Hammer & Nails (3 page)

“Yeah, so? I’m in charge right now and dems da rules.”

“Ms. Jameson…”

“Harley,” she corrects.

I grit my teeth. “Harley, I am not playing games with you right now…”

“What’s the matter? Too afraid you’ll break a nail?” she asks in a mocking tone, her accent somehow making it worse.

I glare at her. I can feel my anger start to rise. It usually takes a lot to get me angry, but she really knows how and when to push my buttons.

“No, that has nothing to do with it…”

“Then you can go bust down some walls.”

“I am not dressed to do physical labor,” I snap. “My jeans cost more than your car payment.”

“Not my problem.”

I’d really like to strangle her right about now. I grind my teeth together just to keep from yelling at her.

“I bet you swing a hammer like a girl.” She snickers.

Then she goes on to show me what I would most likely look like swinging a hammer, all the while making little girly noises. I wonder if I could get off with a temporary insanity plea when I kill her. This woman is absolutely infuriating. She wants me to demo, fine, I’ll demo. I shove my coffee into her hand, snatch the sledgehammer from her, and steal the glasses from her face as I shove by her.

I slip on the glasses and head into the kitchen, which hasn’t been touched yet. I swing the sledgehammer over my head and let it crash into the top cabinets over and over, tearing them from the wall.  After ripping the top cabinets from the wall, I start on the countertop and bottom cabinets. I channel the anger I’m feeling toward Harley and use it to single handedly destroy the kitchen.

I smash the last cabinet with a loud grunt. Panting hard from the exertion, I turn to find Harley standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at me, her mouth hanging open. My coffee is still in her hand.

“I think you have some anger management issues,” she says seriously, as she surveys the damage.

I growl as I stalk toward her. “I never had anger management issues until I met you,” I snap, snatching my coffee back and shoving the sledgehammer and glasses against her chest.

She quickly wraps her hands around them so they don’t fall when I let go. She gives me a jaunty smile. “Glad I could be of service.”

I ball my free hand into a fist. I look around, debating on punching something. I’ve never in my entire life had a woman get under my skin like the one standing in front of me. I really wish she was a guy right now so I could punch that smile right off her face. Instead, I gather myself and brush by her. Just as I’m about to reach the threshold of the front door, I hear her mutter something under her breath. I think I hear the words “priss” and “spoiled,” but I’m too pissed off to even ask, so I just stomp my way out the front door. I can’t get to my Beemer quick enough. Maybe I should go to work after all. I don’t think that I can spend any more time here with her.

I head right over to the office, my blood boiling the entire time. I storm through the reception area and the pit, which is the area where all of the cubicles for the people working under me are located. I notice everyone giving me funny looks, but I don’t pay them any mind. I’m too distracted to even worry about why they are looking at me like that. I barge into Brock’s office and slam the door behind me. Brock jumps in his seat, his head snapping up to look at me.

“What the hell, man?” he barks.

“This is all your fault!” I snap, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger in front of his desk.

He looks me over more thoroughly. A slow smile spreads across his lips as he leans back in his desk chair and laces his fingers behind his head. “Ah, I’m guessing you hired Harley?”

“Yes! And I’m regretting every goddamn minute of it!” I shout flailing my arms around.

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” He smirks.

“Oh, she’s something all right!” I snort.

Brock frowns and squints his eyes at me. He gets up and comes out from behind his desk. He steps in front of me, forcing me to halt my pacing.

“What were you doing? You’re covered in dust and pieces of sheetrock,” he murmurs, brushing debris off my shoulder. No wonder everyone was staring at me.

“I demo’d the kitchen,” I reply.

Brock’s eyes bug out and his mouth drops open. “You what? What do you mean
you
demo’d the kitchen?”

“Harley! She said I wasn’t allowed in the house unless I was there to help with the demo. Then she went on to make fun of me, saying that I probably swung a hammer like a girl. I had to show her otherwise,” I tell him.

Brock throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh my god! That’s fan-fucking-tastic! If I wasn’t already married, I’d be trying to tap that.”

“Are you kidding me? The woman is a nightmare.” I scoff.

“That woman is exactly what
you
need, my friend.” He chuckles and pats me on the shoulder.

I look at him like he’s lost his damn mind because I’m pretty sure he has. “Are you feeling all right? Do you need to go home sick?”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“Trust me, you will be thanking me later,” he says, moving back behind his desk.

“Highly doubtful.”

“We’ll see,” he says smugly.

~
Three
~

~Harley~

I hear a car door slam so I make my way to the front door. We are on day three of demo and everything is going well so far. The guys are all on the second floor, tearing up the place with
Metallica
blaring from a radio. I open the front door and see MC Hammer crossing the street. He’s wearing dark tan khakis and a medium blue button down shirt, tucked in, showing off his lean waist. The sleeves of the shirt are rolled up to his elbows. I love the look, but despise the man wearing it.

“Please tell me there’s no livestock in my house,” he says, his tone dripping with contempt.

I look down at myself. I’m wearing a sports bra and overalls. It is summer after all, and it was getting hot in the house, so I took my shirt off. I can do that when I have a sports bra on.

