“Harley Jameson speaking,” I answer. I might not be a perfect lady, but I’m all business when it comes to my company.
“Ms. Jameson, this is Nolan Hammerstein,” says the deep male voice on the other end.
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Well shit, I wasn’t expecting you to call,” I blurt.
I’m pretty sure he just snorted. “That would make two of us.”
I roll my lips in to stop my laughter. He sounds so disgusted. What a tool.
“Okay then, what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to hire you,” he grumbles.
I blink. I know I didn’t just hear him correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I had a few more contractors come out and give me quotes. None of them were as thorough as yours, so I would like for your company to do the work,” he says, a bit begrudgingly.
“Wow, okay! The current project that I’m working on should be done by the end of the week. I would like to meet with you again during the week to go over what you had in mind for the place so I can come up with a design. We should be able to get started by next Monday. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great. I’m free tomorrow night,” he says.
“I can do tomorrow night. I can meet you at the house by 7:00 pm. Does that work for you?”
“Perfect. Thank you, Ms. Jameson,” he murmurs.
“Just Harley is fine. Thank you, Mr. Hammerstein, see you tomorrow,” I say as calmly as possible.
“Right, goodbye.”
“Bye.”
I hang up and stare at my phone as I woodenly make my way back into the kitchen. My dad and brothers stare at me in confusion.
“Is everything okay?” Nate asks.
I nod jerkily. “I would say so.”
“What’s going on?” my dad asks.
“Nolan Hammerstein just hired me,” I say, a huge grin splitting across my face.
A few seconds of stunned silence follow my announcement before the room explodes and everyone is up and out of their chairs to give me hugs, kisses, and congratulations. This is HUGE!!! This is the biggest client and job I’ve ever had since I started my business three years ago. He will not regret hiring me!
~Nolan~
When I pull up to the house, Harley’s large black Ford F150 truck is sitting in the driveway. The woman, on the other hand, is standing at the front door looking irritated. I’m only fifteen minutes late. Her hair is pulled up again, this time in a messy bun on top of her head. I wonder if she ever wears her hair down? She’s wearing baggy tan cargo pants and another tight blue T-shirt with her logo on it. I think the style of T-shirt she’s wearing is called babydoll? I’m not sure, but whatever it is, it’s formfitting, accentuating her nice-sized chest, and making the shirt stretch tight over her breasts.
I get out of my white Maserati GrandTurismo Coupe and start toward her. She eyes my car before turning her attention to me.
“That’s not the car you were driving on Saturday,” she states.
“No, it’s not,” I reply simply. I have more than one car. I also own a Black BMW M3.
She narrows her pretty green eyes at me. “You’re late.”
“I know, I got caught up in a meeting,” I tell her, stopping next to her so I can unlock the front door.
“You have my cell number; a heads up would have been nice.” She grunts.
“It’s only fifteen minutes,” I reply.
I open the door and let her walk in first. “Oh yeah, I forgot, the world revolves around you,” she mutters to herself, but I hear her clearly.
“You know, if you would like to keep this job, I suggest keeping the insults to yourself.” I growl, shutting us in the empty house.
She raises one of her dainty little eyebrows at me, but doesn’t apologize or agree. Insufferable. That’s what she is.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask her, curious to see if she did her homework.
“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re pulling that card.” She sighs.
“What are you talking about?” I frown.
“The ‘I’m someone special and you should treat me as such’ card,” she says mockingly, using finger quotes.
I just look at her.
She rolls her eyes dramatically at me. “Of course I know who you are, Mr. Hammerstein.” The look on her face is pretty much saying, “Annnd does it look like I give a shit?”
“Do you now? Who am I?” I probe.
“You are the heir to the Boston Bruisers franchise,” she replies. I have the feeling that she wants to stick her tongue out at me and say, “Ha! So there!” going by the expression on her face.
I bite back a smile. Damn her and her smugness.
“So, let’s go through the house room by room, and you can tell me what you want,” she says, pulling out a little note pad from her back pocket. She grabs the pencil from behind her ear as she walks into what I want to be my office.
“I want this to be my home office,” I tell her.
She nods and scribbles it down in her notepad. “What kind of style are you looking for in here?”
“Masculine, dark woods, leather,” I reply.
“Typical,” she murmurs as she writes.
I roll my eyes. I have a feeling I will be doing a lot of eye rolling with this woman.
“What would you suggest?” I ask with an irritated sigh.
Harley’s green eyes dart to mine, showing me that she’s actually shocked that I asked.
“Why do you look so surprised? I’m sure people ask your opinion on this stuff all of the time.” I frown.
