Total Fabrication Read online

  Copyright ©

  TOTAL FABRICATION - 2019 Saxon James

  All rights reserved.

  First published in Australia by May Books 2019

  Newcastle, NSW, Australia

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  The only thing that’s a bigger mess than my emotions, is the room in front of me. Demo has started, and great piles of rubble and concrete blanket the floor, while the builders work to pull down the old ceiling.

  Plumes of dust have given the dingy room this odd haze that make it hard to see who’s working across the other side of the site, but I’m confident Blake is over there, tearing shit apart with his bare hands. And okay, that’s an exaggeration, but if you believe a thing he says, he’s the reason we’re going to win this week.

  I sigh into the stuffy white face mask, grab the shovel, and start on the cleanup. Unlike the others, I have no skills when it comes to this part. Demo and building are squarely in Blake’s ballpark, the design is up to me. I thought having complementary skills was a good enough reason to apply for this stupid show—I’d begged him more than once to apply—but while our jobs work well together, our personalities now clash. I bite back another sigh, not wanting to be that person.

  I can stick it out ten weeks. Ten weeks is nothing when you’re talking about winning a huge cash prize.

  It’s just the world’s worst joke I have to share this with my ex-boyfriend.

  Or current boyfriend, depending on who you ask.

  My shovel scrapes against the concrete slab as I scoop up each load and carry it to the glassless window—though is it still a window if there’s no actual window in it? Or just a hole in the side of the building?—and toss the junk into the skip bin below. We’ve only done two rooms of this old building so far, but each week has started with the builders tearing shit down, and me cleaning up after their asses. I feel like a housemaid, and not in the fun, role play kind of way.

  Each trip back and forth from the bedroom to the bin wears on me. It’s stuffy in the building and I’m already sweating through my tank top, the cuts on my hands protesting against the wooden handle. Damn I wish I knew where I’d put my gloves.

  “A face mask. Really, Jason?”

  I heave my shovelful out the window and turn to find Blake leaning against the bare wall frame. I push the mask up onto my sweaty hair and use it to hold back my bangs. “You know I was coughing my lungs up last week.”

  His lips quirk as he takes a long gulp of his green sports drink. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, like he can read my mind.

  “Well, we can’t all be big, tough men like you.” I step over the wood pile in front of me.

  Instead of leaving him behind, he trails after me. We might have been separated for three months before we got ourselves into this mess, but I’m still overtly aware of his presence.

  “The crew wants a quick interview with us.”

  I cringe at that bit of news. The crew are always bringing us together for some reason or other, and while I’m glad this isn’t a show where we have to be all relationshipy, playing pretend is already wearing on me after two weeks. “Of course they do,” I mutter.

  “This time,” Blake slaps my ass, “try and act like you still love me. They couldn’t use any of that shit last week.”

  I will not kill him, I will not kill him. Still, my hands grip the shovel a little tighter, and I do a quick glance around the room to see if there are any cameras on us right now. It looks like we’re in the clear, but the crew are always randomly popping up when I least expect it. “You’re an asshole.” I try to keep my voice level, but I’m starting to brim over with anger, and I already know whatever interview they have planned isn’t going to go well. Act like I still love him? I’m too busy trying to act like I don’t. Which is completely counter-intuitive considering what we’re trying to pull off here, but I don’t have the emotional capacity to do both.

  “So you’ve said.” And like that, Blake stalks off ahead, his tone making it clear he thinks I’m being immature. Like he wishes I’d cut the crap and cooperate. Make it easier on him.

  I drop my head and rub my right eye, trying to ease the tension headache building behind it and knowing it’s a lost cause. Blake thinks he’s carrying this fake relationship and this build, and unless I start swooning at his feet, he’s not going to think otherwise.

  I bet it hasn’t even occurred to him, once, that when he broke up with me three months ago, I was completely blindsided. I’m still trying to work out what happened.

  “Babe, over here!” Blake calls as I walk into the bedroom we’re rebuilding this week. Kiara and Olsen are waiting with him, Kiara setting up the shot on her camera. Smiling at them and ignoring Blake is easy enough—it’s the tactic I used to get through the last few awkward interviews—but when I draw near, Blake reaches for my hand and I’m too slow to stop his fingers linking between mine.

  He might as well have punched me in the gut. Holding his hand reminds me of shopping and movies and our first date, when he unexpectedly took my hand and didn’t let go all night. It reminds me of arcade games, and getting sick, and picking out a tree together last Christmas.

  I swallow back the lump in my throat and tug my hand away, balancing them both on the top of the shovel instead. I cling to it like a lifeline.

  “Cute look, Jace,” Olsen says. “Keep the mask like that, but come here a second.” I step closer to Olsen while Kiara instructs Blake to grab his tool belt. Olsen’s a little shorter than me so he has to reach up to fix my hair the way he wants it. When his face breaks into a smile, I know I’m good to go.

