Nailing Mr. Nasty (Campy Romances Series Book 2), page 3
“We’ll start here.”
Nodding, she clicked on her recorder and opened her tablet. “I’m ready.”
In rapid fire, he ticked off jobs that weren’t done yet, behind schedule, should be started by next week, and in several cases, not finished to his satisfaction. When it came to work, the man was a perfectionist, running the pads of his fingers over surfaces, leaning close to eyeball brickwork, checking to be sure everything was level, and cussing under his breath when something didn’t rise to his expectations. He took time to tell her the names of companies and key personnel he worked with so that she could contact them about delivery times, specifications, and let them know when he wasn’t pleased.
By the time they’d walked through the house, Sam’s head was spinning a little with the amount of work he’d piled onto her. She suspected that it was his way of challenging her; perhaps even assuming she’d have to admit defeat and nosh on a little crow. Well, if that was his game, he’d be the loser. If she had to sit up all night working on his punch list, she would, and she’d notify every subcontractor and vendor to relay his messages, too. He’d introduced her to each worker and she’d jotted down their names and a bit of description to help her remember who was who. They’d all seemed friendly and intrigued. She had no doubt that they were waiting to see how long she’d be around. Poor guys didn’t realize that she was made of tough stuff and wouldn’t wilt like wet wallpaper under Jack Nast’s surliness. They also didn’t know that she already had a good handle on Nast. Like her dad and her previous employer, he wore armor to protect his soft heart.
What was the chink in Jack Nast’s armor? she wondered as she followed him out to his truck. What caused him to don his armor to protect himself? Did he start wearing it as a child or as an adult? Or did he fancy himself a knight, riding to the rescue?
“I’ll drop you off at the office,” he said, firing up the engine.
“What about Taylor?”
“He’s staying here today. Ron will drop him off at the office after work. I have some real estate people to see this afternoon about another property I’m interested in and I’ll check on my other crew.”
“You have another crew?”
“Yeah. This is my A Team. My other crew is Bravo Company and I have them working on a remodel of a kitchen and bathroom in a house over by the fairgrounds. They’re almost finished with it, so I need to line up something else for them pronto.”
“Are we going to have lunch first?”
He blinked a couple of times before swinging his gaze over to her. “We?”
“Do you like chili? I thought we’d stop in at Ike’s. On me.”
“Thanks, but I’ll grab something later.”
“You don’t like Ike’s? Have you ever been there?”
“Of course, I have, and it’s great. I just—”
“Then it’s me. You don’t want to have lunch with me.”
“I’m busy.”
“It’s noon. What’s the difference if you eat now or an hour from now? Do you have somewhere you have to be before one? You and Lucy had lunch together every so often.”
He chewed on his lower lip as he steered around traffic. He drove like he was ten minutes late for everything, weaving around cars, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel when they were stopped at traffic lights, and cursing under his breath at drivers who had the audacity to turn left and make him wait behind them.
“Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable to be around me, I understand. I was just being friendly. It’s my first day and I thought—”
“Okay. Fine. We’ll go over a few more things while we eat.”
Smiling, she settled more comfortably in the seat, happy to have won that round. “Ike’s is on Eleventh Street before you get—”
“I know where it is,” he said, cutting her off. “I told you, I’ve been there.”
“You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” she noted, giving him the side-eye. “Why are you so contrary about everything? Has it become habit or do you still have to work at it?”
He didn’t answer, just lowered his brows over his deep-set eyes and stomped on the accelerator. They were parked in Ike’s parking lot in no time. Inside the front door, Sam paused to take in a big breath and appreciate the smell of chili. Her mouth watered. She followed Jack to one of the three tables that were currently unoccupied and they sat opposite each other. The waitress set plastic glasses of water and a basket of soda crackers before them.
“Y’all know what you want?”
“I’ll have a large bowl of chili,” Jack said. “And a Dr Pepper.”
“Make mine a medium three-way and I’ll stick with water,” Sam said.
