So Wild

by Eve Dangerfield

  The woman stared at her tattooed forearm as though it were a poisonous viper. “What brings you to our building?”

  “She’s here to see me,” Scott said quickly. “I apologise, Martha, I know this is unprofessional.”

  “It is,” she said with a sniff. “I need a word. Can we go to your office?”

  “Sure. Sam, can you stick with Toby for a little bit?”

  She didn’t get a chance to say ‘okay.’ Scott and his boss were already leaving, abandoning her and Toby in the midst of an awkward silence.

  “Sorry, that’s one of the big bosses, Martha Clarke-Oscar,” Toby said. “Want to see my desk? It’s right outside Scott’s office, so you’ll be able to see when he’s free.”

  “Sure.”

  Sam accompanied Toby back to his desk, which was neat and void of personal items.

  “You can have my chair,” Toby said. “I need to go to the meeting room and check on some stuff, is that okay?”

  “Yeah, no worries.”

  No sooner had he left than the phone started ringing. Sam left it, but the caller dialed again and again. People from the other cubicles glared at her, as though she was being deliberately incompetent. It rang twice more and Sam sighed and picked up the phone. “Scott Sanderson’s office, this is… the phone?”

  “Who’s this? Where’s the Toby boy?” It was a man. He sounded both old and grumpy.

  “He’s getting coffee,” Sam improvised. “What can I help you with?”

  “I want to talk to Scott.”

  “He’s in a meeting, right now. I can I take a number and—”

  There was a loud shuffling noise, as though the guy had taken the phone from his ear but was too old to figure out how to hang up.

  “Prick,” Sam muttered. She pressed the flashing red button on the phone, but instead of ending the call, the phone beeped twice and Scott’s voice came through the receiver. “I understand what you’re saying. I know personal visits aren’t the norm around here.”

  “They’re not,” she heard a woman sniff. “Especially not first thing in the morning.”

  Oh fuck, she could hear Scott’s conversation with his boss, Dragon McJizzcrackers. She should hang up. She should hang up…

  “There’s something else I’d like to make clear,” Ms McJizzcrackers continued. “If you’re going to have guests, they need to comply with the company dress code. Can you imagine the impression a girl like that would make on our clients if they saw her in your office?”

  Sam’s cheeks flared hot. She’d known the minute she’d entered the office that she stuck out but, surely that didn’t require a fucking dressing down from upper management? Thankfully, Scott seemed to be on the same page. “I can appreciate what you’re saying, Martha, but Samantha’s just stopping by.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Personal business,” Scott said deftly. “I’ll ask her not to do it again.”

  Not a rousing defense. Still, he did just start working here and fuck knows I don’t want to come back.

  But despite her self-reassurances, Sam’s chest was tight. It was a sensation she’d felt before—when she saw Scott leave his house in his private school uniform, or learning to drive in his father’s gleaming black Chevrolet. She felt it outside that neat faux-rustic French restaurant in clothes her socially self-conscious sister picked out for her. The tightness spoke of the differences between them, because whatever their feelings for each other, he was a posh boy from London and she was a broke girl from Melbourne, and one of those things was not like the other and two of those things did not belong together. Posh went with posh. Tattoos went with tattoos. High and low might have a cheeky fuck in the dark once in a while, but they didn’t fall in love. Sam suspected Martha Clarke-Oscar was hinting at just that with her petty sniping about the company dress code and personal visits. A second later, her suspicions were confirmed.

  “Scott, I know it’s none of my business,” Ms McJizzcrackers said in a voice that heavily implied it was one-hundred-percent her business. “But, you’re not romantically involved with that woman, are you?”

  There was a gaping pause. Sam could fit her foot inside that pause. Actually, she could fit her whole family inside that pause. Her chest clinched even tighter as she waited for Scott to reply.