“That was so funny I forgot to laugh.”

He stops in front of me. He’s at least half a foot taller than I am, so I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “Did you time warp back to the 90s or something?” he sneers.

“I’m going to ignore that.” I pull my hammer out of my tool belt and hold it out to him. “You know the rules.”

When he reaches out to grab it, I quickly yank it back so it’s out of his reach. “You can’t touch this!” I exclaim and start doing the
MC Hammer
dance back and forth in the threshold while singing, “Oh oh oh oh, Hammer Time!”

I cross my legs and spin before breaking out my running man. I move onto the sprinkler then the cabbage patch all while rapping MC Hammer’s
You Can’t Touch This.
Going by the lovely shade of red that Nolan is turning, I’m pretty sure he’s about to blow a gasket. I finish things up with a little Mary Katherine Gallagher from Saturday Night Live.

“Superstar!” I breathe, wiggling my fingers in his face.

“Are you finished?” he grits out.

I straighten up. “Yes, I am. Hey, you have a wicked vein popping out of your forehead. Might wanna get that checked,” I say and press my finger against the bulging vein close to his temple.

Nolan swats my hand away. “I have had about enough of your shit, Harley!” he bellows.

I take a step back from the rage radiating off him. Okay, maybe I pushed him a little too far. He steps forward and I continue to back up. He follows until I bump into a wall. His large body crowds me as he braces his hands on the wall on either side of my head. He lowers his face until his eyes are level with mine. The dark blue is storming mad.

“Now you listen to me and listen well. I am literally five seconds away from firing your ass. I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but I will not tolerate being treated like this,” he growls, and it sends shivers down my spine. Whether they are good or bad shivers, I’m not exactly sure, but good Lord, he’s sexy when he’s livid.

“I was just teasing you. Hammerstein, MC Hammer, Can’t Touch This…”

“I got the fucking joke!” he barks in my face.

I wince. “Damn, alright, touchy subject, I get it.”

His face is so close to mine that I can see his nostrils flaring from the force of his breath. I catch a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing and it smells delicious. I swallow hard and wait. Wait for whatever else he has to say.

~Nolan~

This is so not the position I expected to be in when I decided to stop by and see how things are going. But Harley had to go and run her mouth. Now look - I have her backed against a wall, her sexy body only inches away from mine. When I first see the outfit she is wearing, I think I’m going to have to somehow hide the boner that’s threatening to appear. She’s wearing overalls, which aren’t usually anything close to sexy. But the only thing under them is a pink sports bra that shows off her very ample cleavage and toned, flat stomach. How is it possible for a woman, who is so rough around the edges, to be so attractive?

My anger at her earlier antics dies as desire flares. I’m about to do something stupid, I can feel it, but I can’t stop myself either. The urge is too strong. My eyes flit over the pencil tucked behind her ear. I pluck it from its perch and toss it over my shoulder. Stupid pencil. She opens her mouth to bitch at me but I silence her with a searing kiss. She is stunned motionless for a second before she melts against me. I press my body against hers, trapping her against the wall. A breathy moan escapes her, spurring me on.

I hook my finger into the hair tie holding her hair up and yank it out. Her long silky hair cascades down over her shoulders. The smell of her shampoo wafts over me. She smells like lavender. I like it. I like it a lot. My fingers delve into her soft hair, giving me control of her head. I tilt her head slightly so that I can kiss her more deeply. I can feel her hands gliding over my back as she kisses me back with abandon.

Fuck me, this has to end. I don’t even like her! I slowly pull back and open my eyes. Holy Mother of God! She looks absolutely stunning with her hair down. Her face is flushed and her chest is heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

“You should wear your hair down more often,” I murmur softly before turning and walking the hell out of there before she can say anything in return. I can’t explain what just happened, but I need to get away from her fast so I can think. Without looking back, I get in my BMW and speed off.

By the time I get to my father’s place, my head is a freaking wreck. I can’t make sense of what happened. I don’t know why I did it. It doesn’t change anything, she’s still infuriating and annoying. So what if she’s the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. There are other gorgeous women out there. Women that I can tolerate being around.

“Ah, there you are. Where have you been?” my father, Gene Hammerstein, asks from his seat in his favorite armchair in the living room. He’s got his bifocals perched on his nose so he can read the newspaper in his hands. I swear my father is the only one who buys newspapers anymore.

“I went to check out how my house is coming along,” I murmur.

“And?” he asks, looking at me from over his bifocals.

“It’s coming along,” I reply shortly.

“And the girl? Is she working, too, or just supervising?” I note a hint of distaste in his tone. My father was raised with the mindset that the woman is to stay home and take care of the children while the man goes to work and provides for the family.

My mother, AnnMarie, stayed home, took care of everything relating to the house – cleaning, cooking, and raising me. At least until she got sick. Well, she wasn’t sick at first. First, she found a lump in her breast. She went to the doctor and found out that she had breast cancer. Stage four breast cancer. I was only ten at the time, but I knew it wasn’t good. Even with going through all of the treatments, she only survived a year.

