Nailing Mr. Nasty (Campy Romances Series Book 2), page 1
Nailing Mr. Nasty
A contemporary romance by
Deborah Camp
© 2020 by Deborah Camp
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Other Books by Deborah Camp
They call him Mr. Nasty . . .
He’s big, brash, and has a sordid vocabulary. He’s also tall, handsome, and oh-so-sexy!
She’s smart, confident, and has a mouth on her. She’s also blond, beautiful, and vivacious.
She’s working temporarily for his construction company while her best friend is on maternity leave.
They’re old enough to know better than to get personally involved with each other. That would be like taking a wrecking ball to a perfectly good building. But there’s something about Samantha Striker that gets under Jack Nast’s skin. Makes him itchy and hot, twitchy and turned on. And there’s something about Jack Nast that fascinates Sam. Makes her want to break all the rules and show him who’s boss.
Uh-oh. Looks like there’s trouble ahead . . . the best kind!
Acknowledgments
Cover design by Janet Drye
Editor: Joyce Anglin
Copyeditor: Pat Wade
Literary Agent: Barbara Lowenstein and Associates
Dear Reader:
After Bedding Mr. Birdsong, I longed to write another fun and flirty contemporary romance. As I got to know Jack Nast, I fell in love with him and I hope you do, too. As for Sam, she’s the kind of woman I admire – confident without being stuck-up, intelligent, and compassionate. Rub these two against each other and you have a bonfire on your hands! Hopefully, you’ll be as entertained reading this as I was writing it.
Let’s keep in touch. Please visit my website at www.deborah-camp.com Subscribe to my newsletter while you’re there and look for me on Goodreads and Bookbub. I’d love to hear from you.
Join the fun on Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/Author-Deborah-Camp-Street-Team-1675239886073906 This is where my “super readers” congregate and I tell them what I’m working on, what I’m reading and loving, and I offer some freebies now and then.
If you like to ogle sexy men and you don’t take life too seriously, you might enjoy my other Facebook group at https://www.facebook.com/officialdeborahcamp
Remember to leave a review of this novel and any of my others on Amazon, Goodreads, All Author, Bookbub, Facebook, Twitter, and anywhere else you’d like as a courtesy to other interested readers. Thanks!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Nailing Mr. Nasty
Chapter 1
Locating the Site
“People call him Mr. Nasty because he has such a nasty disposition most of the time,” Lucy said as she perused the restaurant menu.
“That certainly makes me glad I’ve agreed to work for him for the next three or four months until you’re back to your fighting form,” Samantha Striker teased, grinning across the table at her best friend. At seven months pregnant, Lucy Kimball looked decidedly uncomfortable. Her pink, cotton top had been loose fitting at six months, but now stretched tightly across her belly. “So, what are you ordering, Luce?”
“Everything.” With a sigh, Lucy peered at her above the menu. “Sam, remember when I ordered salads and veggies all the time because I didn’t want to gain weight? Piling on the pounds is all I do now. And I’m praised for it.”
“Yeah, but you’ll slim down when the baby gets here.”
“That doesn’t always happen.” She lowered the menu. “I’ve been reading up on it and talking to women who have given birth already. Your body doesn’t snap back into place. It’s sagging and gross for months.”
Sam gave her a doubting frown. “That can’t be.”
“It is,” Lucy assured her. “I’ve seen photos. It gradually shrinks, but the stretch marks never go away. Chad says my stomach looks like a road map.”
“Did you kick him where it hurts for saying that?”
She smothered a giggle. “No, because he added that the roads led to all his favorite attractions on my body.”
“Oh, well. Then that’s okay.”
Lucy heaved a sigh and rubbed her belly. “Everyone says that exercising makes you firm up again faster, but you’re never the same again.”
“You certainly are a harbinger of fantastic facts this afternoon, Luce.”
Lucy shrugged. “Sometimes your unmentionables never feel the same either.”
“Let’s not mention them again then until after lunch.” Sam nodded to the left, signaling the approach of their waitress.
“Have you decided on something?” the perky girl asked, notepad at the ready.
“Yes. I’ll have the chicken salad sandwich with homemade potato chips. Iced tea to drink, please.” Sam gave her the menu.
“I’ll have the quarter pound bacon burger deluxe with fries and a house salad. Thousand Island dressing on the side. Oh, and lemonade.” Lucy relinquished the menu. “I’ll probably order dessert, too. Do you still have the carrot cake with cream cheese frosting?”
“We sure do,” the waitress assured her.
“Go ahead and put that down, but I’ll take it with me.” She glanced at Sam. “I’ll eat it with a glass of milk when I get home and that will hold me until supper.”