“Gotcha. Be right back.”
The hum of conversations filled the air and Sam noted that nearly everyone in the place was male. Some were in suits and ties, but most of the chili eaters were blue collar Joes mixed in with half a dozen cops.
“So you have two crews,” Sam said after taking a long sip of the ice-cold water. “How long have you run your own company?”
“Six years.”
“Are some of your family members in construction?”
“No, other than my brother-in-law. He works for me.” He craned his neck from side to side as if his muscles had tightened. “Lucy said you worked for that science fiction writer. I read a couple of his books.” He bobbed one muscled shoulder. “He wrote good stuff.”
“Yes. Good enough stuff to win several literary awards, including the Hugo.”
“Like I told Lucy, this job won’t be anything like what you did for him.”
She ran her fingertips up and down the damp water glass. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I won’t require any handholding or—” He set his jaw when she barked out a laugh.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sam said, clapping a hand over her grinning mouth for a few seconds while she tamped down her amusement. “Handholding? T.L. Balfour would have kicked me out of his house if I’d tried to coddle him in any way. He was a lot like you. Scowling at the world, trusting almost no one, and assuming everyone was a screwup who was put on this earth to make his life more difficult.”
He folded his beefy arms against his impressive chest. “For someone who has just met me, why do you think you have me all figured out? I doubt very much that I have anything in common with Balfour. I read on one of the book jackets that he was English and his first book was published when he was twenty-two.”
“He was born in England, but he moved to Oklahoma when he was eleven.” She glanced at the waitress who approached the table bearing a tray holding a big bowl of chili for Jack and a bowl of chili, beans, and spaghetti for her. She set a glass of Dr Pepper near Jack’s elbow. Sam rubbed her hands together in delight. “Oooo, that smells so good. I’m famished.”
“Enjoy,” the waitress said with a quick smile. “Y’all need anything else?”
“Not me.”
Jack unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Thanks. We’re all set.” He grabbed the spoon and a packet of crackers.
Sam abandoned conversation for a few minutes to satisfy her taste buds with the three-way. She opened a package of crackers, too, and chomped happily on them. Jack attacked the chili with gusto, making it disappear in record time, along with about a dozen crackers. He flicked her a look every so often and each time she felt the heat of it.
Several men entered the restaurant and their boisterous voices and braying laughter drew everyone’s attention. A tall redhead with a full beard glanced their way and then did a double-take. A grin revealed white teeth amid the mass of auburn curls that covered the lower part of his face as he lifted a hand to point at Jack.
“Good God, it’s Nast!” he announced, and the others with him fell silent to stare at Jack, too. The redhead stomped over to them as Jack rose from his chair to shake his hand. “How the hell are you, man?”
“I’m great, Conner. How you been?”
“Busy, but not so busy I couldn’t do a job or two for you if you’d ever call me.” Connor grinned and met Sam’s curious gaze. “Is this your lady?”
“Uh. No.” Jack ran a hand down his face. “She’s—”
“Sam Striker. I’m taking over for Lucy Kimball temporarily.”
“Oh! Has she had her baby?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
He winked at her before looking at Jack again. “How come you went with someone else to do plumbing on your jobs?”
“You know I never put all my eggs in one basket,” Jack said, sitting down again. “I have you on speed dial and I’ll probably be calling you in a couple of weeks.”
“I heard that you were using Dandridge Plumbers for that one you’re doing on Reservoir Hill.”
Jack tucked his thumbs under his belt. “Hey, I go way back with LaMars Dandridge. We played football together at Webster High.”
“Okay, okay.” Conner looked over to where the men he’d come in with had commandeered a table. “Spread the love around, Nast. We all gotta eat, you know.” He gave a nod to Sam. “Nice to meetcha. Good luck working for this one.” He swung a thumb in Jack’s direction and rolled his eyes heavenward before leaving to take the chair left for him by his pals.