After my mom passed, my father decided that we needed a change in scenery, so he bought the Bruisers and moved the two of us to Boston. With my mom gone, I would spend my days after school at the office with my dad. He taught me everything I needed to know about the business. Which was great and all, but it’s not what I wanted to do. I wanted to find a cure for breast cancer so other kids didn’t have to lose their moms like I did. I went on to college at Harvard University and got my PhD in Biology. But once I graduated, my dad guilted me into working for him. Plus, he threw a number at me that my 26 year old self couldn’t refuse. I didn’t even fight it.

“She’s working, too,” I tell him.

He grunts, makes a face, and returns his eyes to the paper.

I have to bite back a snippy comment as I get a flash of irrational irritation at his words. What do I care if he disapproves of her working? My dad is kind of behind in the times when it comes to that. We’re not in the 1950s anymore. I don’t expect women not to work, though, I usually don’t expect them to work in a field that is mostly men; but, hey, whatever. Now my father, on the other hand, wants me to find a woman like my mom - calm, complacent, agreeable, submissive… Harley is none of those things. She’s bold, loud, smart-mouthed, and in control. She acts a lot like a guy, really. My dad would not like her at all!  

~Harley~

“Nate, you’re a guy…”

“No way!  I am?” he teases from his seat behind his desk.

I stopped at the office, which is just a little storefront in downtown Boston, to look for the phone number for the electrician I like to use. It somehow disappeared from my phone. Or maybe I never put it in there? Who knows. Anyway, now that all of the walls are down in the Hammerstein place, I’ve noticed that some of the wiring is old and outdated and will never be able to accommodate everything that Nolan wants to do. So I need an electrician to come and update the system.

“I just…I need to know where a guy’s head would be at in a certain situation.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“The girl pisses off the guy - who doesn’t like her to begin with - to the point that he’s yelling at her and getting in her face. Out of nowhere, he kisses her stupid, and then leaves without a word about what just happened.”

Nate stares at me, his shrewd brown eyes studying me. I fidget under his scrutiny. No doubt, he knows that I’m talking about myself. And possibly Nolan.

“Is there someone I need to beat up?” he asks seriously.

“No, definitely not.”

He sighs. “Just because a guy doesn’t like you personally, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still think that you’re hot. He might be physically attracted to you, and got all riled up from being angry, and that’s why he kissed you. Sometimes, anger can turn into lust when it comes to someone who physically excites you. I find that there is a thin line there.”

I nod. “Okay, that’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Are you sure I don’t need to kick someone’s ass?” Nate asks, narrowing his eyes at me.

“I’m sure.” I smirk.

“You just have to remind any guy that gives you a hard time that you have three older brothers. They won’t mess with you ever again, I promise.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I know. I’ve used that line many times.”

I finally find the number I’m looking for and start for the door.

“See ya later, bro!” I call over my shoulder.

“See ya!” Nate calls back.

I walk out the door, turn toward where my truck is parked and run face first into a rock hard body. Solid arms come around me, as I flail and curse. Once I’m sure that I’m not going to fall, I realize that the hard body I’m pressed against is not wearing a shirt and is a tad bit sweaty. He smells fantastic, though. Actually, he smells a lot like Nolan…
goddammit!
I look up into the sapphire blue eyes of said man.

I push away from him and he easily lets me go. He’s panting slightly and is wearing a pair of gym shorts. Um, hello! He’s fucking ripped! Who knew all of this was under his uptight apparel? I mean, I knew he was built from when he kissed me and pressed against me yesterday, but I wasn’t expecting him to be a fucking fitness model!

“Harley, what are you doing here?” Nolan asks with a frown as he rests his hands on his hips.

“My office is right there,” I tell him, pointing to it. “What are you doing here?”

“My office is a few blocks away. I go running on my lunch break.”

“Ah, right. It’s Saturday, though. Why are you at work on a Saturday?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Got some things to catch up on.”

“You don’t have much of a life outside of work, do you?”

He gives me a bored look. “I’m not even going to buy into this line of conversation with you,” he mutters and starts to walk off.

“Hey! Wait a sec, I have to tell you something,” I call after him as I trot to catch up to him.

“If it’s something snarky, just keep it to yourself.”

“It’s about your house, dick.” I snap.

He whirls around. “You know, you have really bad communication skills for being a business owner.”

“I communicate just fine with everyone else. Apparently, your
almightiness
can’t handle it.”

“Do you call all your clients ‘dick’?” He snarls.

“Only when they’re being one.”

“With the way you act, I’m surprised you even know what a dick is,” he throws in my face.

I gasp in outrage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I squawk, even though I know damn well what he means. He’s basically saying that no guy would want me.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Nothing, forget I said it. What did you want to tell me about my house?” he asks quietly, his voice carefully controlled.

“Oh, no. You got some shit to say? Say it to my face,” I bite out.

His eyes flip open and I can see the rage simmering in them. “You act like a man, you curse like a truck driver, and you are the most obnoxious woman I’ve ever met!”

“Now tell me how you really feel,” I mutter, deadpan.

He throws his arms up. “See, this is what I’m talking about!”

“Oh, get over yourself.” I huff.

“Just tell me what you need to tell me so I can go,” he grumbles.