Page 110 of Loving Wild

“Hey, babe, I’m up at Red Hill. You’ll have to shout, it’s chaos here,” I say as I step over some cables and through the front door. “Just let me know you got there safe and call me later when you’re done. Hang on . . .”

I still have the phone to my ear when I ask a tradie if he knows where I can find Dave, Gabe’s site manager and the person I’m supposed to liaise with to look at the up-to-date drawings.

“His office is upstairs in one of the bedrooms,” the tradie replies.

Before I get a chance to say thanks or continue my conversation with Gabe, I hear, “Oi, get your hard hat on,” shouted from above me.

Before I even look up, I know it’s aimed at me.

“Shit,” I mumble as I watch a mountain of a man with a big red beard come walking down the stairs, eyes honed in on me.

“Get a fucking hat on or get off my site.”

He says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“Sorry, mate, I was looking for Dave, there’s no one to sign in with at the door, so I just came in.”

“Well, ya shouldn’t have.”

What I really want to do is tell him to go fuck himself, but I’m here in a professional capacity, so instead, I take a deep breath, smile sweetly, and hold out my hand.

“I’m Lauren Day, the McAlister’s interior designer. I just need to speak to Dave so he can show me some modified . . .”

“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, get a hat on, or get off my site. There are men working overhead. Are those boots toe caps?”

“Absolutely.” I kick the heel of one boot into the toe of the other to demonstrate as I lie through my teeth. “And if you would stop being so rude and tell me where I can find Dave or show me to his office, I’ll get a fucking hat.”

The sounds of the construction work that filled the space when I entered have quietened, and I know everyone is listening to our exchange.

My first instinct when he shouted at me was to cry but fuck that! I refuse to be intimidated by this prick. I might be breaking health and safety codes, but there are ways of letting me know without getting in my face like he now is.

My phone vibrates in my hand, which, I realise, aches from gripping it so tightly. Looking at the screen, I see Gabe’s name. I’d totally forgotten that I’d been talking to him. He must’ve hung up then called me back.

I swipe and answer with, “Hey, can you call . . .”

“Put that Scottish cunt on the phone,” he cuts me off.

“What?” I question.

“Lauren, do not fuck with me right now. Give Dave the fucking phone.”

I don’t respond to Gabe, instead, I hold my phone out.

“It’s for you,” I tell the big man in front of me.

“Me?” he questions.

“Well, you’re the only Scottish cunt here, Davey Boy. I’m from Essex, andnota cunt, so I know Gabe don’t mean me.”

“Gabe?” he questions.

“Yep, and he’s just a little bit pissed off. Good luck with that.”

The man I now know is Dave snaps his head back at my words but takes the phone from my hand.

“Hello?” His greeting sounds like a question.

I can’t hear Gabe’s end of the conversation but enjoy watching realisation dawn on Dave’s face.