  “We’re seeing each other,” Scott said, with what sounded a lot like reluctance. “Can I ask why that matters?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t! You’re free to see whomever you like, it’s just that if I knew you were already dating, I would have given you my niece’s number. She’s a legal assistant for Kempton and Barry and just the loveliest girl.”

  Sam could just picture her, shiny nut-brown hair and rich girl skin. She wouldn’t have a tattoo, even as a fake show of counterculture, she would be smooth cream to Scott’s buttery poshness. She pressed the phone even harder to her ear.

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” Scott said with a breeziness that stung. “But I’m happy seeing Samantha for the time being.”

  Martha gave a horsy snuffle. “Well, kudos. I hope you’ll bring her to the company Christmas Gala. I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone so colorful attend, and I mean that literally. I’ve never seen a girl with so many tattoos.”

  Scott didn’t reply and Sam could hear the frosty silence through the phone. She wanted to be comforted by it, but all she could picture was herself at one of Scott’s fancy work functions in a floor length dress—her neck and arms and décolletage whispered about and pointed at. People would say all the things they said about her dad; that she looked ridiculous, trashy, or at best some kind of working class edgy. Normally she wouldn’t give a shit what a bunch of uptight corporate cunts said, but if she was Scott’s girlfriend? If she was required to keep attending and keep being laughed at? Who wouldn’t care about that?

  As Scott’s silence stretched on, Martha gave another horsey snuffle. “Fine, well I’ll be leaving then. I’ll see you at three for the quarterly.”

  “Right. See you soon.”

  Sam only just put the phone down when Dragon McJizzcrackers came out of Scott’s office and immediately caught her eye.

  “Company protocol dictates you be here for no longer than thirty minutes,” she said with yet another irritable sniff. “See that you’re gone before then.”

  Sam considered telling her to go fuck herself but couldn’t get her mouth to work properly. She smiled and McJizzcrackers sailed away without a care in the world.

  What’s wrong with me? Am I losing my touch? I knew Scott was posher than me, I call him Galahad, for fuck’s sake. How is this a surprise?

  “Samantha?” Scott appeared in the doorway, his cheeks slightly red beneath his stubble. “Sorry about all that. Martha and I just had some things to talk over.”

  Yeah, like whether or not you’re dating a pleb and how the said pleb will delight the champagne classes with her fun body paint—that is if you don’t chuck me for Dragon McJizzcracker’s hot niece.

  Sam forced her fake smile wider. “No problem. Can I see your office?”

  She told herself she wasn’t going to lose her temper, but no sooner had the door closed than she was backing away from Scott’s outstretched arms.

  “What the hell was that conversation with your boss? Do the people you work for have such shrink-wrapped anuses that a few tattoos are enough to blow their minds wide open?”

  Scott blinked. “How did you…?”

  “I picked up the phone and it buzzed to your intercom. Is this what I have to look forward to if we become a couple? Sneering indifference and suggestions that you date someone more on your level?”

  “Of course not. Martha isn’t indicative of everyone I know,” Scott said, but Sam noticed he couldn’t meet her eyes. The tightness in her chest returned, a corset made of the realisation she’d spent her entire adulthood wondering why she and Scott had never gotten together, and been too egotistical to consider the obvious.

  “All those years you spent lusting after me
and never asked me out, was it because I’m not posh?”

  Scott frowned. “I’m not a snob.”

  “Maybe not, but you run in snob-circles. You have money, you wear suits and do rowing. You don’t have any tattoos.”

  “What does me not having any tattoos have to do with anything? I love your tattoos.”

  “But you’ve never gotten any yourself,” Sam said, feeling as though huge chunks of puzzle pieces were finally clicking into place. “You don’t have any tatts because they’re not the kind of thing upper class people like you have.”

  Scott’s brow furrowed. “Why are you determined to bring class into this? I agree Martha was rude, I tried to discourage her without being openly hostile and I’m not ashamed to be dating you. We grew up next door to each other, I don’t understand why you think we’re so different.”

