Page 2 of Never Till Now

God, asking someone to give away their dog seems like an easier job than getting this woman to show the slightest bit of interest.

Max clears his throat, trying to save me from humiliation. “Can you hang that photo before you head out?”

I reach behind the counter for the hammer and a few nails before heading over to the wall. My mother and sister came up with the stupid idea to have a wall full of our favorite portraits from our family travels. Tacky if you ask me, but what Kelsie and my mother say design wise, it’s always accepted by my father. My knuckle meets the wall as I listen for the hollow sound to stop on a stud. I enjoy tasks like this. They aren’t in my CFO job description, but they make me feel normal.

Well, as normal as I can feel growing up in a luxury hotel in downtown San Francisco.

Out of the corner of my peripheral, I catch a glimpse of Blondie eyeing me with raised eyebrows. I feel judgment radiating off her smirk as she pops another damn cherry between her teeth, holding the stem between her fingers until she decides to pull it off. As if waiting for me to fail, her arms fold against the bar top as her eyes taunt me. Her doubt is clear that a man in a tailored Armani suit can’t hang shit. I hold the nail in place as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. It’s more than likely to lick the cherry juice off instead of an innuendo, unless she’s playing the innocent card. But it’s enough for my pants to grow tighter.

Holding the nail in place, I keep her eye contact to show her I’m fucking capable. Except I swing the hammer before I confirm where it’s supposed to hit.

Fuck!

Throbbing.

My breath halts as pain vibrates to the tip of my thumb. I grit my teeth, taking a sharp breath in, and grunt as my thumbnail starts to turn black. Dammit, I look like an even bigger idiot now. I walk over to Max, who already has a cup of ice in hand.

“That won’t work too well.” The pain pulsing through my hand mutes my ears as Blondie speaks.

She follows me behind the bar and grabs a thumbtack from a small jar of random things by the cash register. I don’t bother protesting how she’s not supposed to be on this side. Max steps aside as her delicate fingers take my hand to examine the blackening thumbnail. She holds my hand close to the sink and turns to Max.

“Grab a cloth, please. This could get messy.” Her tone holds a leveled assertiveness and sounds beyond her years.

“Ow, fuck. This fucking hurts.”

“No shit, Charmer,” she states with an eye roll. “You have blood pooling. Once I release it, the pressure will ease up.” She places my hand back on the counter as she grabs the lighter we use for certain drinks, and heats up the end of the thumbtack.

Oh, hell no.

“Trust me,” is all she says. “Max, have a clean cloth ready if the blood flies. Charmer, move your hand in the sink when I relieve the pressure.” She ignores my questioning eyes burning through her as she continues to warm the sharp metal.

“I don’t think—”

“Shut your delectable mouth for five damn seconds and hold still.” Her voice drops an octave, shocking me, and I nod with compliance.

Once content with the scorching metal, she picks up my thumb while rolling her lips inward to focus. The heat of the tack pushes into my nail, melting it. Blood flies up, releasing the throbbing pain. The water has a cold bite as she holds my hand under the stream for a moment. As if I’m not capable of doing this task either.

“I got this. Thanks.” I pull my hand out from hers, and she makes her way to the customer side of the bar. It’s then I notice her height. I stand six foot three, and she’s well over the average height of most women I know.

“You’ll want to take extra-strength pain meds if it hurts that much.”

She handled this situation astonishingly, but there is no way she is old enough to be a doctor. “Delectable, huh?” I smirk to shut out the pain.

“It distracted you for a moment, right?” And we’re back to the cold shoulder.

“Max, her drinks are on me tonight.” I hold her gaze, trying to figure out this enigma. “Vodka cranberry?”

“Wrong again, Charmer.” Her bottom lip brushes against the rim of the glass before unhinging her jaw and downing the rest of her drink in one gulp. “Is that what your lobby friend drinks?” She picks up a cherry and tosses it at me.

“Are you jealous?” I plaster on my last fighting smirk that works with every damn woman. “How about we get out of here, and I can thank you properly?”

A soft laugh resonates in her chest and she pushes her empty glass toward Max. “Oh don’t go and get attached just because I made your boo-boo feel better.” The barstool screeches as she stands. “Thank you, Max, for the Shirley Temple.”

Yep, like a damn twelve-year-old.

“Do you live around here?” I make my way around the bar, needing to be close to her for some fucking odd reason.

“Aren’t hotel lounges a hot spot for all the locals?” The sarcastic wittiness rings through her voice, and I instantly want to shut her up with my mouth. “I have an early flight. Good night, boys.”