Lena followed his gaze out across the water, her fury gathering steam. Then instantaneously it fizzled. ‘Whoa.’
Whales, two of them, were frolicking about half a kilometre away from the wharf. Their huge black bodies slid in and out of the water like islands, appearing and then disappearing. Every now and then a huge tail would emerge, flip upwards and then smash the ocean surface with as much strength as the pile hammer. One of them sprayed a fountain from its blowhole before its black body curved into the waves. She had never seen anything more humbling.
Radar came up and stood beside them. ‘Been keeping us company all morning,’ he told her. ‘I think they know we’re up to something.’
‘Pity they’re wrong,’ Mike snapped. ‘We haven’t welded that headstock on yet and won’t do so if you continue to stand there gaping like a frog catching flies. Get over the side.’
Reluctantly, Lena tore her gaze from the whales. ‘Mike –’ but he wouldn’t let her finish.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I have two headstocks to get in today and unless you’ve got any tips on how to do that more efficiently, back off.’ He moved away from her to walk over to the other side of the skid. She watched his back in frustration as he leaned over the railing, yelling more orders to the guys below.
She’d been dismissed. Fully and utterly dismissed.
And she had no way to regain ground. Lena didn’t have any tips to make him more efficient. She was hoping they’d be able to come up with something together. But there was no way she was going to beg for an alliance. That would be tantamount to admitting everything he thought about her was true.
You’re going to prove him wrong if it kills you.
All she needed was some time to regroup.
That evening, Lena was dying to get to the gym to do just that. Maybe sweating out her anger would make room for ideas. She needed a plan or a miracle to make Mike cooperate. As the former was more accessible than the latter, she knew she’d better get on the treadmill and hope that something came to her. It was unfortunate that when she finally entered her sanctuary, it was contaminated.
Dan Hullog was on the treadmill.
She stopped just short of the door, the hairs on the back of her neck rising like porcupine spikes.
Perfect.
She toyed briefly with the idea of leaving and then his gaze flicked upwards and their eyes met in the mirror on the wall in front of him. His were cool and knowing. Dignity now dictated that she stayed.
She walked over to the bicep-building machine and perched on its worn vinyl seat. Dan went back to ignoring her. Despite her resolve to do the same, her eyes were continually drawn to his solid male back. Perhaps it was because he didn’t look like a client in gym shorts and a sweat-soaked tank top.
Muscled shoulders. Generous biceps. Powerful calves.
She swallowed with difficulty as his masculinity hit her like a smack in the face.
Now more than ever, Bulldog seemed an apt name for him.
Suddenly the treadmill beeped and slowed. She tore her eyes away, pumping her weights unnaturally fast till a spasm in her right arm told her to stop. Lena released the weights as heat that wasn’t from the work-out crept into her face. Had he seen her checking him out? She gave herself a mental slap.
You’d think after everything that had happened at university she’d have a mental circuit-breaker that got thrown whenever she was attracted to the wrong kind of man. Apparently not. She steeled herself. Crushing on the client was not an option.
She confined her gaze to the floor as she tried to slow her racing heart.
A pair of old white sneakers entered her field of vision.
Oh crap.
Was he going to say something about it? Her fingers trembled. She raised her eyes to his and took in their colour for the first time – a deep ocean blue.
‘Carl told me he put you on the skid frame.’
Lena breathed again. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She nodded, searching his face and finding it unreadable. So now he knew she was an engineer. Maybe he had approached her to apologise for his behaviour on the wharf. Her heart buoyed. That would be it.
‘You need to go faster.’
Maybe not.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re too slow.’
Lena was confused. ‘On the bicep curl?’
‘No,’ he said impatiently, flipping a white towel across one broad shoulder. ‘On the skid frame.’
‘Oh.’ She couldn’t believe it. He was telling her off again. She shouldn’t have expected any differently. Although at this rate, she’d rather he’d caught her checking him out.
‘You’re ten per cent behind schedule.’
‘I see.’ Her mind did backflips as she tried to recall whether Carl had said anything about how much she was supposed to get done per day. Her mental database came up blank.
‘At the pace you’re going,’ Bulldog continued, ‘we’ll be here till next Christmas.’
She bit her lip. Bloody Mike: she’d bet her left arm he’d known this. He’d be loving her humiliation now if he could see it.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ The Tone was blaring in his voice: Lena couldn’t help but snap back at him.
‘Of course I heard you, damn it. But I am off duty, you know. I didn’t expect to be accosted in the gym.’
He seemed to be slightly taken aback by her tone because for a moment he said nothing. Immediately, she got the uncomfortable feeling that no one else had spoken to him like this before. Not even Carl. She silently cursed her temper. Wasn’t the first rule of thumb, the client is always right?
Damn.
‘Sorry,’ she apologised gruffly. ‘Bad day.’
‘Would you rather I had called you in formally for a meeting?’
Lena couldn’t seem to help herself. She shot him a look of disdain. ‘You mean for a dressing-down.’
