Page 5 of Nailed

“Alright, that’s all good and well but this one is going to have to go,” I said bluntly, my eyes locked on Rafe and my finger pointing in his direction.

Brock and Callum both turned in surprise to stare at Rafe before sharing a look with each other. In response, Rafe merely chuckled dryly before turning around and heading back to that familiar motorcycle waiting on the apron. Seeing the truck marked with “Cornerstone”, I put together that the three men hadn’t traveled together.

“Merrick, get back here,” Brock grunted. Turning his attention back to me, he sighed. “Look, Miss Wolfhaardt, I’m not sure what your history is with Rafe over there, but I can assure you that he’s one of the best on our current crew.”

“That may be, Mr. Lawson, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want him in my home. He could be the best worker on the planet but I refuse to work with him,” I said resolutely.

“If I can just—” Brock started.

“No, you can’t just,” I interrupted.

I found it rather telling that despite the frowns on their faces, neither Callum nor Brock seemed shocked by my refusal to budge. If it was any credit to his character, at least Rafe was consistent. What did surprise me though was that he actually appeared to listen to Brock, at least enough to stop in his tracks. He wasn’t exactly making his way back to my threshold, but he’d stopped mid-way to his bike.

“Miss Wolfhaardt…”

“Lauren,” I said.

“Lauren.” My name sounded stilted on Brock’s lips. Like it was a foreign word he couldn’t quite pronounce with confidence. “I’m sure that whatever happened between the two of you, you’re completely entitled to the way you feel. But we need him on this project. This firehouse is going to require some of his specialized work and we don’t have anyone else available right now who can perform on that level. I pride myself in ensuring every single project we complete has been finished to the best of our combined ability and that means keeping him on board.”

I hesitated, peering around Brock to see Rafe facing us with a smug expression on his face. I felt my scowl deepen and moved back to a neutral position.

“No.”

Brock’s lips tightened at my very articulate and well-constructed refusal. But just as he opened his mouth to offer another rebuttal, a cyclist zoomed down the street. The next sequence of events seemed to happen in slow motion; the person on the bike yelling out some obscenity-laden cry about “desecration” and “erasing history” and “revenge”, a small projectile being flung and managing to nail Rafe in the back of the head, the resultant crack and broken shell pieces falling to the ground that made it clear the projectile had been an egg.

Rafe’s face was a mask of disbelief. He ran a hand along the back of his neck and looked at the slimy yolk mixture in growing, muted anger.

Brock’s gaze followed the direction of the cyclist, his mouth tugged into a tight line while Callum looked concerned. For my part, I was rather enjoying this, in all honesty.

“See?” I asked into the shocked silence. I held out my hands, gesturing in Rafe’s direction in sweet, glorious vindication. “I’m clearly not the only one that has a problem with him.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes at me and took a step forward only for Brock to block him with an elbow. Callum then stepped forward, speaking for the first time.

“Miss Lauren?” His voice was smooth and deep and seasoned with just the tiniest hint of a Southern accent. Combined with his looks, it immediately put me at ease and managed to actually defuse some of my anger and smugness. How easy I was.

“I don’t mean to shrug off whatever happened between the two of you. But I can vouch for Rafe. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just a little rough around the edges and you probably caught him on an off-day. But he’s really good at what he does, of that I can assure you. I know you want this place to be as close to perfect as possible, and for that you need the perfect crew.” He smiled again, showcasing near-perfect teeth. “I promise that if you let him on this project, he won’t disrespect you again. I’ll make sure of that.”

My heart fluttered a little at his words. I was so, so easy. But how could I not be when Callum was this effortlessly and authentically charming? I didn’t get the feeling that he was trying to bamboozle me or placate me for the sake of a check. He looked like he was genuinely trying to help me out.

Plus, he wasn’t wrong.

I really wanted this renovation to work out as smoothly as possible. This firehouse didn’t just represent a new place to live; the potential photography studio represented a tether, something I could bind myself to and call home. For that, I supposed I could deal with Rafe Merrick for a few months.

“Okay,” I said. Callum’s shoulders slumped in relief. Brock’s mouth twitched and Rafe, well Rafe just looked pissed. But he chose to keep quiet as I welcomed the three men inside.

“Here,” I said begrudgingly, finding a clean towel in one of my suitcases and tossing it to Rafe. He grabbed it with one hand and nodded with reciprocal resentment.

“That was kind of you, Lauren. Thank you,” Brock said. He notably didn’t give Rafe a chance to even stew. “Right, we should probably move onto the practical matters. Like I said earlier, this is just a walk-through. We need to establish a schedule that works around yours so your life isn’t too disrupted by the next year.”

“Year?” I blurted.

“Yes,” Brock clarified. “This is a pretty extensive project. A year is actually rather generous, some companies run a site like this for two.”

My eyes dragged to Rafe who was trying to scrub off as much of the egg out of his hair as he could with my towel. He pointedly avoided my gaze.

“So a year. Got it,” I muttered.

“Good. Next thing’s next—I have the plan we discussed over the phone printed out here. I’d like you to go through the top line items to make sure we’re on the same page about what exactly you want done here. Callum will sort out your plumbing ASAP so you’ll have access to hot water by the end of the day.”