And completely out of my league.
I take in his clothing with just a quick glance but I'm fascinated by the tattoos that are peaking out just under the sleeves of his t-shirt. He has three strands of black barbed wire circling each bicep. Some of the prongs have been inked to look like they are digging into his skin, and there are realistic drops of blood dripping from each wound. It's a terrifying piece of artwork and sinfully erotic just because of its badass look. I've never seen anything like it.
I pull my eyes from his tats and look at him. My face heats up as I realize he's been watching me ogle his arms.
"Like what you see?" The remark should have been a teasing comment but his voice is hard.
I try to play it cool. "Not really. Just fascinated, that's all."
"If you want to see more of my tattoos, you only have to ask. I'll be glad to strip down and show you everything." There...now that was teasing in his voice but his eyes are still hard. It's like he wants to tease me but has no clue how to do it. For some reason, that makes me feel sad for him.
Nix is eyeing me closely for my response. I have to reflexively push my tongue to my lips to keep from swallowing it. The thought of him pulling his t-shirt off so I can see his tattoos causes warmth to rush through my entire body and my gut clenches almost painfully. With every bit of strength that I can muster, I calmly respond, "No, thanks. I'm here to do a job, and that's all."
Nix shrugs his shoulders as if my disinterest doesn't bother him and I suddenly realize his offer to strip was only done to throw me off. He really has no interest in me that way at all.
Which is a relief.
I think.
"So, you won't need the whole tour because you've pretty much seen all there is. Again, don't go in there when the door is closed," he says while pointing at the welding room.
"You clearly made that point already."
He walks over to the desk and waves a hand at it. "This is your job. Organize me."
"That's it? Just organize you? I have no clue what this stuff is."
"Well, that makes two of us. Just go through it and try to make some sense of it. You can obviously throw away junk mail. Once you get it sorted out, I'll give you some more direction. I don't have time to hold your hand on this."
"Okay," I respond, but I'm not okay with this. I'm going to look like a complete idiot.
Nix turns away and starts back toward the welding room.
"Hey," I call out. "I have a few questions."
He looks irritated when he turns around. "What?"
"What does Nix mean?"
His eyebrows shoot up and it's like no one has ever asked him such a personal question before. "It's short for Nixon."
"Oh. That's cool."
He remains in place, staring at me, and I realize I had said I had questions...as in plural.
"Why were you at Lincoln Caldwell's party last weekend?"
I watch as he smiles at me and it's so surprising I have a momentary feeling of giddiness. I can tell he doesn't do it often...not a true smile anyway. And it is beautiful. "Linc is my younger brother. I'm actually staying with him at his condo until I can make some remodeling repairs on my house."
"Oh," I say. "Okay. Well, I'll get to work."
He gives me a curt nod and closes himself off in his welding room.
Hmmmmm. Nice to meet you Nixon Caldwell.
***
After four hours of solid work, I've managed to take the voluminous amount of documents and put them into neat piles. I've thrown away a large amount of junk mail but it really didn't put a dent in my work. So far, I've been able to glean that he has about four months of unpaid bills, about ten months of bank statements that haven't even been opened, and a sales tax booklet where the seal has not even been broken.
I'm sitting at the desk, and I have no clue what to do next. But I hate remaining idle so I start opening all of the bank statements and flattening them out. I'm so engrossed in this menial task that I don't hear the welding door open.
My first awareness that Nix is there is when I feel his breath on the back of my shoulder, which is covered only by the thin strap of my camisole.
I turn my head to the side and I see he is bent down, looking over my shoulder at the paperwork on the desk. I break out in goose bumps from his close proximity. The realization that this man can have an effect on my body just by standing near me is a little intimidating.
"I see you made some progress." The timber of his voice is rough.
I push forward in my seat to put some distance between us before I answer. "Well, I've got piles. Here are your bills. It doesn't look like they've been paid in months. Frankly, I'm surprised you still have your electricity on."
He surprises me when he laughs. "No worries. I have all of my bills on auto draft. Everything is paid in full. But I will need you to match them up to my bank statements to make sure they match."
I nod. "Which brings me to the next pile. These are your bank statements that date back ten months. You clearly have not reconciled your accounts, so I'm not sure how you know you have enough money in your accounts to pay your bills."
He straightens up and turns, setting one butt cheek on the corner of the desk. He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he looks down at me. I can't help but notice the way the muscles in his arms roll and flex with his movement. Or the way his jeans pull tight against his muscular thighs.
"Again...no worries," he says. "I have plenty of money in my account to cover everything."
"Okay. This," I say, holding up his sales tax book, "is apparently tax forms that you should be filing quarterly. It's dated a year ago and it's clearly never been opened."
Nix scratches his head, ruffling that silky hair. He sighs. "I guess that's probably a good place to start. Call the Department of Revenue and find out what I need to do to get the taxes caught up."
He leans toward me and I start to pull back, but I notice he's only opening the desk drawer. He reaches in and pulls out a checkbook. Throwing it on the desk, he points at it. "Just write a check for whatever the taxes, penalties and interest are and get it mailed."