  At least, my appearance is. Who knows what my brain is going to do?

  Jace is nervous. Nothing new there. But if he can’t even turn it on for the camera, how does he expect us to get through this?

  I strap my toolbelt on, shoving a few random things into it and trying not to sigh. Maybe coming on this show when everything was still so raw wasn’t the best idea, even if that had been the whole point. It was my one last chance to be close to him, the only reason I’d left our construction company in our foreman’s hands for the few months we’d be gone. We’d applied back when things had been great between us, went through all the interviews, got shortlisted, and then … then Jace proved to me exactly how little our relationship meant to him.

  Two months after we broke up, I got the call, and a month later, here we are, pretending we’re still together for an insane amount of money.

  Fooling people doesn’t feel good.

  Fixing my relaxed smile back in place, I join the others, and Kiara makes sure the builders are in the background of our shot. She’s a sweet girl, barely out of college, and Olsen is maybe ten years older than her and Jace. Six years older than me. And Olsen … well, he’s kind of cringey, especially the way he looks at Jace.

  Seeing him step back from fixing Jace’s hair just pisses me off so as soon as I’m close enough, as soon as Kiara says we’re about to start, I reach
over and rumple it up again. Jace jerks away from my touch, just barely, but enough that I notice it, and I’m sure Olsen would have as well if he was paying close enough attention.

  I try not to let my heart sink at his obvious repulsion to me, and instead of pulling him closer like I would if we were still dating, I fold my arms over my chest and stand close enough to compensate.

  Olsen gives us a prompt to talk about this week, and explains some of the challenges we’re facing.

  “It’s going to be tough getting this room and the en suite stripped bare by the end of today, but if we’re going to waterproof by Wednesday, we have to stick to the timeline.” I can’t help leaning down a little to nudge my shoulder against Jace’s. “This guy’s even been getting in to help with the demo.”

  Jace stiffens beside me. “Like I do every week.”

  Ooooh testy. “Sure you do, babe.” The word feels wrong. Too distant. While we were dating, I’d never called Jace babe. Or Jason either, unless I was really pissed, but those two things seem to have become my default now.

  “Do you think you’ll finish in time?” Olsen asks, and from his tone I’d bet he’s asked the other contestants the same question already.

  “Yeah, we’ll be fine. We’ve got a good team behind us and this isn’t the first renovation Jason and I have done.”

  “This will make number five,” Jace says proudly. And he should be proud. I might be the one to deal with the walls and ceilings, organizing trades, and getting the structure together, but he’s the one who takes it from an empty shell and makes it into a home. He could learn what I do, I’d never be able to achieve his skill in design though.

  With a pang, I realize that any house I renovate after this one will just be that. A bare house. How do I know what to do with the kitchen, or the layout? What color to paint the place, even? Fucking hell, this could be it.

  The last place we work on together.

  My chest starts to tighten and I can’t help reach over and wrap an arm around his waist. I’m still bitter about how everything ended, but I’m a fucking masochist, apparently. Because as soon as he’s in my arms, a neediness starts to pool in my gut.

  Jace’s slight hitch in breathing is the only indication he’s even noticed me touching him at all. I know he’ll be pissed, and I get it, but I tell myself again we need to be believable.

  “And how are you guys going to feel about finally having a bed to sleep in?”

  I laugh and Jace makes a valiant effort to copy me.

  “Yeah, sleeping in the living room hasn’t been a great on my back, especially after long hours working.” Sleeping—or at least trying to—on site has been the worst thing so far. The first week was sleeping bags on the concrete floor. The second and third we at least had the living room and an overstuffed couch to fight over.

  “Aww you’ve been letting Jace sleep on the couch?” Kiara coos. I know she’s playing it up for the camera though because she knows what our sleeping arrangements are considering they’re in at five every morning to wake us up.

  Jace shrugs and it almost feels like an attempt to shake me off. “Blake knows I need my beauty sleep.”

  We wind the interview up with some other generic information about what we have planned for the bathroom and bedroom, but I let Jace take over answering those questions. That’s the part I’m hopeless on. We’ll have a bath and a bed, what the fuck else is needed? Apparently loads because Jace won’t shut up. I watch as he talks, passionately explaining his vision and for what feels like the millionth time in the last three months, I wish things could have been different. He’s smart and beautiful and even though he’s not as loud or showy as some of the guys I’ve dated, there’s this quiet confidence that’s always drawn me in. It’s why I fell in love with him.

  Hell, it’s why I still fucking am.

  This week is the most stressful yet. Doing two rooms instead of only one wears on me, and even though we’re supposed to do a lot of the shopping and stuff alone, I call into the house next door and drag Lea along with me.

  Lea is thirty and has three kids waiting for her back home, but she confides in me that even though she loves the crap out of them, she’s more than happy to be doing something for herself here. I can’t relate. If I want to do something, I do it. But I can understand how kids would get in the way of that.

