.”

  He offered his hand. The palm was hard and calloused, but his grip was gentle. This was a man who didn’t resort to bone-crushing handshakes to show how strong he was. He held her hand overly long as though debating whether to change his mind.

  “If that’s settled…” she said.

  “Yeah, I have things to do.” He turned and left abruptly.

  Her hand stayed warm from his, and she felt jittery all over, the way she had when her show debuted.

  Was this how it felt to make a deal with the Devil?

  Zack showed up at the studio on Monday morning to sign the contract, regretting every minute he had to be away from the jobsite. Sure, he could trust Cole to supervise things, but not for nothing did the men call Zack Benito.

  He wasn’t Italian, and he didn’t look like the World War II dictator, Mussolini, but Zack did run things on schedule. If that made him a tyrant, it wasn’t a bad thing in the competitive construction business.

  His skin was crawling just being under the unlit klieg lights in the studio. He hadn’t connected with Ed yet, but Megan welcomed him as though she hadn’t expected him to show. She hurriedly told him a few of the basics. The Tuesday show was taped on Monday, which explained her agitated behavior. The Thursday show was shot on Wednesday, a less inconvenient day for him to be away from work.

  “Remember, we always tape in front of a live audience,” she warned him.

  “Better than a dead audience, I guess,” he grumbled.

  “Please, just go along with whatever I plan,” she begged. “You’re the guest, not a co-host.”

  “In other words, I’m your flunky.”

  “No, you’ll be here to demonstrate a few simple techniques…”

  “You’re not going to create any more accidents just to get a laugh and boost ratings?”

  “You’re safe. I take my show very seriously,” she said.

  Megan flounced away, but Ed hurried over, perspiring even without the lights on.

  “Bailey, glad to have you aboard.”

  “Yeah,” Zack said noncommittally.

  “So you’re signing on for two shows a week.”

  Ed was pushing it. He had to know more than that about his deal with Megan. His laugh was forced as he slapped him on the back with locker-room heartiness. Zack felt like decking him just because he hated being there, but the big guy had a hundred pounds on him. Anyway, it wasn’t his fault. He’d made his own deal.

  Megan dashed over to them. Apparently, she tried to ensure the success of the show by rushing around before the taping like a headless chicken on speed.

  “I didn’t realize this shirt shrank in the dryer,” she said to Ed. “Maybe I should wear a jersey with the station logo.”

  She tried to yank on the pink knit top to make it cover her cute little belly button, but it was no go. A good two inches of flesh showed between the hem and the waistband of her black jeans.

  “You look gorgeous—a lot different than you did in your robe,” Zack said sweetly, watching Ed’s neck do a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.

  The producer’s face gave him away. He thought Megan had slept with him to get him on the show.

  “Don’t make it sound like—” Megan heatedly began to protest.

  “What made you change your mind?” Ed interrupted suspiciously.

  “A series of events did it,” Zack said, “which had nothing to do with Ms. Danbury’s silly stunts.”

  “I have to call Mr. Gunderdorf about a few details of your contract, then our business manager will have you sign the standard form.” Ed hurried away.

  “Don’t you dare tell anyone about the mud,” Megan said to Zack.

  Her eyes flashed with anger, which, unfortunately, only made them sparkle more appealingly. Good thing he knew she was pure poison, as wrong for him as any female could be. Not that he wanted a serious relationship with anyone. In spite of Cole’s happy marriage, Zack was still convinced he was genetically unsuited for long-term commitments. After all, his birth father had cut and run before he was born.

  “Has anyone ever told you how blue your eyes are?” he asked, maliciously playful, turning on the infamous Bailey boys’ charm full force.

  “Only about a hundred times, usually when some jerk with an overinflated ego wanted to get me horizontal. So, unless that’s your intention, how about a tour of the studio before you talk business with Joe Johnston, our business manager?”

  “I’m not in this for money,” he reminded her. “Just remember our deal. You’re supposed to be my main squeeze. No snarling at me, no heaping scorn on my hapless head, no scowling if I’m a less-than-perfect performer.”

  “I’ll keep my end of the deal if you keep yours. You will get paid for every appearance, but I managed to talk Joe into an open-ended contract—no set number of appearances. He wasn’t crazy about selling that to Gunderdorf, but I convinced them both that your one appearance could have been a fluke. Maybe we’ll want to get rid of you without paying off a long-term contract.”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  “You’re not going to change your mind and back out?”

  “No.”

  For now, he couldn’t. Not without a backup plan, and where could he find another woman this sanitized? It was a big plus that Marsh could check her out on TV. She’d wow the old boy, and that should be the end of his meddling.

  “Well, you sound crabby,” she accused him.

