And I want her bad.
But there is no way. She is clearly not a fuck 'em and leave 'em kind of girl. She's the kind you bring home to meet your parents. And I've never...ever...had a woman I've wanted to do that with. I need to clear my head of Emily Burnham.
She is completely off limits.
I need to tell her to get the fucking money or else.
Instead, I say, "How would you like to work off the debt?"
I have no clue where that came from but the words are out and I can't take them back. And I'm not sure I want to.
She looks at me, tilting her head to the side in curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"It turns out that I'm a decent welder and metal artist, but I suck at bookkeeping. I have a ton of administrative work that I need help with. How about you give me twenty hours a week and I'll let you work off the amount you owe me."
I watch as she contemplates my offer. I have to clench my fists not to reach out and pull her lower lip out from between her teeth.
Finally, her lip pops free and she says, "That will take me months to work that kind of debt off."
"A few things you'll learn about me, Emily. I'm not a nice man but I can be a patient one in the right situation."
Her eyebrows close in together as she considers my offer and she licks her lower lips to wet them. I have to bite my own tongue so I don't groan in response.
"Okay," she says. "But it has to work around my class schedule. I can commit Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons to you, and Saturdays, too if you want. Oh, and I figured out already that you're not a nice man."
Why those words cut me, I have no idea because they are utterly true. I'm a world-class prick, particularly to the female persuasion. And I've never thought I should be anything different.
"Deal," I say.
I hold my hand out to shake on it and she steps forward to accept. Her hand is warm and delicate but her grip is firm. She's close enough I can smell her and it's a light scent...jasmine, I think. It suits her well.
Releasing her hand, I walk past her. "See you on, Monday."
I reach into the fridge to grab one more beer and I head down the hall to my bedroom. I have no more interest in the party, and I certainly have no interest in hooking up with Linc's women.
The comfort of solitude is what I crave right now.
CHAPTER 6
Emily
I'm driving to Hoboken for my first day of work for Nix. He texted me his address this morning. That's it...just his address. There was no "Hey. Here's my address. See you later." The man is definitely short on words along with manners and civility.
I'm nervous, no doubt. There is something about Nix that sets me on edge. When I first laid eyes on him at Linc's party this past weekend, I didn't actually connect who he was. I mean, I recognized him as a gorgeous man, and a jolt of pure energy coursed through my body when I made contact with his gaze. I felt instant, sizzling chemistry with this person. And that lasted for two seconds before my brain caught up to my body, and I realized it was Nix.
Our conversation was frustrating. I hated telling him that I couldn't come up with the money. But it was nowhere near as bad as how I lost access to the money.
I shudder even thinking about the conversation I had with my mother. She called me last Friday, furious. Apparently, Columbia's School of Journalism sent me a letter confirming my major declaration and promptly mailed it to my home address on file. Mother minced no words when I answered the phone.
"Emily...how could you declare journalism as your major? We talked about this and you are supposed to go pre-med or pre-law."
I took a calming breath and counted to five before I answered. "Mother...I don't want to be a lawyer or a doctor. I want to be a sports journalist."
I heard my mother's sharp intake of breath and you would have thought I just told her I murdered someone. She responded to me in the only way that Celia Burnham knows how...with brute force. "That is unacceptable, young lady. You are to go first thing Monday morning and change your major."
There was no amount of oxygen on the planet that would give me a calming breath right then. I gritted my teeth but tried to remain respectful. "I'm sorry, Mother, but I won't do that. I want to pursue a career of my choosing, not yours."
I heard my mother sigh, and I knew she was changing tactics on me. She practically whined to me when she said, "Emily...you know how crucial it is at this time that our family appear as powerful as possible. A daughter in medical school or law school will be a major boost to your father's campaign."
I felt a screeching headache coming on and rubbed gingerly at my temple. "Mother...please don't make me feel guilty about this. There is nothing wrong with a journalism major. It's completely respectable."
And then my mother changed tactics again. This time she got my attention. "I've had enough, Emily. If you do not change your major back, your trust fund is going to be suspended."
