Page 103 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
The woman on the other end asks me a few questions about my school qualifications and any transferable skills I may have. I try my best to sound the confident and enthusiastic woman I really want to be.
“We’ll be making our decision about whom to invite for an interview in the next few days. You should receive an email with the details if you’ve been successful.” She pauses. “I think you’ve got a very good chance. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I hang up with a lightness in my soul I’m not sure I’ve felt for years.
Are things finally falling into place? A job I might actually love. Six men I think I could fall in love with too. This is all too good to be true, right? I try to ignore the sudden gnawing idea that it can’t possibly last, and focus on that lightness instead, changing into my running gear.
I’m tying up my sneakers when there’s a knock at the door.
Courtney goes to answer it, peering through the spy-hole. “It’s Angel. Should I open it?”
“Yes, you can open it.”
She unbolts the door and swings it back revealing Angel leaning against the frame.
“Morning,” he says with one of those dazzling smiles, “I know you are after space, but I had a feeling you might be out for a run this morning so I’m here to accompany you.” He’s dressed in running gear, although the gun strapped around his chest is hardly missable.
“Okay,” I say. “Do you remember the rules?”
“Five paces behind and don’t comment on your running style.”
“Correct,” I smile.
“Do you also have a water bottle you need me to carry?”
I hand mine over and, trying my best not to linger in order to check him out – the man has thighs the size of small countries and an ass so tight you could crack an egg on it – we set off down to the beach, sprinting over the sand dunes and down towards the shore. As my feet hit wet sand, I halt abruptly. The beach is swarming with people pacing up and down with markers and cones. Several more stand watching with clipboards and tablets. In the distance, three large trucks and a couple of diggers are parked up.
“What’s going on?” I ask my running companion, shaking my head in despair.
Angel stops beside me and peers towards the crowd of workers.
I set off marching in their direction. Angel attempts to grab my arm.
“Bea, wait.”
I shake him off and stride up to the nearest man and tap him on the shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
The man, dressed in jeans, a workman’s shirt and baseball cap, looks me up and down.
“You can’t be here. This land is privately owned.”
I glare at him and repeat my question. “What’s going on?”
The man looks up at my minder and nods, then directs his answer to him. “We’re doing some initial investigation on the ground, ready for architects to start designing the layout of the developments for this land.”
“You can’t do that.” I land my fists on my hips.
“Why?” The man smirks. “Do you have some legal mandate prohibiting us?”
“No,” I say with irritation. “But doyouhave the legal permission that allows you to do this?”
“Of course, you can look it up on the internet. Now if you don’t mind.” He spins around and walks towards another man who seems to be taking some kind of measurement in the sand.
“They can’t get away with this,” I mumble.