  He was crabby. When she flashed those baby blues, the thought of doing the horizontal bop with her definitely passed through his mind. When it came to looks, she was one pleasing package, which, of course, would make Marsh willing to believe they had a thing going. If he didn’t dislike her—well, maybe dislike wasn’t exactly the right word—he wouldn’t mind some up-close-and-personal fun with her.

  Fortunately, since he was desperate to get Marsh off his back, all he wanted to do with Megan was buy time.

  This had better work. As soon as his grandfather had stopped congratulating himself—for no good reason—on Cole’s marriage, he’d turned the full force of his bombastic personality on Zack.

  So here he was, the last place he wanted to be on a sunny May morning when he had a full crew on a site.

  “Hey, Johnston wants to see you now,” Ed called to him.

  “I’ll see you Wednesday morning when we tape the Thursday show,” Megan said. “I’ll arrange everything. All you have to do is show up and try not to ruin the segment you’re in. We’ll be building a wall shelf.”

  He watched her walk away, the undulating sway of her backside in tight black jeans almost too much for his libido.

  If strains of the wedding march didn’t make him paranoid, if tuxedos didn’t make him break out in hives, if hearts and flowers didn’t make him feel
as if the walls were closing in on him, he sure as hell wouldn’t be in this TV studio dreading his next session on the home handicraft show.

  5

  On Wednesday, Zack arrived at the studio with a circular saw and a copy of the script in his toolbox. Danbury was about to learn lesson number one in the business world—always be involved in contract negotiations.

  He’d had a big advantage hammering out a contract with the moneymen because he didn’t care what they paid him. What did matter was he couldn’t possibly tape on Mondays. He had to be on the job to handle any problems that had cropped up over the weekend. Also, he insisted on getting a copy of the script at least twenty-four hours before the Wednesday tapings. He intended to be ready for anything Megan threw at him.

  Unfortunately, he’d had to give a little. Gunderdorf, participating by phone, had insisted he sign up for at least twelve appearances. Zack would have to live with that.

  So far, production of a Bailey baby seemed to have stalled, but it wasn’t because the job foreman wasn’t willing and eager. It was all Zack could do to keep Cole at work until five o’clock every day. Until the happy day when there was another Bailey on the way, Zack needed Megan to masquerade as his significant other. He hoped it wasn’t longer than twelve weeks, the duration of his contract.

  Inside the cavernous room where the show was taped against an interior wall braced by two-by-fours so it could take a lot of pounding, Zack looked around for Megan. She wasn’t going to like his take on today’s show. He grinned in anticipation of a battle.

  The only one in sight was a harried young woman setting up chairs for the audience. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would waste time watching all the takes, retakes, and breaks that went into a half hour of television. If last time was any indication, taping would drag on for a couple of hours. What they shot today would be edited for the actual show.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked, taking in her pierced eyebrow and short-cropped hair with burgundy tips.

  “Don’t ask me. I’m only slave labor—they call it being an intern. Here, set up that stack of chairs. Megan is having some hotshot guest, and half the women in town want to watch.”

  Zack was willing to oblige, but before he could put down his saw and toolbox, Ed came barreling toward them.

  “He’s the talent, Julie,” he shouted at the intern.

  Zack grimaced at the word talent.

  “I don’t mind setting up chairs,” he said, as much to irk Ed as help the girl.

  “No, we’ve got people for that. Brad, get your butt over here.”

  A sullen-looking kid with long, lank blond hair took his time ambling over.

  “Megan wants to go over the script with you,” Ed said to Zack. “And they want you in makeup.”

  “Tell Megan I’ll be right there,” Zack said.

  Ed followed orders as well as gave them. He hurried off.

  “Kids, I need you to go out to my truck in spot twenty-eight and unload a few things.” He pulled out two five-dollar bills and gave the interns some instructions.

  Saving the worst for last, Zack made his way to the makeup room and reluctantly let himself be swathed in lavender and coated with powder again.

  Was he insane to do this? Probably, but Marsh’s words were still fresh in his mind.

  “Find the perfect girl yourself, or I’ll send a veritable army of hopefuls to your doorstep. What’s so hard about finding a wife?”

  Well, Zack had found Ms. Perfect, and fortunately she couldn’t stand him. All he had to do was keep up the charade until there was positive news about his impending unclehood. Marsh was sure to be amenable to giving Zack’s shares to a new Bailey.

  He ripped off the cape when the primping was finished and sneezed from the flurry of loose powder. It was time he tackled his new little sweetie pie.

  He barged into her dressing room ready to do battle. Danbury wasn’t going to make him look like an idiot this time, not that he expected more than a few dozen people to watch the show.

  “Do you have any idea what the significance of a closed door is?” she asked, hurriedly buttoning a tailored blue pinstripe shirt, but not before he got a glimpse of creamy skin and a lacy bra.

  “I’ve seen your act before, so what’s the big deal?” He drawled the words in a way calculated to irritate her. He could see murder in her eyes, but she let it drop.

