Page 53 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Mr—”
“Who the hell are you? You in charge of this site?” the guy demands, cutting off Don in the process.
“I am, and who are you?” I look him up and down dismissively.
“I’m the guy who is going to stop this build and sue the arse off you.” He prepares to rant more, but I hold up my hand, stopping him.
“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but this building and the land it’s on belong to me. We have all the relevant paperwork, and I believe you had your chance to oppose this construction. If you failed, tough shit. Now, leave my workers alone and get off my property.”
He huffs in frustration but turns and walks away, tugging his phone free from his pocket and begins shouting at whatever poor fool is on the other end.
“Who is that guy?” I ask, turning to Doug.
“He owns a small hotel a couple of doors down and isn’t happy at the prospect of us taking business away from him.”
I roll my eyes. “Aside from that prick, how’s everything else going?” I turn and watch the guy continuing down the street as Doug talks. My eyes catch on an old building with a wooden front facade and high arch windows. The upper part of the building sports sash windows, and there’s something appealing about it. “What is that place?” I interrupt Doug, pointing down the street to the building.
“Er, I believe it’s the old bell foundry. It’s still in operation.”
“Huh.” Turning back to Doug, I say, “Sounds like you have everything under control. I have somewhere else I need to be.”
I leave Doug staring after me as I walk down the street to the bell foundry. I’m about to go inside when my mobile rings.
I step away from the door and answer. “Hello.”
“I think it’s time you and I had a chat, Mickey Rawlins,” a male voice greets me on the other end.
I was so distracted I didn’t bother to look at the caller ID. I’m regretting that decision—lack of foresight my father would call it.
“Who is this?” I ask, cautiously.
“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in everything Rawlins and Hart. Tower Bridge, ten o’clock, and don’t be late. Tardiness pisses me off.”
The line goes dead, and I’m left staring at my phone like it’s a grenade about to explode.
Of course, there’s no caller ID even if I had bothered to check it, but then I wouldn’t have answered. I have a couple of ideas about who the caller was, and neither option means anything good.
While I’m fired up, I decide to call Ike’s restaurant and ask for him to call me, leaving my number when I’m told he’s not available, then I head home via the office to pick up some paperwork I requested on Kerr’s Bankside hotels and the shareholders. I need a backup if I can’t convince Ike to part with his shares.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Roni
By the time I make it to the front of the line, I’m ready to burst. And when I’m shoved from behind by two girls who thought it would cool to twerk in the line, I’m positive the only thing holding back the pee tsunami are my strong pelvic floor muscles. A toilet flushes and a cubicle door opens, and the relief is enough to stop me from turning on the girls.
As I’m heading down the corridor, having finally relieved myself, a hand snaps out in front of me, grabbing my forearm.
“Hey, what the?—”
“You Veronica. Veronica Hart,” some girl asks, still holding my arm.
I glance at her hand holding me, then up to her eyes. “You mind?”
“Look, I’m not here for trouble. Are you Veronica Hart or not?”
“And if I am?”
She rolls her eyes. “Then this is for you.” She thrusts an envelope at me, releasing my arm and turning back to her friend.