My jaw hangs open. I've never met someone that is so cavalier about money. "How do you know you even have enough money in your account to pay the taxes?"
Nix just gives me a patient smile. "You know that motorcycle of mine that you flattened?"
I nod.
"Well, remember me telling you that it would cost $10,000 just to repair it?"
I nod again.
"I build those for a living. I build about five a year, and $25,000 is one of the cheaper bikes. The one you flattened is closer to a $40,000 bike. Do you get what I'm saying?"
I nod and swallow hard. "You make good money."
"Yes. I make good money. Now, all you have to worry your pretty head about is getting me organized and my books in order. The money is there."
Nix stands up from the desk and heads back to the welding room.
I hate that the fact he called me pretty makes me smile inside. He's clearly a man that doesn't hand out compliments very often, which makes them all the sweeter when they come.
CHAPTER 7
Nix
It's Friday and Emily is due to arrive anytime now. I feel jittery and on edge. When I first came up with the hair-brained idea of having her work her debt off to me, I seriously miscalculated my ability to be in her presence.
As someone who constantly avoids interaction and conversation, it was just plain awkward having her in my workspace. Even on Monday, when I spent most of the time welding in a separate room, I could still feel her presence. Just knowing she was sitting out there...in a white "barely there" top and jean shorts so tiny that they should be made illegal. She had her hair up in a ponytail, exposing a delicate neck.
I wanted to bite it. Then lick it to make it better. Then suck on it...hard...just so she'd know how hungry I was.
When she came back on Wednesday, it was no better. I didn't have any welding
work to do, so I was in the main shop area while she sat at the desk, doing whatever it was she was doing with my paperwork. After only about thirty minutes, I couldn't stand the tension I was feeling and left. I went ahead and got some work done on my house, expending my frustrated energy by finishing the rest of the plywood base flooring upstairs.
I came back to the shop several hours later and Emily had left, leaving a note on the desk that she was just about finished with everything I had given her so far.
I know what I should do. I should just tell her not to come back and pay me the money when she can. I can wait for her to inherit her trust fund or whatever that pot of money is that she said she would be getting. I'm sure she's good for it and frankly, I don't need the money right now.
And the main reason I should tell her not to come back is because she is making me feel damn uncomfortable in my own space. My haven.
When she's here, I can't help but look at her every minute or so, just to see if the expression on her face has changed, or if her hair has shifted. When her subtle jasmine perfume touches my nose, I think about her lying naked in a bed of flowers. This shit is driving me fucking crazy and it's got no place in my life. It's not who I am.
So the fact that she's almost done with all of the work I had for her and I really don't have anything else, I should be happy our association is almost over.
I hear the tires of Emily's car crunching the gravel in my driveway. My heart rate immediately accelerates and I kick the edge of my workbench in anger. I stand, staring at the door, with my fists clenched.
When she walks in, it's like a punch to my gut. I don't know how it's possible, but she becomes more beautiful...more intriguing...more dangerous, every time I see her. I am out of control and I fucking hate this feeling.
"Why do you look so angry, Nix? I haven't even said anything to you yet."
Angry? No. Frustrated. Yes.
I try to relax my face but I don't think it's working. "I'm not angry. Just got a lot on my mind."
Emily gives me a sage look. "Want to talk about it?"
"No," I answer quickly.
Is it my imagination or does she look disappointed?
Whatever.
I don't talk to people, much less beautiful girls who are way out of my league anyway. She's a trust fund baby. She probably has a trust fund boyfriend all lined up for her.
"So, what do you want me to do today? It only took me two days to organize your desk."
Here's my chance to end it. "Actually, I don't have anything more for you to do."
"There has to be something I can do to work my debt off. Want me to help work on your house. I'm sure I could learn to swing a hammer."
"Look, Emily. I think it's best we just part ways. I know you're good for the money. You can pay me whenever you can. No rush."
She stares at me and doesn't say anything. My heart rate isn't easing, and I feel like I've made a very bad decision just now. But I have no clue why. I feel completely out of sorts around her and I just want peace in my life.
"So, what's that?" she asks.
Emily is pointing to the new laptop that's sitting on my desk. It's still in the box. I bought it yesterday, when I was having a moment of weakness and trying to come up with more work for Emily to do. So she would have to stick around.
"It's a laptop."
"Yes, I can see that, Sherlock. What do you have it for?"
I shrug my shoulders. I certainly can't say, "I bought it so I could create work for you, so you would keep coming here and I could be in your amazing presence, and I could figure out what all these weird feelings are".
Instead, I opt for ambiguity. "I figured I should put a computer out here to keep all of my bookwork and supply orders organized better that way. My PC is at Linc's condo and I really need something here in the shop."
I don't offer anything more, because at this point I'm torn between making her leave and seeing if she'll stay.
"Well, if you're as good at doing computer work as you were at paper work...you're going to positively suck, Nix."
I don't say anything. I just watch her, holding my breath to see what she'll do. I've given her the out. Take it, Emily.
"So," she drawls. "Why don't you let me set it up and I'll play secretary for you. I'll get all of your stuff organized on the computer."
