Chapter 1
WHO THE HELL IS NAN?
Scottie
I’m halfway through a bag of Sour Patch Kids when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. Quickly picking it up, I see an unknown San Francisco number, and my stomach immediately drops like I’m riding the tallest roller coaster.
This is it.
For the last week, I’ve spent every waking moment refreshing my emails. I’ve been waiting for the rejection email because the producers told me they would call if they were going to choose me. But the tone they used that morning was less than promising.
I wouldn’t blame them if I don’t get picked because I went into my interview on less than three hours of sleep, completely hungover, and an aching body from the greatest sex of my life the night before.
With shaking fingers, I finally answered. “Hello?”
“Hello. I’m looking for Scottie Monroe.”
“I might know where she is,” I say, shrugging, even though they can’t see me. “But if this is a telemarketer, she’s currently in witness protection and not taking phone calls at this time.”
There’s a laugh on the other end. “This is why I like you. It’s Andrea from the Nailed It or Failed It production team.” I suck in a sharp breath. “We want to officially offer you the spot on season seven.”
I can’t breathe all of a sudden.
Me? They want me?
They want me!
“Scottie?” Andrea says through the phone.
“Yes. I’m here,” I say quickly. “Sorry. But wow. Thank you.”
I sound as shocked as I feel. There wasn’t an ounce of confidence in me during the interview.
I blame it on two things…waking up alone in my hotel room without a fucking word from the man who swept me off my feet, and texts from my mom asking me what I was wearing and then telling me it wasn’t good enough.
Even after that…they want to offer me the spot.
“We’re so excited to work with you,” Andrea says cheerfully.
“You have the perfect spunky and fun personality we’re looking for.
I will send you an official email in just a few minutes with all the necessary information from us and details on how we’ll cover the entire cost of this project.
After that, we will need the location of the home for the show from you. ”
“Location?”
“Yes, for the renovation project. You have a house to fix up, right?”
My excitement fades instantly, and I feel my stomach drop to the floor.
I look around my small bedroom in my parents’ house.
The same one I’ve already renovated top to bottom over the last year that got my social media presence up and running.
No one has mentioned anything about me needing to find a home to renovate.
Or have they and I totally missed it?
“Yes. Of course,” I lie, biting the inside of my cheek. “How long do I have to get the location information for you?”
“The sooner the better. We start filming in two weeks.”
I can feel my heart rate pick up speed. “That fast?”
“This whole process will be fast.”
I can hear the smile in her tone. This is her job, so she’s used to this. Me, on the other hand? I’m freaking the fuck out that I don’t even have a place to present them.
“Awesome.”
Andrea squeals with excitement. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be an epic Nailed It, if you know what I mean.”
That or an epic Failed It.
“Yup. Can’t wait,” I squeak out with a fake smile, even though she can’t see me.
We hang up, and I stare down at the phone, my excitement turning quickly into panic.
Getting this show is my big break—not because I want fame or my face on a big screen. I need it because I’m tired of being seen as just another girl with a glue gun and a ring light. This is my chance to be taken seriously as a professional in the industry and not a hobbyist who got lucky online.
My mom insisted I go to college to be able to land some successful corporate job.
So I did. I earned a degree in marketing and communications while spending my free time dragging discarded dressers home and refurbishing them in the garage.
I started filming the process because it was the only thing that actually made me feel like myself.
I’ve built a social media presence around independence and the idea that women can do anything a man can when it comes to a drill or a hammer.
When I graduated, I knew I couldn’t do the office life that my mom wanted for me.
I wanted to build things.
I wanted to fix things.
When I opened up to my dad about how I felt, he gave me one year to try. One year to turn our house into my portfolio and see if I could make something real out of it.
But my mom never stopped judging me for it. She never stopped reminding me I should aim higher and that what I did wasn’t enough for a sustainable career. It’s hard to tell the difference when the message is always the same—that what I choose is never quite enough.
Especially when there’s Kali.
My older cousin who’s wildly successful living in New York City and climbing the corporate ladder as an editor for a major magazine.
I’ve spent years being quietly measured against her.
A part of me envies her success and the close friends she has, but I’ve never wanted that career.
I love what I do—the same way she loves what she does.
The problem is, my mom doesn’t see it that way.
She worries about my image, how this looks, and the money I’m making.
Does my gig on social media make me money? Yes, but it’s not nearly enough to get out of this house and be on my own.
This show is supposed to be the thing that changes that.
But renovating a home I don’t even have?
I should have asked more questions during the interview.
Because there’s no way my mom is going to think I can tackle this.