Sam reached for the receipt, gasping when Jack snatched it first. “I said that it’s on me,” she reminded him.
“I heard you.” He finished off the Dr Pepper and then wrenched his wallet out of his back pocket. “That was Kevin Connor. He’s a plumber.”
“So I gathered. I noticed back at the office that you have a plumbing and electrician’s license hanging on the wall and that Ron is also a licensed electrician. So, why do you subcontract?”
“Depends on the job.” He dabbed at the corners of his wide mouth with the paper napkin before dropping it onto the table. “If we gut a bathroom or kitchen, it’s more cost-effective to hire another crew to come in to knock it out for us. It would take me or Ron several days, maybe even a week or two, to completely plumb a bathroom or kitchen. Same goes for all new wiring throughout a room or house. If I sub it, the job can be done in a day or two.”
Sam pulled five dollars from her purse and placed it on the table. “I’ll get the tip.”
He shook his head and gave her a look usually saved for a wayward child. “So, why’d Balfour move to Oklahoma?”
“His parents died in a train wreck and his aunt and uncle agreed to raise him. They lived in Okmulgee.”
“That must have been a big change for him.”
“Totally. He was miserable and escaped into books. The day after he turned eighteen, he moved here to Tulsa and worked at a book store until his second novel was published.”
“I read that one. Rycon’s Forge.”
She smiled, impressed that he’d recalled the novel’s name. “That’s one of his best. My other favorite is The Quellem Rebellion.” She held his gaze for a few moments, finding the sky-blue color of his eyes mesmerizing. “You went to Webster?”
He tossed a couple of bills on the table. “Yes.”
“You’re a river rat?” she asked, smiling so that he’d know she meant it in a teasing way.
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “I am, through and through. I was born and raised in west Tulsa. Red Fork, to be exact. What about you?”
“I went to Will Rogers High, but I dated a Webster Warrior once. Kenny Barnstall. He rode a motorcycle and I thought he was the shit. You know? My parents didn’t approve and that made him sexier to me.”
His eyes glimmered with something potent, but nothing she could pinpoint. But it was there – a keen interest in something she’d said or perhaps in a memory she’d invoked – then it was gone. He scooted back his chair. “Let’s go.”
Back to business, darn it. Sam stuffed a couple of cracker packets into her purse before hauling herself out of the chair and the restaurant. A few steps behind Jack, she couldn’t keep from admiring his male swagger. He filled out the back of his jeans to perfection. Nice butt there, boss man. Even if encounters with him were like rubbing up against a cactus, she could admire him from afar. His arms and hands alone made her want to wrap her legs around him and feel those arms banding her waist and those hands diving into her hair. When he’d rolled up his sleeves to expose his muscled arms, she’d had a devil of a time not gawking at him. His hands were wide, his fingers long. There were little nicks and scars on the back of his hands, but his nails were short and clean. For a man who worked in sawdust, paint splatters, and general grime, he certainly kept himself dusted off and there was a hint of spicy cologne drifting from his skin. With a sigh, she wished for more of the Jack Nast who helped little, old ladies with their fallen trees and less of the closed-off boss man he seemed determined to present to her.
He reached for his cellphone in the back pocket of his jeans and checked it, frowning at whatever text had been sent.
“Trouble?” Sam asked after settling in the truck seat.
“Hmmm?” He glanced at her, his thoughts obviously not twinning with hers. “I’ll drop you at the office. You get to work on those lists and checking with the suppliers. Got it?”
“Got it!” She saluted smartly, hoping to ease his frowny face and failing. Sighing, she turned away from him. She had her work cut out for her with Mr. Nasty.
Chapter 3
Unstable Main Frames
Jack’s kid sister’s silver Ford Taurus sat beside his older sister’s blue Subaru Outback in the driveway, so Jack parked his truck at the curb. As he strode along the sidewalk to the house, Natalie opened the front door. She’d gathered her brown hair into a messy ponytail and both her jeans and sweatshirt had holes in them.