  The ridiculousness of that statement almost took Sam’s breath away. Was Scott so blind he couldn’t see how his Oxbridge education, brand new cars, cushy banking job and married parents had made his life infinitely, permanently, different from hers? Never mind the fact that they’d been neighbors?

  Sam pointed to his office door. “Class is real, Scott. She can see it, and I can see it. Why do you get to be in posho denial just because you want to have sex with me?”

  “Okay, it was silly of me to say,” Scott admitted. “I know I have privileges you don’t, but we can still be happy together. There are arseholes in every class and that doesn’t mean you listen to them. I don’t give a damn what people like Martha think.”

  “Easy to say when you’re not the one being gossiped about at the fucking Christmas Gala.”

  Scott took her hand, pressing it between his cold ones. “But I’m not ashamed of you or how I feel about you. I’d be proud to take you to any event I attend for work. I take you to my Cambridge friend’s weddings. Tattoos and all.”

  Tattoos and all, Sam thought. Just like how people say ‘warts and all.’ He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand.

  She let her hand slip from his, feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly lonely. She wanted to take comfort in him, but it was just too fucking hard.

  “Samantha,” Scott’s voice was sharp. “I know why you’re upset and I don’t want to bring up buy­scott­sanderson­aroot.com, but honestly, this feels like you’re just looking for another reason to deny how you feel about me.”

  There was truth in this, Sam could feel it, but the heat of what he’d just said and of Martha’s criticism made it impossible to acknowledge. She checked her watch. “I don’t want to brush you off, but I need to get out of here before your boss calls security.”

  Scott’s jaw clenched but, ever the consummate gentleman, he nodded. “Would you like me to walk you out?”

  Sam shook her head.

  “Then I’ll see you later,” he said with icy courtesy.

  The hardness in his face made Sam’s stomach roil with guilt. Hadn’t she promised to get better at this? Didn’t she want to change?

  “Maybe you can stop by the studio later?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “I’m booked out until six but we could order some Chinese and just…talk this out?”

  Scott’s face lit up. “You mean it? You want me to come over?”

  “I…yes,” Sam said definitively, even though every word felt like it was scraping over some kind of internal asphalt. “I want you to come over and I want to talk. About us. Also about the six unweaned puppies your assistant and my sister smuggled into my home. That’s what I came to talk to you about, by the way.”

  Scott frowned. “What do you—”

  But he didn’t get a chance to finish. Toby burst into the office, his blue eyes wild. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr Sanderson, but I think I’ve done something bad.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “I just told him about the puppies.”

  “I don’t mean the puppies!” Toby’s gaze fixed on Scott. “It’s your dad. Your dad called and I told him you couldn’t come to the phone and he asked why and I told him you were with Samantha DaSilva and he freaked out. He was yelling and swearing and then he said he was going to ‘sort this out’ and then he hung up.”

  Scott pounded his fist into his forehead. “Oh fuck. Did you try calling him back?”

  “Yes, but he’s not picking up.”

  Scott pounded his forehead. “Shit.”

  Sam felt her anger resurface. “What the hell, Galahad? Is this another example of how we’re going to make such a legitimate well-rounded couple? Your dad losing it at the mere mention of me?”

  Scott turned to look at her, and she was shocked to see his face had bleached itself of color. “Whoa, what’s wrong?”

  “There’s something I haven’t told you about my father. He’s not well. In fact, I think he might be mad.”

  Sam tried for a consoling smile. “What else is new?”

  “I’m not being glib, I mean that he’s sincerely not well and…look, there’s no time to explain. We need to get to Silver Daughters right now and make sure everything’s okay.”

  “I…? Are you sure?”

  But Scott was already striding around to his desk and collecting his suit jacket, his still-pale face set with unmistakable worry. Sam’s heart gave an unhealthy lurch in her chest. “Why would he go to Silver Daughters?”

  Scott met her gaze squarely. “Because you were right that day in the pub. My father hates your family, and he always has. I just didn’t realise how much. Now let’s go.”

