"Why do you look so angry, Nix? I haven't even said anything to you yet."
Angry? No. Frustrated. Yes.
I try to relax my face but I don't think it's working. "I'm not angry. Just got a lot on my mind."
Emily gives me a sage look. "Want to talk about it?"
"No," I answer quickly.
Is it my imagination or does she look disappointed?
Whatever.
I don't talk to people, much less beautiful girls who are way out of my league anyway. She's a trust fund baby. She probably has a trust fund boyfriend all lined up for her.
"So, what do you want me to do today? It only took me two days to organize your desk."
Here's my chance to end it. "Actually, I don't have anything more for you to do."
"There has to be something I can do to work my debt off. Want me to help work on your house. I'm sure I could learn to swing a hammer."
"Look, Emily. I think it's best we just part ways. I know you're good for the money. You can pay me whenever you can. No rush."
She stares at me and doesn't say anything. My heart rate isn't easing, and I feel like I've made a very bad decision just now. But I have no clue why. I feel completely out of sorts around her and I just want peace in my life.
"So, what's that?" she asks.
Emily is pointing to the new laptop that's sitting on my desk. It's still in the box. I bought it yesterday, when I was having a moment of weakness and trying to come up with more work for Emily to do. So she would have to stick around.
"It's a laptop."
"Yes, I can see that, Sherlock. What do you have it for?"
I shrug my shoulders. I certainly can't say, "I bought it so I could create work for you, so you would keep coming here and I could be in your amazing presence, and I could figure out what all these weird feelings are".
Instead, I opt for ambiguity. "I figured I should put a computer out here to keep all of my bookwork and supply orders organized better that way. My PC is at Linc's condo and I really need something here in the shop."
I don't offer anything more, because at this point I'm torn between making her leave and seeing if she'll stay.
"Well, if you're as good at doing computer work as you were at paper work...you're going to positively suck, Nix."
I don't say anything. I just watch her, holding my breath to see what she'll do. I've given her the out. Take it, Emily.
"So," she drawls. "Why don't you let me set it up and I'll play secretary for you. I'll get all of your stuff organized on the computer."
Play secretary for me?
Holy fuck! Images of her playing secretary for me are completely X-rated at this point and they involve her wearing a short business skirt while she goes down on me behind my desk.
I'm a goner. "Sure. If you want. But I'm completely fine with you just paying me the money later. You don't have to complete this deal we made."
Emily gives me a sweet smile. "No, I'd rather do this. I've always had that trust fund at my disposal. I sort of like the idea of having to work for something."
I groan inside. She couldn't have said anything worse to me. I felt like I would lose interest in her if I kept reminding myself she is a spoiled, rich, brat. Instead, here she is wanting to put a work ethic into play and now I find myself respecting her.
That's just fuckin' great.
"Okay," I say. "I bought some software you can install for the bookkeeping. And I actually need you to inventory my supplies and my stock."
"Sure, no problem. Want to show me where all of that is, then I can get out of your hair?"
I don't think this girl is going to get out of my hair...or my mind. But it's a nice sentiment.
"This way," I say as I head towards the welding room. We walk through it to the door at the back of the workspace. It leads outside and she follows me. Her phone starts ringing and I watch as she pulls it out of her pocket. She looks at the caller and mutters a curse under her breath. Then she pushes a button to disconnect the ring.
I take her to a shed that sits behind the workshop.
"This is where I keep my completed pieces."
"Pieces?" she asks.
I merely open the door, reaching in to flip the light switch and motion her to walk in before me. The room is softly illuminated, showing off all of my metal art.
It's true I build five or so motorcycles a year, but the rest of my time is creating art from metal. Many of my pieces are huge. I've crafted chandeliers, wall fountains, even custom stair railing. Some are small. Wind chimes, garden pieces, small bronze animals and the like. Unless it's a commissioned piece, I create whatever strikes my fancy.
I watch as Emily walks among my stock, running her fingers lightly over a few of them. She stops at one of my favorite sculptures.
It's an outdoor water fountain that stands about six feet tall. It's made of copper and consists of several metal calla lilies, all at varying heights. When it's turned on, water falls from the top most flower, which is gently arced to the side, streaming into the next awaiting flower. The water goes from flower to flower, until it falls into the copper basin. A stockbroker with a house in the Hamptons commissioned me to make it for him and it would net me several thousand dollars after I deducted the materials. It would be stunning after several months weathering the outdoor elements, when the patina would overtake the copper and color it delicate shades of blue and green.
"Nix," she says softly. "I had no idea you did this."
Her words are reverent, and they make me feel awkward and proud at the same time. She looks at me, and there is something in her eyes that causes my heart to skip a beat.
But then the moment is broken when her phone rings again. She looks at it and anger flashes across her face. She taps the screen and puts the phone to her ear.
"I told you to stop calling me and I mean it," she snarls. "No more."
Then she hangs up and stuffs her phone into her back pocket.
She looks at me and my eyebrows raise.
"Sorry," she says guiltily.
"Stalker issues?" I ask.
"How did you know?"
"You mentioned something about it the day you hit me."
She looks perpl
exed. "I did?"
I nod at her, surprised with myself that I even remembered her telling me that. It didn't seem like an important piece of information to me at that time. Most of my interactions with Emily revolve around me wanting more conversation and then less conversation. I'm in the less right now.
"I'm sorry. It's nothing. In fact..." she pulls her phone out of her pocket and shuts it completely off. "...I should have done that before I even came to work. It won't happen again."
She looks tired, angry and actually a bit scared, all at once, and for the first time I can ever remember in my entire life, I want to take a woman in my arms to just comfort her.
And as I realize that this is something I want to do, I'm immediately doused in frigid mortification as if someone poured a bucket of cold water on me. I do not have time for, nor do I want to have to care for anyone. I care for me and me alone.
I turn my back on her and walk toward the door. "Well, get busy. Inventorying this will take you a few days to get through."
***
I'm sitting in my ratty recliner, enjoying a beer. I deserve it. Not only did I manage to banish Emily from my mind for the last three hours, but I completed a wall sculpture of the Marine Corps Globe & Anchor. Linc asked for it for his condo. He actually tried to commission me to do it but I told him I'd beat his ass if he pushed it. We finally agreed he'd pay for the materials and I would do the piece because, well, he's my brother.
"I'm finished."
I jump at those words, as I had actually forgotten Emily was even here. I like it that way but now she's back in the forefront of my mind. And how can she not be...standing there looking like sex and candy all wrapped into one amazing concoction.
But I'm not in the mood to engage in conversation so I simply say, "Okay. I'll see you on Monday then."
But she's not listening to me. She's walking up to my workbench to look at the Globe & Anchor. She runs her hands lightly across the finish. I've peppered the bronze piece with tiny ball peen dings that dimple the entire surface. I tried to imagine if someone like Lyla had walked in here and touched my art. I know without a doubt I would have yelled at her to keep her hands off. But the way Emily is stroking the cool metal has me mesmerized.
"This is beautiful. Did you make this for someone who is in the Marine Corps?"
I'm taken aback for a minute. How does little Miss Rich Girl know about the Marine Corps' insignia?