“Don’t dress up on my account,” Jack said, bussing her cheek.
She jabbed him in the ribs with her thumb. “Good to see you, too, ass wipe.”
He lifted a hand in greeting as his younger sister sprang up from the sofa and bounded toward him. She hugged his neck and kissed his cheek. She wore her signature baby pink – pale pink t-shirt and hot pink jeans. Margot always had something pink on, and now that she was expecting a baby girl in five months, she had doubled up on the pink fetish. There were streaks of it in her sandy-colored hair.
“Hi, Margot.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, looking into her brown eyes that were so like their mother’s. Margot had inherited Thelma Nast’s higher pitched voice, too, and a shyness that showed itself when she had trouble looking anyone in the eyes when she talked and when her smile flitted too quickly across her thin lips. “What are you two girls up to this afternoon?”
“We’re having peach tea and sorting through rumors and lies,” Natalie said, motioning toward the recliner he usually sat in when he visited. “Want a glass?”
“No, thanks.” He eased down into the leather chair. Margot and Natalie plopped back onto the couch. “Rumors and lies. You must be discussing Mother and dear old Dad.”
“Yep.” Natalie grabbed a glass of tea from the coffee table and sipped it, glancing over at Margot, who looked slightly miserable all of a sudden.
“What’s going on? Your text mentioned a visit by the fire department? Something caught fire?”
“No.” Natalie sat forward. “Margot and Walt ran into a fireman they know yesterday.” She turned toward Margot “Where did you see him?”
“At a parent/teacher meeting at school.”
“The fireman asked how Mother was, and Margot said fine, and the guy said he was glad to hear it after that nasty fall.”
“Oh, hell,” Jack groaned and shut his eyes as dark fury stirred in his gut.
“Yeah. I guess you hadn’t heard about that either,” Natalie said.
“I asked her last week if she wanted to go to the grocery with me and she said she didn’t need anything.” Margot picked at the fringe of an afghan that was spread across the arm of the couch. He had a similar one on his couch at home, crocheted by their mother. “Usually, she jumps at the chance to go anywhere with me. I should have known then that something was wrong.”
“She fell,” Natalie said, deadpan. “Tripped over her own feet and fell out in the backyard. Hit her head on something or other.” She thumped a fist into the couch cushion near her thigh. “When will she leave him?”
“Never,” Jack said, his own burst of anger fading slowly to leave him feeling numb. Having that man’s genes drove him crazy. What if he turned out like him? A bad-tempered bully who beat on the weak and defenseless? Whose to say he wouldn’t become an embittered old drunk one day? Like father, like son. “You know she will never leave him unless he accidently kills her. That’s the only way,” Jack said, running a hand over his lower jaw where he could feel the prickle of his whiskers already.
“Don’t say that, Jackie.” Margot’s expression pleaded with him and her saucer sized eyes misted over. “Please, don’t.”
“Have either of you checked on her since then?”
“I stopped by this morning,” Margot said. “She has a bruise on her forehead and on her jaw.” She touched the left side of her face with a trembling hand. “She told me the same thing about falling outside.”
“Did you tell her to quit lying to you?” Natalie challenged.
“What good would that do? It would just make her feel worse.”
“Do you ever go in the house?” Jack asked Natalie, but he knew the answer. Three years ago when their mother was hospitalized for a dislocated shoulder and a badly bruised hip from her falling down the basement stairs, Natalie had vowed never to set foot in the Nast family home again while their father still resided there.
“Nope. I mean, I pick up Mother for visits, but I never go inside. Even when he’s not there. I don’t even want to feel his presence in that house. Of course, Mother always says I’m being overly dramatic and I’m hurting her instead of Dad.” She shrugged, dismissing that. “Like anything I do could hurt her worse than what he does to her.”
“It’s been a while since it’s gotten physical,” Margot said, still plucking at the afghan.
“As far as we know,” Jack pointed out. “She hides that kind of stuff from us.”