  Chapter 19

  Scott flexed his fingers to keep them from biting down on the wheel. He tried to call his father again and again and each failed attempt escalated his feeling of doom. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t convince himself he was overreacting. He kept picturing his father bursting through the door of Silver Daughter to demand God knew what. Why hadn’t he taken steps to protect them? Protect Sam?

  Because he’s my father and no one thinks their father is going to be that person.

  Scott pressed his foot to the accelerator, overtaking an idling Suzuki Alto. He wished he and Samantha could have driven to Silver Daughters together, but she needed to get her car out of company parking and she didn’t seem keen on talking to him. Her trip to his office had been a clusterfuck. That was his fault. He should have made it clear to Martha that he found the way she talked about Samantha’s tattoos offensive. He’d been rattled because he didn’t understand how Martha, or anyone, could look at her and see anything but breathtaking beauty. Maybe Samantha was right—maybe he was naïve.

  He heard his phone buzz twice.

  “Siri, read the message out loud, please?”

  “Your latest message is from Toby Tennant, it reads. ‘Hey Mr Sanderson, I’ve tried calling your dad a bunch of times but I can’t reach him. I also can’t get the tattoo shop, the line’s busy. I’ll keep at it exclamation point.’”

  Panic rose in Scott’s guts like acid.

  “Siri,” he said. “Call Silver Daughters Ink, please?”

  “Calling Silver Daughters Ink…” came the robotic reply. Scott held his breath, and he must have been owed a break because someone picked up after only two rings. “Hello, Silver Daughters Ink?”

  “Nicole?” Scott said with relief. “It’s me, Scott.”

  “Hi, you sound out of breath, is everything okay?”

  “Not quite, have you spoken to Sam?”

  “Hard to speak to someone who doesn’t have a mobile phone,” Nicole said drily. “I know she took off to see you. What’s happened? She’s not hurt, is she?”

  “No, but my father…look, it’s a long story but I think he’ll be coming to the shop this morning. Now, possibly.”

  “Oh gosh, why?”

  “I’m sorry, but it is a long story and I have a really bad feeling. Would you consider locking your doors? I’m only fifteen minutes away.”

  Nicole gave a nervous hum. “I’m not sure. We’ve got a full morning booked for the first time in ages. What do you th
ink your dad’s going to do?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s not well. He lost it when he found out I blocked his heritage application and he knows he’s not going to get the property. I’m worried he might…do something to your building as a last resort.”

  “Oh god, should we call the police?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, feeling helpless. “There’s not a lot to go on if I’m just being a paranoid bastard and dad’s nowhere near your place.”

  “Then what—”

  A Mercedes swerved into the lane in front of him and immediately slowed down, forcing him to slam his own brakes to avoid a crash.

  “Watch what you’re doing, you Muppet!” Scott hollered.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I will be once I know you’re all safe. Is that big bloke, Noah, in?”

  Nicole gave an irritable huh. “No, he took a day off to go do some mysterious thing we’re not allowed to ask about.”

  Scott’s collar seemed to tighten around his throat. Sexist as it was, knowing Noah was there to protect Nicole and Tabby would have gone a long way to easing his nerves.

  “Gil’s here though,” Nicole said brightly.

  Scott didn’t say anything. From what Sam had told him, Gil was hardly the hero they needed. He put his foot down, inching over the speed limit. “Okay, I’m ten minutes away. Keep your eyes peeled and if you see my father, please lock the door and call the police.”

  “Sure, um, is Sam with you?”

  “No, we took separate cars. If she gets back before me, please tell her to be careful and not to tackle my dad.”

  Nicole gave a nervous giggle. “This is Samantha DaSilva we’re talking about. I’m amazed she hasn’t tackled him, already.”

  “I know, and I love that about her, but—”

  “You love that about Sam?” Nicole interrupted. “You love Sam?”

  Impossibly, stupidly Scott felt a grin spreading across his face. “None of that, please. This is a serious situation.”