I groan, falling back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
This is the offer of a lifetime, and I’m going to have to let Andrea know in a few days that I don’t have the means to do this.
“Scottlyn?” my mom says from the doorway. “Was that the producer on the phone?”
I turn to face her. “Yep. I got it. They want me for the show.”
“Oh…good,” she says, relief flickering through her smile. “That’s wonderful.”
Just as I’m about to open my mouth to say more, she continues.
“But…they do know the only big project you’ve done is this house, right?”
My stomach churns. “They’ve seen my work.”
“I know. I just mean…those little affiliate things you do aren’t quite the same as a real renovation schedule.”
“I—”
“I’m just saying,” she continues gently. “It helps people take you more seriously when they understand where your experience really comes from.”
I sit there, still, taking in every word before I nod automatically.
Because that’s what I always do when she makes my work sound smaller than it is.
“I might not get to keep the show anyway. I need to provide my own fixer-upper.” I face the ceiling again, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill out. “Like, hello, I don’t just have a fixer-upper home lying around like some people.”
“Actually,” my dad’s voice says, forcing me to snap my head toward the doorway again. “Maybe you do.”
This time, I smile when I see my dad.
“Billy,” my mother warns. “We talked about this.”
He nods, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know we have, Laura. But this is a big opportunity for her. I want to see her take it.”
I sit up in my bed, staring at them, confused.
“Do you remember your grandmother? My mom? I know it’s been a while, but you used to call her Mimi Millie,” he says through a soft smile at the memory.
My gaze falls to the floor, searching for a memory. I try to piece together a face, a voice, or a laugh. But for the most part, it’s all a blur to me. It’s been so long since anyone’s even mentioned her.
“I don’t remember, why?” I ask, looking back up at my dad.
“Well, when she passed away years ago, she left you her house. You were only thirteen and obviously had no means to have your own home. But it’s in Bluestone Lakes and only about an hour from here.”
My eyes widen with shock.
I try to think deeper into my memories of her. But still, I barely remember Mimi Millie or her house. I know my grandfather passed away before I was even born and she lived alone, but I had no idea Mimi had died.
But a memory hits me the longer I stare at my dad, shock still all over my face and unable to speak yet.
I was young the last time we went there.
Then one year we just…stopped going. There was no explanation or dramatic fight that I know of.
I never received birthday cards from her, and even my parents stopped saying her name.
So why did she leave her house to me?
Better yet, why am I just finding out about it now?
“I know you have a lot of questions,” he says, reading my mind.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
He laughs. “This is long overdue. Your mother and I wanted to find the right time to give this to you.”
What is even happening right now?
My mom leans into him. “Are you sure this is the right time?” she whispers, thinking I can’t hear. “She still barely has a stable income to survive on her own.”
“I’m in the room,” I announce.
“Yes, Laura. It’s been forever since any of us has seen the place and it’s been abandoned since she passed. Which means it’ll need a whole lot of work.”
“There’s a big difference between renovating this home,” my mom says with her arms out showcasing the room. “And renovating an abandoned one. I don’t think she’s ready for that kind of work.”
“Still right here,” I try again, forcing a small, tight smile. My jaw tightens in aggravation, because even though I haven’t seen this house or remember it, I know I have what it takes.
“She’s ready,” my dad answers for me. “The house is yours. Use it for the show. Make it yours and do whatever you want with it. You can even stay there when you’re done, or sell it to buy something here.
” He steps fully into the room for the first time placing a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re ready. Your grandmother always wanted that house to shine again after Grandpa died, but she didn’t have it in her. I know you’ll make her proud.”
My mom exhales slowly. “I just hope you don’t end up in over your head with this, Scottlyn.”
“She won’t,” my dad says with confidence before my mom turns to leave.
A tear escapes and I wipe it quickly. I rush for my dad, wrapping my arms around his neck for a hug. “Thank you.”
“Of course, honey.” He returns my embrace and presses a kiss to my forehead before pulling back. “Make sure you let the producers know you have a place and you’ll be ready.”
I’ll be ready.
In the last half hour, I’ve shifted from buzzing with excitement to feeling like the rug was pulled out from under me, then to anticipation for the future and what’s to come.
It’s a fixer-upper for the show, but it’s so much more than that.
It’s my house—a potential future home for me if I want it.
I have no idea what kind of work it needs, but my mind is already racing with possibilities. Even if the house is rough, it’s mine to shape and dream into something tangible.
My dad rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’ll call Nan and figure out the logistics.”
I tilt my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “Who the hell is Nan?”