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 perplexed. "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.
"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 perplexed. "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.
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