“Actually, no, they don’t,” she replies.
“But this is what you do,” I say in confusion.
She shrugs, her smile sad. “Woman in a man’s world, I guess.”
For some reason, that really bugs me. Yes, I didn’t expect her to be the owner of a contracting company when I first saw her, but the fact has grown on me. I accept it. This is her chosen career, even if it’s usually something men do.
“Well, I want you to tell me what you would do in here if it were your house,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait for her to answer.
She looks absolutely flabbergasted. Ha! Win for Nolan. Apparently, she can be silenced.
~Harley~
I gawk at Nolan for a moment. Is he being serious? Does he really want to know what I would do if this were my house? Or is he just fucking with me and trying to get ammunition against me? Fuck it.
“First off, I would not go dark. An office should be light, airy, and comfortable.” I walk over to the back wall. “I would do this wall with built in bookcases, painted white. I would have a distressed oak wood desk, facing the front window so you can get as much sunlight on your face as possible from this big beautiful window. Plus, you have a great view of the front yard. I would keep the room simple and clean.”
I turn to look at Nolan to find him watching me intensely, his expression thoughtful. It’s hard not to stare into the deep blue depths of his eyes. He has to be one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever laid eyes on, even if he is a dick. He’s wearing black suit pants, a white dress shirt, and a blue striped tie. All tailored and perfectly fitted to his body - which looks totally buff, by the way. He’s got dark brown hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His hair is longer on top and trimmed short around the sides, which blends into his beard.
“I actually really like that idea. Do it,” he says with a curt nod.
I think my eyes bug out of my head. I stick my pinkie in my ear and wiggle it around. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me,” he replies dryly, shaking his head as he starts for the kitchen.
This continues through the entire meeting. Some things he asks my opinion on, while other things he is adamant about. After it’s all said and done, we head for the front door. We walk outside and he locks the door behind us.
“So, I can get started Monday. I will need a key…”
He
holds out the key in his hand. “Here, I have another one at home.”
I take it. “Okay.”
We start for the driveway. I eyeball his car again. A fucking Maserati? Really? Arrogant douchebag. He’s walking slightly ahead of me so I let my eyes slide down his broad back to his ass. Wow. Nice ass. His pants have that perfect fit that shows it off but only just enough to let you know whether it’s nice or not. Mmm, I’d like to bite an ass like that.
Jesus, Harley, get a hold of yourself! The guy is a dickhead!
“So what time do you think you will start on Monday?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.
I quickly avert my eyes so that they are not on his ass, but on the ground. When I look up at him, he doesn’t seem to have noticed that I was checking out his ass. Good.
“I usually get started around 7:00 am every day,” I reply.
“Okay, I think I might take a day off and come watch the demo,” he says thoughtfully.
“Whatever floats your boat, MC,” I throw out there and head for my truck.
He frowns. “MC?” he calls after me.
I fight not to laugh. I just wave a dismissive hand and open my door. “Nothing. See you Monday, Mr. Hammerstein,” I say with a smirk and get into my truck.
He looks puzzled but gets into his Maserati and speeds off. Oh, he doesn’t know what he’s in for. MC Hammer is in the HOUSE! Can’t touch this! If Mr. Priss thinks he’s going to come watch the demo on Monday, he’s got another thing coming! No one comes to watch a demo; you get dirty and do the damn demo!
~Nolan~
I arrive at my house at around 7:30 am on Monday morning. I have to park across the street since there is now a huge dumpster in my driveway along with a couple of pickup trucks, one of them being Harley’s. I grab my Starbuck’s coffee and get out of my car. I drove my BMW today. Good thing I did, since I have to park on the street. I cross the street, and just as I step onto the sidewalk in front of my house, Harley steps out the already open front door, sledgehammer resting on her shoulder. She’s wearing her usual blue T-shirt and a pair of beat up - holes in the knees - jeans, and her work boots. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail and she’s wearing a pair of oversized safety glasses that look similar to regular thick black framed glasses. She somehow makes the get-up look cute as shit.
A mischievous grin splits across her face when she sees me. “Morning! Ready to do some demo?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“If you enter the premises, you are required to do demo,” she says with a shrug.
I give her a “Get real” look and start up the front steps. The sledgehammer comes off her shoulder and lands on the ground next to her boot with a thunk, blocking the doorway. She leans on the handle and gives me an expectant look.
“I am not here to do demo,” I state.
“Well, then you can’t come in,” she replies.
“This is my house.” Okay, now I’m getting pissed. She can’t keep me from entering my own home.
“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.
&n
bsp; 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.
Hammer & Nails Page 2