‘Oh, you’re dressed down enough already, don’t you think?’ While she was trying to figure out what he meant, his gaze roved over her fitted gym shirt, short bike pants and bare legs. Then it all became clear. Her relatively understated gym clothes had suddenly become indecent. Her chest tightened as his slow perusal seemed to go on forever.
This is not happening.
Not again. She had to stop it.
‘Do you mind?’ she finally breathed.
His lips twitched. ‘What’s good for the goose.’
Lena felt ice slide down her spine.
Crap.
He had seen her checking him out. In a second, she went from cold to hot as her skin pinkened like watermelon. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
‘If you think you’re not cut out for this job, you should just ask Carl to send you home. No one will hold it against you.’
Lena stiffened. An unnatural rage seized her and she stood up too fast, hands on her hips, eyes on fire. ‘Don’t worry about the skid,’ she bit out. ‘I’ll get it moving faster for you. Now if you’ll excuse me.’
He stepped into her path and she was pulled up short. She turned her head to meet his eyes but had to look up, and so braced herself against being intimidated by his height.
‘You know, you shouldn’t walk around so scantily dressed. You’re not in Kansas any more.’
Lena’s anger pounded through her body. ‘I don’t think what I wear is any of your business.’
He backed off and his face closed. ‘Just concerned for your safety.’
‘You seem to have a thing for that, don’t you?’
Was it her imagination or did he just flinch? She couldn’t be sure of anything with Bulldog. He was about as decipherable as a menu in a Japanese restaurant. ‘Well, for your information,’ she added to soften the blow, if that’s what it had been, ‘usually there’s no one in h
ere at beer o’clock. So I feel safe to wear whatever I want without being harassed.’
‘They’ll find out.’ He shrugged, pushing his dark damp hair off his forehead. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’ On these cryptic words, he turned and walked out, leaving Lena simmering like a nearly done curry.
He was insufferable, domineering and completely arrogant. And yet, pleasing him was now her number one priority. A sure way to prove her worth was to meet Bulldog’s impossible standards. She returned to the machine and began pumping iron again, barely even noticing the rise and fall of the bar as she made the decision to nail Carl to the floor first thing in the morning. She had to sort this progress thing out. Make sure she knew what slack she needed to make up. Bulldog was going to get his extra ten per cent if it killed her.
Just keep it professional.
She bit her lip, tasting blood and sweat. But she kept pumping: it helped her focus on her feelings. She was under no illusions. For some insane reason, she was attracted to the idiot. She had to pack that away and never look at it again. With a heavy breath, she released the weight, stood up and wiped the sweat from her brow. At least this time she knew what trap she could be walking into.
At university she’d had no idea. It was her third year. End of semester exams were three weeks away and she was struggling. No – understatement. She was desperate. One more failed unit and she was going to have to repeat a whole year. Her enjoyable lifestyle had led to too many missed tutorials, hungover presentations and very very late assignments. She was stressed and anxious. She’d tried talking to some of the other students in her class about it but it hadn’t really helped. She had too much to catch up on. Her schedule was insane and she finally threw herself at the mercy of her teachers. They were mostly unsympathetic, showed her where to watch podcasts of their lectures, reminded her which textbook chapters to focus on, but in general just wished her luck. It was her Structural Analysis professor, Whiteman, who really helped.
He’d been easy enough to approach as he packed up his laptop and turned off the projector. He smiled at her in a way that made her feel at ease, comfortable. When she asked him stilted questions he was patient and kind.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get it,’ he said. ‘We’ll make sure you get it.’ He zipped up his computer bag and rested his forearms either side of the handle, an indulgent expression crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you stop by my office tomorrow evening? I’ve got some time. We can go over it again . . . slower.’
She’d been so grateful. So relieved. ‘That’s great, Professor Whiteman. I’d really appreciate that.’
‘Not a problem. See you then. And please, call me Kevin.’
When Lena arrived at work the following morning, someone had erected a flag beside the driveway leading up to the office dongas. She didn’t know how Gavin’s crew had managed to get a Barnes Inc flag on such short notice but it was definitely the genuine article. Of course, the pole wasn’t a cylindrical section but a length of angle which had obviously been spare. The flag itself was bolted on instead of strung so it couldn’t be raised up or down. It was a permanent flying fixture, no doubt a pro rather than a con. Lena shook her head as she walked past the monstrosity, certain it was twice the size of its counterpart at TCN.
Gavin pounced on her when she walked in, his expression hopeful, like a dog waiting to be thrown a bone.
‘So,’ he demanded, ‘what do you think?’
‘Of what?’ She feigned ignorance.
‘The flag.’
‘What flag?’ she countered. ‘Didn’t see it.’
‘What!’
‘Gavin, I’m kidding.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You’d have to be half blind not to see that thing. It’s huge.’
‘You better bloody believe it.’ He shook his pen at her and returned to his work station.
With a sigh, Lena dumped her backpack on her own desk and went to find Carl. He was on the phone as usual.
‘Fuck that! Do something about it! I’ve got a fuckin’ flagpole out my window that’s straighter than your fuckin’ pile caps.’ He slammed down the receiver and glared at her. ‘What do you want?’