Play secretary for me?
Holy fuck! Images of her playing secretary for me are completely X-rated at this point and they involve her wearing a short business skirt while she goes down on me behind my desk.
I'm a goner. "Sure. If you want. But I'm completely fine with you just paying me the money later. You don't have to complete this deal we made."
Emily gives me a sweet smile. "No, I'd rather do this. I've always had that trust fund at my disposal. I sort of like the idea of having to work for something."
I groan inside. She couldn't have said anything worse to me. I felt like I would lose interest in her if I kept reminding myself she is a spoiled, rich, brat. Instead, here she is wanting to put a work ethic into play and now I find myself respecting her.
That's just fuckin' great.
"Okay," I say. "I bought some software you can install for the bookkeeping. And I actually need you to inventory my supplies and my stock."
"Sure, no problem. Want to show me where all of that is, then I can get out of your hair?"
I don't think this girl is going to get out of my hair...or my mind. But it's a nice sentiment.
"This way," I say as I head towards the welding room. We walk through it to the door at the back of the workspace. It leads outside and she follows me. Her phone starts ringing and I watch as she pulls it out of her pocket. She looks at the caller and mutters a curse under her breath. Then she pushes a button to disconnect the ring.
I take her to a shed that sits behind the workshop.
"This is where I keep my completed pieces."
"Pieces?" she asks.
I merely open the door, reaching in to flip the light switch and motion her to walk in before me. The room is softly illuminated, showing off all of my metal art.
It's true I build five or so motorcycles a year, but the rest of my time is creating art from metal. Many of my pieces are huge. I've crafted chandeliers, wall fountains, even custom stair railing. Some are small. Wind chimes, garden pieces, small bronze animals and the like. Unless it's a commissioned piece, I create whatever strikes my fancy.
I watch as Emily walks among my stock, running her fingers lightly over a few of them. She stops at one of my favorite sculptures.
It's an outdoor water fountain that stands about six feet tall. It's made of copper and consists of several metal calla lilies, all at varying heights. When it's turned on, water falls from the top most flower, which is gently arced to the side, streaming into the next awaiting flower. The water goes from flower to flower, until it falls into the copper basin. A stockbroker with a house in the Hamptons commissioned me to make it for him and it would net me several thousand dollars after I deducted the materials. It would be stunning after several months weathering the outdoor elements, when the patina would overtake the copper and color it delicate shades of blue and green.
"Nix," she says softly. "I had no idea you did this."
Her words are reverent, and they make me feel awkward and proud at the same time. She looks at me, and there is something in her eyes that causes my heart to skip a beat.
But then the moment is broken when her phone rings again. She looks at it and anger flashes across her face. She taps the screen and puts the phone to her ear.
"I told you to stop calling me and I mean it," she snarls. "No more."
Then she hangs up and stuffs her phone into her back pocket.
She looks at me and my eyebrows raise.
"Sorry," she says guiltily.
"Stalker issues?" I ask.
"How did you know?"
"You mentioned something about it the day you hit me."
She looks perpl
exed. "I did?"
I nod at her, surprised with myself that I even remembered her telling me that. It didn't seem like an important piece of information to me at that time. Most of my interactions with Emily revolve around me wanting more conversation and then less conversation. I'm in the less right now.
"I'm sorry. It's nothing. In fact..." she pulls her phone out of her pocket and shuts it completely off. "...I should have done that before I even came to work. It won't happen again."
She looks tired, angry and actually a bit scared, all at once, and for the first time I can ever remember in my entire life, I want to take a woman in my arms to just comfort her.
And as I realize that this is something I want to do, I'm immediately doused in frigid mortification as if someone poured a bucket of cold water on me. I do not have time for, nor do I want to have to care for anyone. I care for me and me alone.
I turn my back on her and walk toward the door. "Well, get busy. Inventorying this will take you a few days to get through."
***
I'm sitting in my ratty recliner, enjoying a beer. I deserve it. Not only did I manage to banish Emily from my mind for the last three hours, but I completed a wall sculpture of the Marine Corps Globe & Anchor. Linc asked for it for his condo. He actually tried to commission me to do it but I told him I'd beat his ass if he pushed it. We finally agreed he'd pay for the materials and I would do the piece because, well, he's my brother.
"I'm finished."
I jump at those words, as I had actually forgotten Emily was even here. I like it that way but now she's back in the forefront of my mind. And how can she not be...standing there looking like sex and candy all wrapped into one amazing concoction.
But I'm not in the mood to engage in conversation so I simply say, "Okay. I'll see you on Monday then."
But she's not listening to me. She's walking up to my workbench to look at the Globe & Anchor. She runs her hands lightly across the finish. I've peppered the bronze piece with tiny ball peen dings that dimple the entire surface. I tried to imagine if someone like Lyla had walked in here and touched my art. I know without a doubt I would have yelled at her to keep her hands off. But the way Emily is stroking the cool metal has me mesmerized.
"This is beautiful. Did you make this for someone who is in the Marine Corps?"
I'm taken aback for a minute. How does little Miss Rich Girl know about the Marine Corps' insignia?