  “Are your tiles being delivered today too?” I ask.

  “Mmhmm. I’m still not sure on my choice, but whatever. Too late now.”

  “I liked the ones you picked for the master bathroom.”

  She snorts. “The judges didn’t think so.”

  Yikes, true. She got slaughtered. But at least she took a chance. All the choices I’ve been making have definitely leaned closer to the side of the conservative scale.

  “You okay?” she finally asks, frowning at me from behind her sunglasses. “You seem … anxious.”

  Ha. If only she knew. We’ve both had some minor break downs to each other about the stresses of the competition, but the one thing I can’t talk to her about is Blake. As much as Lea seems like she could be a good friend when all of this is over, I know her and her husband are here to win—their kids being the biggest motivator—and I don’t know if I trust her to keep the little secret to herself.

  When we accepted our positions on the show, Blake and I had to sign contracts about seeing out the show to the end, and making sure we stuck to their morality clause. I can only imagine how the producers would react to us knowingly duping them.

  “Everything’s good here. Just wondering if we can keep up our winning streak.”

  She snorts and shakes her head, wild black hair going crazy. “You better. We clearly won’t and you know I don’t want those assholes in house three winning.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, lovely.”

  I park the car and we climb out, armed with photos of room inspirations. This is the part where we’ll split up, but once we’ve bought the bits and pieces we need, we’ll compare on the way home.

  Lea rushes off, already a thunderstorm of ideas and stress, but I take my time. While I try to visit smaller shops for the details I add to the rooms, I also use chain stores for the big furniture items. Like a bed. And considering this will be the bed Blake and I sleep in until the next room is done, it’s got to be a big one. I don’t want him heavily breathing down the back of my neck.

  I shiver a little at the thought, goosebumps racing over my skin. But I refuse to think it through any deeper than that.

  It’s just a bed.

  That I have to share with Blake to keep up this act.

  Nothing more to it than that.

  My phone buzzes a few times with social media notifications, but I quickly swipe them away to concentrate on finding the perfect bed to match my image. There are some close contenders, but most are too dark, too boring, too timber. And then finally, I spot the beauty.

  It’s a bronze frame with a padded silk bedhead, that Blake’s filthy hair will not be going near. Signaling to the salesman that I’m ready, I feel Kiara head down the walkway toward me, setting up her camera to capture the interaction—which will be redone over and over until she’s happy with it.

  I’m about to shake the man’s hand and ask if they have my bed in stock when heavy footfalls come our way. Turning just in time, I practically catch Lea as she launches herself at me and drags me away from the salesman and Kiara.

  “Have you seen it?” she hisses.

  “Seen what?”

  Lea looks down as she quickly scrolls through her phone. “This.”

  When she lifts the screen to my eye level, I’m not sure what I’m seeing at first. A video from inside a club. It’s dark and there’s flashing neon lights and a ton of bodies, packed in and dancing close.

  When the view on screen pans down from the top of the crowd, it’s clear it’s been shot off some guy’s phone. He sings along to the song playing, that I can’t hear because Lea’s phone is on silent, but as his f
ull lips form the words, my mouth starts to drop.

  He looks familiar.

  My suspicions are confirmed when he pulls the guy in front of him back against his chest and my face comes into view. I’m shirtless and covered in glitter, so I know exactly when this was. I also know exactly what happens next.

  The guy cups my chin and tilts my head back so he can catch my mouth with his. The kiss is filthy, all tongue and teeth, and it looks as horrible as it felt. But I didn’t care at the time because it was helping me to forget.

  “This was posted two months ago, Jace.” Lea’s trying hard not to sound judgmental, I know she is, but it comes through anyway.

  “It’s clearly an old video.” My voice is snappish, but whatever. Except when I glance over and see Kiara pointing her camera at me, the blood drains out of my face. It’s time to go.

  Lea and I quickly pay for our beds and the other furniture she’s decided on, and I do my best to act normal. I don’t miss the looks she keeps giving me, or how Kiara hasn’t stopped filming for the whole half an hour it takes this sales dude to check the items were in stock and organize for them to be delivered early Saturday morning.

  Outwardly, I’m holding my shit together pretty well. But inwardly, I’m a mess. Not only am I worried about what this means for the show, I know that as soon as Blake sees the video, he’ll be sure he made the right decision when it came to me.

  But he didn’t.

  And now there’s no possible way for me to argue that.

  It had been my first chance to go to a club and I’d taken full advantage of the attention.

  Maybe that just proves Blake was right.

  Even when Lea and I get back to the car, I can barely breathe. She takes over the driving, and I put on some music so we don’t have to talk. I’m grateful she’s not pushing the fact, because with the dash cam pointing straight at us, anything we say will be heard by the producers and this will turn into an even bigger thing than it should. At this point, all I can do is hope no one sees it.