Sam folded her arms on the table and returned her attention to the reason for this lunch. She’d agreed to fill in for Lucy as Jack Nast’s assistant until Lucy was ready to come back to work after the birth of her first child. “Mr. Nasty, huh? He can’t be any worse than T.L.” Memories of the elderly, cantankerous science fiction author she’d worked for made her smile. T.L. Balfour had hired her to be his assistant, his fifth one that year and it had only been March. She’d stuck with him for three years, until his death last year just before Christmas. Fussy, demanding, and brilliant, T.L. had been a challenge she’d relished. Not only did she keep the job, she’d gained his grudging respect and gratitude. They had become good friends. So much so that he’d named her his executor, along with leaving her a nice nest egg and his car. She was certainly grateful, but the inheritance also meant she had to bear the brunt of his nephew and niece’s anger and suspicions. Brad and Deanna had called her a gold digger and a whore after T.L.’s will was read and they received family photos and a few family heirlooms. T.L.’s mid-century house in south Tulsa and all its furnishings had been sold, the funds donated to the community food bank, per his instructions. Future royalties and publication rights were to be placed in his charitable foundation that Sam was to manage.
T.L. had told her about his contentious relationship with Brad and Deanna. He had been close to them when they were children, but as adults they had kept in touch through an occasional phone call and greeting cards on his birthday and at Christmas. He was related to them through his wife. He and Minnie had been married for nineteen years when she’d died of cancer. They had no children of their own.
“Jack’s a handful,” Lucy said, breaking into Sam’s musings. “In fact, I’d say that Jack Nast is one of most complex people I’ve ever known.”
“You like him, though.”
“He is an acquired taste – like lutefisk. Jack and I see eye-to-eye on the important things at work. We want a job done right. He snarls and yells and I plead and pester.”
“Having been raised by a man who can cuss a blue streak with the best of them, I have developed a thick skin,” Sam said.
Lucy pointed a finger at her. “Exactly. Your dad is like Jack in a way. They’re both bristly on the outside and gooey on the inside. Jack melts around his nephews and nieces.”
“So, he mainly does remodeling and rehabbing, right? Residential, no commercial? I’ve been studying construction so that I won’t be totally clueless on the job.”
“You’ll pick things up quickly because you always do,” Lucy noted. “I have total confidence in you.” Lucy smiled as the waitress set their drinks and a basket of crackers on the table. She grabbed a package of soda crackers like they were bonbons.
“I thought you said that there are bets among his crew that I won’t last a week.”
Lucy giggled. “Yeah, but they don’t know you like I do. You’ll surprise them. Especially Jack.”
Their meals arrived and they tucked into them. Watching her friend devour the burger, Sam marveled at how much food Lucy could put away. She had a slight frame and probably had never weighed more than one-hundred-thirty in her whole twenty-six years. It wasn’t any wonder that she was freaking out a little at her current physique.
“Does Nast remember that we met last year at your birthday party?” Sam asked after enjoying a few bites of the chicken salad sandwich.
r /> Since her mouth was full, Lucy nodded, then chomped and swallowed before she answered. “He asked if you were the tall blond with the killer bod and the boy’s name. He knows we’ve been besties since high school.”
“Killer bod, huh?” Sam shook her head, recalling catching his eye across the room and that one, long look had sent shivers of awareness through her. It had been like an electric current. She’d marked it up to still feeling strange about how she looked to men. After years of being bullied and ridiculed for being gangly, skinny, and generally unattractive, she had to remind herself that she wasn’t that girl anymore. The look Jack had given her that night had made her acutely aware of her ability to attract the opposite sex.
“Sam, come on,” Lucy scolded, interpreting her feelings with best-friend precision. “You know you turn heads.”
Sam waved off the compliment as she recalled having a hard time keeping her eyes off Jack Nast that evening during Lucy’s party. Tall, with broad shoulders and a wide chest that stretched his t-shirt, jeans that hugged his muscled thighs, and cowboy boots. He’d exuded testosterone. “Speaking of killer bodies, I recall that Nast has one.”
Lucy grinned and her eyes lit up with mischief. “Oh, yeah. He’s a looker, all right. Has women fawning over him.”
“Until he gripes or yells at them?”
“They hang around even after that.” Lucy giggled with her. “He never yearns for female companions, but he’s picky. Or, more likely, the women get tired of taking a back seat to his work.” She angled a glance at the ceiling in thoughtful contemplation. “Yeah, that’s probably it. His work comes first and then his family.”
“He’s not married, is he? Divorced?”
“No, he’s never married. His parents and sisters live here in Tulsa.”
Although Sam hadn’t been thrilled with the temporary job, she’d agreed mainly for Lucy’s sake. Her friend was loyal and she could tell that Lucy felt guilty about stepping away from her job for the next few months. She’d heard about Jack Nast and his prickly personality, but she was confident that she could handle him. She just had to focus on work and not on her attraction to him. Once she got to know him better, her physical attraction for him would fade, she told herself. That’s what usually happened. He’d turn out to be egotistical or chauvinistic. He’d tell bad jokes, belch in public, ridicule people who read, jeer at different belief systems. Something would turn her way, way off and he would no longer be the least bit attractive.
“Here’s your carrot cake, ma’am,” the waitress said, setting a to-go container on the table. “Can I get you two anything else?”
“No, th—”
“Yes. I’ll have a chocolate shake to go,” Lucy interrupted Sam.
“Okay. I’ll be right back with that.” The waitress grabbed the check she’d laid on the table to add the item to it.