I was so tired of her holding that trust fund over me. I wish sometimes it never existed. If she thought that would get me to back down, she had another thing coming. In fact, she had made me so mad that I almost told her I was going to drop out of school and become a topless dancer. Instead, I said in a firm voice, "So be it, Mother. Good bye."
I hung up the phone, had a brief moment of glory over standing up to my mother then I had a major panic attack. Two problems came immediately to mind. First, how was I going to pay Nix the money for his motorcycle, and second, how was I going to pay tuition next semester? This semester is no problem. My parents had paid that in full already, along with the lease on my apartment. I can get a part time job for incidental expenses. I mean, I've never had to work a job in my life, but how hard could it be really? But there was no way I could stay at Columbia next semester without my parents' help and no way to access my trust fund until the following summer.
I hated to do it, but I got in the car and drove over to Ryan's. He wasn't there but Danny sat down and listened to me. After I poured out the story of my mother's phone call, she didn't hesitate. "Emily...you have nothing to worry about. Ryan and I will pay for your tuition next semester if your parents don't come around."
I was so relieved, I jumped up and hugged her hard. She returned it with vigor.
I didn't tell her, though, about owing the money to Nix because she and Ryan didn't need to be burdened with my own stupidity. I was still stewing about that when we went to the party at Linc's condo, and so on top of the shock of seeing him standing there I now realized I had to confront the dilemma that faced me. And since they say that honesty is the best policy, I figured I should spill my guts to him.
I have to say, based upon my limited experience with him when I flattened his motorcycle, Nix actually took my inability to pay him much better than I thought he would. I could tell he wasn't happy about it but his offer to let me work the debt off was the best I could hope for.
And so, here I am, driving to Nix's house in Hoboken. I've been wondering all weekend why Nix was at that party. I never got a chance to ask him because after we struck our deal, he didn't say another word and just walked away. I didn't see him again for the rest of the night. I would have to remember to ask him why he was there.
I pull into the driveway of the address Nix had sent me. It's a two-story home in a middle class, slightly rundown neighborhood. Large oak trees line the streets and a few kids are riding bicycles on the sidewalk. I pull in behind a dilapidated Ford Bronco that has chunks of the body rusted completely through. Guilt courses through me as I realize this is what Nix is probably driving since I killed his motorcycle.
I knock on the front door but no one answers. I walk around the ba
ck and see a large garage and workshop at the rear of the yard. I head that way.
When I get to the workshop, I open the door and walk in. It's spacious and well organized. There's a large worktable with various pieces of equipment all around. I wonder what he does with all this stuff. I notice a desk sits against one wall and it's covered with mounds of paper. My new job, I assume.
Nix isn't in here but there is a door at the back of the shop so I decide to check in there. I open the door and get a brief glimpse of a white, hot light and sparks shooting everywhere.
"Get the fuck out, Emily!"
I jump about a foot in the air when Nix yells at me and stumble backward through the door. He's stalking through it toward me, even as I'm still stumbling backward. He's furious and I have no clue what I've done.
"Don't ever go in that room when the door is closed. That means I'm welding and you could burn your eyes if you look at that light," he bellows.
My blood is zinging through my body. He scared the crap out of me when he yelled and now he is just pissing me off. "Don't yell at me like that. I had no clue that was dangerous. Maybe if you posted a sign on the door, I wouldn't have gone in there."
He stares at me for several long seconds then seems to deflate. "I'm sorry," he grumbles at me. "I was just worried you'd get hurt."
This appeases me somewhat and I can feel my heart rate slowing. Nix turns his back to me and walks over to a counter mounted on the wall. He removes a pair of gloves and I take the opportunity to check him out. He's wearing a pair of well-faded jeans that look soft as sin. They hang right at his hipbones, held up by a thick, black belt lined with metal studs. He's wearing an olive green t-shirt that is tightly molded to his chest. He reaches up to put his gloves on a shelf and his shirt creeps up just a bit.
Nice!
Black biker boots complete his outfit and while it's not the attire I normally see on guys I associate with, I have to say it looks damn fine on him. It speaks to who he is...casual and rough. And sexy.