  “Are you ready for the show?”

  “I’ve read the script.”

  That gave her pause.

  “How?”

  “It’s in my contract. I get them at least twenty-four hours before each taping.”

  “I told you, all you have to do is show up. It’s my show.”

  “You’re the TV personality. I’m the builder. Why have an expert if you’re not interested in doing things the right way?”

  “What’s your point?”

  She folded her arms across her chest, then dropped them, probably remembering not to wrinkle her shirt.

  “There’s a much easier way to install floating shelves.”

  He waved his copy of the script for emphasis.

  “I did my research. There’s nothing complicated about installing wall brackets.”

  “Where do you get your ideas? In a fifty-year-old high school shop textbook?”

  “I use a lot of sources, including my grandfather, who’s extremely handy at building things.”

  He let that pass. She already looked ready to staple him to the wall.

  “You don’t need brackets or clunky hardware,” he said.

  “My viewers are used to working with brackets and other attractive hardware,” she said in a voice so frigid he practically shivered.

  “Did all three of them write in and tell you?”

  He’d fired the first shot in a war and knew it, but he wasn’t going to look like a fool—well, a bigger fool—in front of an audience. He had a professional image to protect. If he looked silly, so would Bailey Construction.

  Ed knocked on the door even though Zack had left it partly ajar. Such a gentleman.

  “Ten minutes, folks.”

  Zack walked out. This wasn’t the moment to explain what he had in mind for the show today.

  “I’ll take you to the Green Room,” Ed said. “That’s industry talk for the place where guests hang out before going on.”

  He talked to Zack as if he were three years old. Ed was the one who didn’t seem to remember he’d been a guest once before.

  From the small lounge, which was painted a putrid shade of green, Zack could hear lukewarm applause greet Megan as Ed introduced her with a voice-over. She did some opening pitch about sponge painting, her tip of the day, then it was his turn to get out there.

  Then the invisible Ed introduced him, too.

  “Please give a warm welcome to Zack Bailey of Bailey Construction.”

  There was loud applause and shrieks of approval, which did nothing for his clammy palms and jittery stomach. Damn, he hated stage fright. It was totally illogical and completely unlike him.

  “Welcome back, Zack,” Megan said, managing—just barely—to sound as though she wasn’t sucking on a lemon.

  Hell, he’d feel the same way if she came to the site and tried to tell his men how to put up drywall.

  She launched into another spiel on how everyone could use extra shelves to display little treasures. Already sweat was trickling down his spine. He was wearing a tank top under his lightweight green plaid shirt, hoping he wouldn’t soak through. These lights seemed hotter than high noon in hundred-degree weather, so why did Danbury look so cool?

  “Today Zack is going to help us install a store-bought shelf kit for an easy, inexpensive addition to any room from the bathroom to the kitchen.”

  “Actually, Megan,” he said, forgetting what he’d planned to say and winging it, “there is a way that’s just as cheap and easy, but looks a whole lot better. Also, you’re saved the nuisance of sanding and painting.”

  “You’re suppose
d to follow the script.” She hissed the words under her breath.

  He narrowed his eyes, spotting the two young interns in the shadows just beyond the bright lights.

  “Guys, bring in the stuff from my truck.”

  “Apparently, Zack has another surprise for us today,” Megan said, pretending all this was really planned.

  He gave her credit for managing a facsimile of a smile.

  The two kids were grinning when they deposited his stuff on the set. Zack could hear Ed’s voice ragging at him through the tiny earpiece clipped behind his ear, the producer’s way of relaying instructions.

  Zack was nervously aware of the overhead mics and the three heavy cameras that swiveled on their bases to track every movement he made. Sweat was pouring out of every pore. He wondered if the wire that ran down his back from the earpiece to the little box hooked onto his back waistband would short out.

  He had to move beyond his panic and get this job done. After all, he could build anything made of wood. If he forgot he was in front of cameras, maybe this stage fright would lessen its hold.

  “I’ve built these a couple of times for friends and clients,” he said, struggling to get to his high-confidence level. “They’re strong, have no visible signs of support, and don’t need to be finished in any way if you like the wood surface.”

  He picked up Megan’s shelf kit, walked to a trash bin against a back wall beyond the stage area, and dumped it in.

  She probably wanted to kill him, but damn, she was good at comebacks.

  “That’s not very economical, Zack, throwing away a kit that cost twenty-nine ninety-five plus tax.”

  She got a laugh from the audience. No matter. He was willing to be the straight guy as long as he didn’t look stupid.

  “This is a wooden, hollow-core door,” he said, warming to his project.

  “In case you women don’t know a door when you see one.” She zinged him again.

  “And this is a cleat.” He held up a precut strip of wood used to support the shelf.

  “Can we take a break here, Ed?” Megan asked, being serious.

  The audience even thought that was funny.