Page 9 of The Wanderer

"You do like her!" Rick made an odd triumphant crowing sound. "You always like the ones with the smart mouths because they challenge you, so if you charged her that much she must've really got to you."

"Maybe a little," he admitted begrudgingly, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. "She's a firecracker all right. Ice princess one minute, fiery the next."

Rick imitated playing a violin. "Look at you, all smitten kitten."

"Bullshit." Logan downed the rest of his beer. "Don't mind me while I go get another alcoholic beverage."

Rick flipped him the bird again and Logan laughed. He liked the company's Melbourne jobs for this reason; he got to hang out with his best mate. They'd known each other for twelve years, after he met Rick on the first day of his apprenticeship in the city. He'd been a naive eighteen-year-old who loved building stuff, Rick had been a thirty-year-old electrician on the same job. They'd been mates ever since. Logan trusted Rick when he didn't trust many people in this world.

When his construction company started taking off, he offered Rick the position of head foreman on all jobs. It gave Logan peace of mind, knowing Rick had his back when Logan travelled the country doing quotes. He had a good, reliable work team in each major city but Rick was the only guy who would never screw him over.

"Seriously, mate, how's the back?"

Rick wrinkled his nose, held up his hand, and wavered it side to side. "The anti-inflammatories did the trick in the first week and I'm weaning off the pain meds now. I’m seeing Madame Lash, the torturous physiotherapist three times a week, and Doc wants to review at the end of the week."

"Cut the cookie cutter medical spiel." Logan rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Shitty from being cooped up at home and not on the job site but otherwise okay. The back really is improving."

Logan nodded. "Good to hear."

"So tell me more about this client." Rick slipped his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his emails. "Hope McWilliams. Fancy-schmancy name."

For a fancy-schmancy woman. Logan had never met anyone like her. Sure, he mingled with the wealthy on occasion. Being a successful CEO of a major construction company ensured he got invited to all the right parties, particularly when he had so many satisfied customers. People talked and he hadn't been bullshitting Hope when he said he didn't have to advertise.

But even the refined women he met in those circles weren't like Hope. Those women looked at him like an oddity, like he was a wild pet they needed to tame. Hope hadn't looked at him like that. When she'd dropped her frosty exterior and thawed, Hope had looked at him like she wanted to devour him whole.

"She owns a piece of prime real estate on the outskirts of inner city Melbourne, so she's loaded. Didn't baulk at my asking price either."

"I'm not interested in her bank balance, doofus." Rick rolled his eyes. "What's she like?"

Logan searched for the right word to describe Hope, coming up with a lame, "Interesting."

"You're pathetic." Rick took another sip of his drink and mock barfed. "I can't drink this shit, it's too sweet. I'm going home to have a beer."

"Hey, you can't—"

"Take a chill pill, dude. I'm just messing with you." Rick stood slowly, unkinked his back, and winced. "But I am heading home. I'm just as keen to get back to work as you are to have me there, so it's exercise time for me. Keep me posted on the McWilliams job, okay?"

"Sure. I'll email you updates—"

"And for fuck's sake, don't screw the crew." Rick made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and shot him.

"She doesn't work for me."

"But she's a client so close enough." Rick slapped him on the back. "I'm serious, bro. Tread carefully, okay?"

"Yes, Dad,” Logan muttered, knowing he had no intention of adhering to his friend's advice.

As Rick shuffled towards the door, the screen of Logan's phone lit up with a text from Hope.

Need to see you tonight to discuss the quote. Please.

"That's weird," Logan muttered, staring at the message. It sounded like she'd added 'please' as an afterthought, as if she doubted he'd want to see her.

He knew what he should do. Make an excuse. Blow her off. Because seeing her tonight, hot on the heels of their unexpected make-out session earlier, could be toying with fire.

Then again, since when had he backed away from a challenge?

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