‘Sorry to interrupt you,’ Lena began. ‘I just wanted to know what my schedule is.’
‘You what?’
Uh-oh. Hit a nerve.
He stood up and crooked his finger. ‘Come with me.’
Lena swallowed, chewing on her lower lip as she followed him. He took her to meet Harry, a thin guy with greasy hair and a tendency towards acne. She’d seen him around but hadn’t yet had a chance to talk to him. He was the quiet sort and kept to himself.
‘Harry does all the scheduling here,’ Carl informed her. ‘Every fuckin’ task has a date on it. Doesn’t it, Harry?’
Harry nodded shyly and Lena was moved to give him a reassuring smile.
Carl continued, unaffected. ‘How far behind are we on piling, Harry?’
‘Five per cent.’
‘Steel girder fabrication?’
‘Three per cent.’
‘Truss fabrication?’
‘Five per cent.’
‘NDT testing?’
‘Ten per cent.’
‘Headstock installation?’
‘Ten per cent.’
‘Okay, okay!’ Lena held up her hands. ‘I get the point, we’re running late.’
‘Running late!’ Carl practically snarled. ‘If we were a football team, we’d be the fuckin’ Dockers.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Lena saw Harry quickly scoop a coaster that had the Fremantle team’s emblem and colours on it into a drawer at his elbow.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Carl remained oblivious. His attention was still on her.
‘Your schedule is asap. Your due date is yesterday and your pace should be the speed of light. Don’t fuckin’ get me to explain fuckin’ common sense concepts. Just fuckin’ hurry up.’
‘Carl,’ one of the secretaries called out from across the office, ‘phone for you.’
‘Fuck!’
Lena watched with relief as he disappeared back into his office. ‘Close call,’ she said to Harry.
‘T-tell me about it,’ he stuttered.
‘Well, thanks.’ She turned to go back to her desk, dragging her feet on the dirty vinyl floors.
What am I supposed to do now? Carl wasn’t any help at all.
‘If . . . if I may.’ Harry tentatively solicited her attention.
At this point, Lena was desperate for help of any kind. She turned back without hesitation. ‘You may.’
Harry opened a large black file and ran a nimble finger over several coloured dividers before finally resting on the tab of his choice. He flicked open this section and turned the file around so that it was facing her. ‘This was the original plan for headstock installation.’
In front of her was a bar chart, with dates running along the horizontal axis and milestones running along the vertical axis.
Lena gasped. ‘According to this we’re supposed to be putting in four headstocks a day.’
‘How many are you putting in now?’ Harry enquired.
‘Two.’
‘I’d say you’ve got room for improvement.’
‘But how?’ Lena said, more to herself than to him. ‘Mike’s just . . . Urgh!’
Even if she did come up with a solution, it was highly unlikely that Mike would cooperate with it.
‘I . . . I know.’
Lena’s eyes flicked back to Harry. His hands fidgeted on the desktop like he wanted to say something but was too afraid to.
What does he know that I don’t?
‘Don’t go quiet on me now, Harry,’ she warned. ‘Spit it out. I won’t bite.’
His Adam’s app
le bobbled in his throat. ‘Sometimes I hear the guys bitching about Mike after work.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They say he’s got tunnel vision and doesn’t listen to any of their suggestions. Maybe –’
A flash of light! ‘It’s all right, Harry. I know exactly what you’re telling me. In fact,’ Lena’s grin stretched from ear to ear, ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.’
She headed back to her own desk, eagerly rubbing her palms together. Mike was an obstacle and the only way to deal with obstacles was to walk around them. After all, what did she do when the shoes she owned didn’t match her new outfit?
She bought new shoes, of course. True, she probably had too many pairs. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, Mike was a pair of shoes that didn’t go with anything. She had to stop trying to fit him into her plans, when she could do much better without him.
Excitement made her move faster. She rolled up a couple of drawings to take with her and went outside to catch the bus. Sharon was leaning against it, munching an apple and waiting for the hour to tick round. She threw the core in a nearby bin when she saw Lena and boarded the bus. ‘I suppose you’re coming with me.’
‘You bet.’
Sharon started the engine as Lena got on. Once again, there was no one else making the trip out to the wharf. She took the seat directly behind Sharon and the redhead drove the bus out onto the dusty site track.
‘So,’ Sharon looked at her in the rear-view mirror, ‘I’ve been hearing some interesting rumours about you.’
‘You have?’ Lena tried to look innocent as images of Bulldog’s incredible calf muscles flashed across her mind. She veiled her eyes. Sharon couldn’t possibly have heard about her run-in with Dan at the gym, could she? Nobody knew about that.
Not even Radar.
Of course, Sharon wasn’t exactly out of the loop when it came to gossip. Being the bus driver put her front row and centre to most site dramas. The boys seemed to forget her presence when they rode up and back from the wharf. She heard many a private conversation without even trying, much to Radar’s professional disgust.
‘Geez, you look guilty.’
The Girl in Steel-Capped Boots Page 6