Rugged(46)

“Keep moving. A little to the left. No, my left. Okay, now your left.” Two men come in, hauling some kind of sideboard that probably stored enough linen and table settings for an entire regiment of British officers at one time. The first guy is sweating hard, short but burly. Behind him, Flint enters, taking as much of the weight as he can.

Oh, shit. Even on my day off he swoops in, sleeves rolled and biceps flexed, to surprise me. It’s like the damn universe has its hand on my shoulder saying, go on. Have another romp, for old time’s sake. Good luck with your career; look at those abs. I’m about ready to peel out and run for my car, knocking over preserve stands by the dozen, but it’s too late. Flint spots me, and gives a sharp jerk of his head. “Hey!”

“Need a hand?” I ask, inwardly cursing. They finally deposit the wooden monstrosity. Short and burly puffs out his cheeks, mops his forehead with a flowered handkerchief, and gives a thumbs up as he goes out the back again. Flint shoves the sideboard more firmly into place.

“Sure you’re not stalking me?” he asks with a grin.

I try not to laugh maniacally. That’d be hard to explain.

“Need to budge it?” I say, walking up and pushing on the sideboard, desperate for something to do. The sideboard doesn’t move. It’s as embarrassing as it sounds.

“We’ve got it covered. What are you doing here?” Flint asks, pushing the huge piece of furniture so it’s flush against the wall. Well. I loosened it up for him.

“Shopping for you, actually. We need to do some refurbishing at Casa McKay.” I expect the groans, and I get them.

“Let me guess,” Flint mutters, wiping his forehead. “Network note?”

“You’re catching on,” I say. Truth is, Flint doesn’t know the half of it. We’ve gotten some footage of Callie and Jessa, and I protected him from one exec’s idea that Callie should lose ten pounds if she’s going to be on TV. I think Brother Bear would fly out to LA and go on an ass-kicking rampage if he knew. “I promise it won’t be painful.”

“So what, I have to learn to live with pastel? I will literally sell my business before I own anything lavender,” Flint says.

“No pastels. Since you’re here, let’s see what we can do. Come on, show me your fantastic taste.” Flint scoffs, but walks with me. Inwardly, I groan. Try to avoid a guy like the plague, and get shoved together with him for an afternoon of antiquing.

Hell, maybe this is karmic payback. I should’ve told him the idea as soon as Davis’s cronies brought it up. This is Flint’s house we’re talking about redecorating, after all. If he doesn’t get a say, who does? I just didn’t want to spend time fighting my urge to swoon into his arms while inhaling furniture polish. There’s only so much a girl can take.

“This is too ritzy for me.” He picks up a price tag for something and scrunches his face. “Damn. I reupholster and deliver for Kathy, so I know what this stuff is worth. They’re overcharging by double.”

“Then it’ll be perfect. The producers love things that are too expensive.” A lie, but whatever. Let’s revenge-spend some cash. “Here.” I nudge him over to a long, low couch. It’s kind of mid twentieth century, sort of Mad Men but with a darker, more somber color scheme. Hopefully, Flint won’t invite his most charming and misogynistic friends over to drink gin martinis on this baby. “Well? Doesn’t it scream you?”

“It screams,” he says, raising his eyebrow. “It screams, ‘Get away from me, McKay.’ Laurel, none of the stuff in this store is me.”

I know he’s not lying. As nice as his house is, all the furniture in it is pretty boring and utilitarian. “But now we get to upgrade you. We’ve got to think rustic bachelor pad, you know? Man of the wild, gone wild?” I can tell that’s not making him happy. He’s scrunching up his forehead and rubbing the back of his hand across his stubbled chin, which is sign number one that he’s not into this.

“So we need a pine paneled sauna? Freshwater bed? A neon sign outside that says ‘Hooves and Hoes Welcome?’” he says, sounding more and more annoyed.

“No. And did you just make up Hooves and Hoes on the spot?” I say, amused. “Actually, a waterbed might be good—” But before I can continue, Flint shakes his head.

“No way,” he says. Actually, snaps would be the better verb. “Call your boss, tell them they can’t touch any of my stuff.”

“Flint, it’s just stuff, like you said. We can bring it back. It’s not like—”

“You know my neighbors are gonna watch this show, right?” He swipes a hand through his hair and backs up; the grizzly’s been cornered, and he’s getting pissed. “All they’ll see is me making an ass out of myself for some stupid company in Hollywood.”

“Reel World isn’t stupid,” I say hotly. We employ a lot of stupid people, but there’s a difference, dammit. “We’re trying to appeal to a demographic, Flint. It’s nothing personal. We need to make you look like a rugged single man. Which you are,” I say, following him through the store and down the hall to the loading area. The other guy is trying to move an entire armoire on his own, fighting against the tall, mahogany megalith. Flint goes to help. I keep talking. “We have to make your life TV presentable.”