Page 4 of Nailed

“And if I don’t? What are you going to do, steal my camera and run?” I said. “Look, I don’t want to risk deleting the wrong photos, alright? This really doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“You’re so goddamned infuriating,” he said, sounding like he was speaking more to himself than me.

“Walking away is free,” I informed him.

“So is deleting that photo.”

“Not today it isn’t.”

He paused as the realization finally dawned that we were locked in a stalemate and I had no intention of giving in first. The door to the diner opened and an older, portly gentleman I assumed to be the owner stepped outside and began examining the awning with an affected casualness that let me know he didn’t like the growing raucous happening outside his establishment.

The blue-eyed stranger looked at the owner, then shook his head at me. He pointed a motorcycle helmet in my general direction. “I’ll sue if I see that photo anywhere, you got that?

Ooh, so much for the tough guy act. Little Leather Daisy over here was going to sue me for getting him on camera. He gave me one final scathing look before stalking off to a waiting motorcycle.

“Better not watch the next episode of America’s Most Wanted then, you creep!” I yelled after him as he tore away from the sidewalk. He raised a hand and flipped me off before disappearing down the street.

“Asshole,” I muttered, still hot under the collar and itching with all the additional things I should’ve said to him. But it was probably for the best I was likely not going to see him around again. At least I hoped I wouldn’t.

My phone buzzed with a text and I dragged it out of my pocket.

Clara (real estate): Hey! Sorry for the long wait, I was showing off another property. If you’re looking for the best guys around, Cornerstone is the way to go. I can send you the number. :)

Finally, some good news. I exhaled, trying to forget about the less than pleasant interaction I just had with Mr. Personality. At least I was finally starting to make headway with getting my home fixed up, and that thought alone was enough to revive my smile and help me forget about any oversized delinquents.

3

Lauren

I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding in time to the series of resonant thuds that were coming from my door.

What in the hell was that?

I grabbed my phone from the pile of clothes strewn off to the side of my makeshift bed and blearily checked the time. Seven in the morning? It took an embarrassingly long time for my brain to click that I was expecting a visit from Cornerstone’s foreman today. Shit.

The few working brain cells I had at my disposal collaborated to help me brush my teeth and run a hand through my hair so it looked slightly less unruly. There was no time to get dressed but at least I slept in shorts and a T-shirt. Nothing too scandalous. I gave my face a light slap, trying to force life back into it as I stumbled to the door.

I ended up face-to-chest with a mountain of muscle. Squinting against the unwelcome morning light spilling out from behind the silhouette, I directed my gaze further up. Hazel eyes met my own, warm and steady beneath low-set golden eyebrows. The rest of the face these handful of features belonged to was a collection of harsh, rugged lines beneath work-tanned skin. A small, faded vertical scar cut into his right eyebrow, another cut across his jaw, and I was sure that if I hadn’t been this close to him, I wouldn’t have noticed.

The man in my doorway cleared his throat. “Miss Wolfhaardt?”

I nodded, dazed between my tiredness and his good looks.

“Good morning. I’m Brock Lawson, the site foreman from Cornerstone. This is Callum Doyle and Rafe Merrick, who’ll be assisting me with the technical walk-through today. I’ll be your main point of contact for anything that happens day-to-day on-site.”

My eyes flit over to the man standing next to him, the one who’d inclined his head at the mention of the name Callum. Wide-jawed but doe-eyed, there was an endearing boyish charm to him even though, like Brock, he looked to be in his early thirties. He was less bulky than the foreman, more slender but still athletic in the raw way more given to manual laborers than gym rats. He had shaggy blonde hair, lighter than Brock’s dark golden-brown locks.

They both extended a hand in greeting and I shook them in turn. The warmth of their palms seemed to shoot through me. Brock’s grip was calloused, steady and firm, a blue-collar man through and through. But Callum was less sure, almost shy.

There was a strange comforting draw to his smile, a sense of recognition as though I’d seen him somewhere before, even though I was sure that I would’ve remembered. I smiled, letting go of his hand. His ears turned bright red but he didn’t say anything else, instead turning his attention back to Brock who was continuing with his introductory speech.

“Before we start on this project, I just want to make sure that we’re perfectly aligned. I have our work order, and to my knowledge we’ll be starting with the plumbing system and by extension, the kitchen area, correct?” he said.

I only managed to catch his words in pieces that I would probably try to make sense of later because as I began blinking my way to a state of wakefulness, I finally noticed the man bringing up the rear. Rafe Merrick.

Cruel blue eyes, a mop of black hair and a cliche worn leather jacket. The asshole from yesterday, Little Leather Daisy himself. He stood behind the other two like a naughty younger brother who’d been dragged to see someone who he had no desire to visit. I held up a hand as Brock started talking about the project scope and house rules and other things I had no current interest in.

He fell silent.