Sam barely suppressed a chuckle, but Lucy was wise to her.
“You just wait, Striker. Someday you’ll be growing a human inside of you and I’ll be the one watching you pig out.”
“Hey, I’m glad you’re doing such a swell job at it.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to work right up until this urchin popped out, but Dr. Cartwright said I needed to stay off my swollen ankles and feet. He’s worried about pre-eclampsia.”
“Do what he says, Luce. We want little Rose Rachelle to be born without complications.”
“I’m being obedient. And now that I’ve secured the perfect temp for Jack, I can relax even more.”
“Don’t worry, Lucy. I’ll hang in there. Mr. Nasty is stuck with me, whether he likes it or not.”
Nast Construction was housed in a brick building on Route 66. The famous Mother Road stretched through the heart of Tulsa. Approaching the large, blocky building, Sam eyed the white sign above the entrance. Hammers, nails, and saws framed the company name. She glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock on the dot. When she opened the door, she found herself in a huge room that smelled of paint, varnish, and lumber. Everything was gray – the cinder block walls, the concrete floor, the ceiling, and the furniture. A couple of metal desks and file cabinets filled one corner, but most of the floor space was taken up with ladders, stacks of lumber, and rolls of vinyl flooring. Sunlight filtered through large, dirt-smudged, barred windows. Two ornately carved, antique mantels leaned against one wall and six pillars and stair railings rested against another one. Five guys in work clothes, standing off to one side, stopped talking among themselves and stared at her. In the momentary quiet of the high-ceilinged room, she heard Jack Nast.
“Either show up today or don’t show up again. You got that? Save your excuses for your mama.” A beep sounded as he ended the phone call.
Fighting back a grin, Sam nodded at the gawking men and walked in the direction of that low-timbered, growly voice. A big dude in coveralls stood with his back to her, but turned as she approached. He had a salt-and-pepper beard and twinkling brown eyes. Past him, a scowling Jack Nast sat on a sawhorse. He wore faded jeans, a blue t-shirt under a denim shirt, and work boots to perfection.
Great balls of fire. The man oozed sex appeal with the kind of physique that made her weak in the knees. Broad-shouldered, brawny, and beautifully masculine – he was a scowling archetype of an alpha male. He ran a hand through his slightly curly, brown hair in a gesture of exasperation that froze when his lushly lashed eyes focused on her. Slowly, he lowered his hand and his gaze moved up and down her like a slide rule, taking her measurements. It was a cool, early autumn day, so she’d dressed in a pair of stone-washed carpenter pants, a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, and a sexy pair of Doc Marten Cadence ankle boots that had set her back a couple of Benjamins. Lucy had told her to dress business casual, but she’d opted for more casual than business because she didn’t know if she’d be at any construction sites or behind a desk all day.
“Sam Striker, reporting for duty,” she said, lifting one brow in what she hoped transmitted confidence. “Sounds like we’re already behind the eight ball.”
“Hey there,” the other man said, presenting his hand. “Glad to meet ya. I’m Ron Santorini. So, you’re Lucy’s friend.”
“That’s right. Nice to meet you, too, Ron.” She stepped past him and held out her hand to her new boss. Her mouth went dry and her voice came out husky. “Good to see you again, Jack.” His hand engulfed hers, but his squeeze was gentle and fleeting. He scanned her again with eyes the color of a summer sky. He had a cleft in his chin that was deep enough to notice, but easy enough to shave. Her breathing shallowed and she stepped back, feeling a little flustered.
“You can wear regular clothes,” he said, turning away from her to grab a pair of aviator sunglasses off the end of the sawhorse. “You’re here to be my office manager, not part of my construction crew.”
That put starch in her spine. Ready to rumble, huh? “Yeah? Well, I think I look damn good for an office manager.” She held her arms out from her sides and spun around once. “What do y’all think?” she asked, directing the question to the other men. Their eyes lit up and they answered with wolf whistles and hoots of pleasure.
“Okay, okay. That’s enough,” Jack bellowed, standing up and hooking the sunglasses on the neck of his t-shirt. “Slacker John’s probably not showing up today – or ever – so you guys go on to the work site. I’m not paying you to rubberneck and act like a bunch of clowns.”
“That’s right,” Sam agreed, propping her hands at her waist and giving them a playfully stern glare. “No enjoyment allowed around here, men. It’s all work, sweat, and blood.”
They hid their smirking grins behind their hands and a couple of the braver ones gave her a thumbs-up sign as they filed out of the building. Turning back around, she caught Ron’s quick wink before confronting Jack Nast’s glower.
“You think you’re cute, huh?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “And I think you are, too.” Then she looked at Ron and gave him a gentle jab in the side with her elbow. “You, too, big guy.”
“You’re here to work, not to flirt. The ‘Me Too’ movement wouldn’t approve. ” Jack strode to one of the desks that was strewn with rolled up blueprints and papers. He snatched a sheet of paper off it, folded it, and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Grab something to write with and write on and let’s go,” he barked at her. “Ron, I’ll meet you at the job site. I’m going to check on those permits first.”
