3 - Lauren
Lauren
I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding in time to the series of resonant thuds that were coming from my door.
What in the hell was that?
I grabbed my phone from the pile of clothes strewn off to the side of my makeshift bed and blearily checked the time. Seven in the morning? It took an embarrassingly long time for my brain to click that I was expecting a visit from Cornerstone’s foreman today. Shit.
The few working brain cells I had at my disposal collaborated to help me brush my teeth and run a hand through my hair so it looked slightly less unruly.
There was no time to get dressed but at least I slept in shorts and a T-shirt.
Nothing too scandalous. I gave my face a light slap, trying to force life back into it as I stumbled to the door.
I ended up face-to-chest with a mountain of muscle.
Squinting against the unwelcome morning light spilling out from behind the silhouette, I directed my gaze further up.
Hazel eyes met my own, warm and steady beneath low-set golden eyebrows.
The rest of the face these handful of features belonged to was a collection of harsh, rugged lines beneath work-tanned skin.
A small, faded vertical scar cut into his right eyebrow, another cut across his jaw, and I was sure that if I hadn’t been this close to him, I wouldn’t have noticed.
The man in my doorway cleared his throat. “Miss Wolfhaardt?”
I nodded, dazed between my tiredness and his good looks.
“Good morning. I’m Brock Lawson, the site foreman from Cornerstone. This is Callum Doyle and Rafe Merrick, who’ll be assisting me with the technical walk-through today. I’ll be your main point of contact for anything that happens day-to-day on-site.”
My eyes flit over to the man standing next to him, the one who’d inclined his head at the mention of the name Callum.
Wide-jawed but doe-eyed, there was an endearing boyish charm to him even though, like Brock, he looked to be in his early thirties.
He was less bulky than the foreman, more slender but still athletic in the raw way more given to manual laborers than gym rats.
He had shaggy blonde hair, lighter than Brock’s dark golden-brown locks.
They both extended a hand in greeting and I shook them in turn. The warmth of their palms seemed to shoot through me. Brock’s grip was calloused, steady and firm, a blue-collar man through and through. But Callum was less sure, almost shy.
There was a strange comforting draw to his smile, a sense of recognition as though I’d seen him somewhere before, even though I was sure that I would’ve remembered.
I smiled, letting go of his hand. His ears turned bright red but he didn’t say anything else, instead turning his attention back to Brock who was continuing with his introductory speech.
“Before we start on this project, I just want to make sure that we’re perfectly aligned. I have our work order, and to my knowledge we’ll be starting with the plumbing system and by extension, the kitchen area, correct?” he said.
I only managed to catch his words in pieces that I would probably try to make sense of later because as I began blinking my way to a state of wakefulness, I finally noticed the man bringing up the rear. Rafe Merrick.
Cruel blue eyes, a mop of black hair and a cliche worn leather jacket.
The asshole from yesterday, Little Leather Daisy himself.
He stood behind the other two like a naughty younger brother who’d been dragged to see someone who he had no desire to visit.
I held up a hand as Brock started talking about the project scope and house rules and other things I had no current interest in.
He fell silent.
“Alright, that’s all good and well but this one is going to have to go,” I said bluntly, my eyes locked on Rafe and my finger pointing in his direction.
Brock and Callum both turned in surprise to stare at Rafe before sharing a look with each other.
In response, Rafe merely chuckled dryly before turning around and heading back to that familiar motorcycle waiting on the apron.
Seeing the truck marked with “Cornerstone”, I put together that the three men hadn’t traveled together.
“Merrick, get back here,” Brock grunted. Turning his attention back to me, he sighed. “Look, Miss Wolfhaardt, I’m not sure what your history is with Rafe over there, but I can assure you that he’s one of the best on our current crew.”
“That may be, Mr. Lawson, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want him in my home. He could be the best worker on the planet but I refuse to work with him,” I said resolutely.
“If I can just—” Brock started.
“No, you can’t just,” I interrupted.
I found it rather telling that despite the frowns on their faces, neither Callum nor Brock seemed shocked by my refusal to budge.
If it was any credit to his character, at least Rafe was consistent.
What did surprise me though was that he actually appeared to listen to Brock, at least enough to stop in his tracks.
He wasn’t exactly making his way back to my threshold, but he’d stopped mid-way to his bike.
“Miss Wolfhaardt…”
“Lauren,” I said.
“Lauren.” My name sounded stilted on Brock’s lips.
Like it was a foreign word he couldn’t quite pronounce with confidence.
“I’m sure that whatever happened between the two of you, you’re completely entitled to the way you feel.
But we need him on this project. This firehouse is going to require some of his specialized work and we don’t have anyone else available right now who can perform on that level.
I pride myself in ensuring every single project we complete has been finished to the best of our combined ability and that means keeping him on board. ”
I hesitated, peering around Brock to see Rafe facing us with a smug expression on his face. I felt my scowl deepen and moved back to a neutral position.
“No.”
Brock’s lips tightened at my very articulate and well-constructed refusal.
But just as he opened his mouth to offer another rebuttal, a cyclist zoomed down the street.
The next sequence of events seemed to happen in slow motion; the person on the bike yelling out some obscenity-laden cry about “desecration” and “erasing history” and “revenge”, a small projectile being flung and managing to nail Rafe in the back of the head, the resultant crack and broken shell pieces falling to the ground that made it clear the projectile had been an egg.
Rafe’s face was a mask of disbelief. He ran a hand along the back of his neck and looked at the slimy yolk mixture in growing, muted anger.
Brock’s gaze followed the direction of the cyclist, his mouth tugged into a tight line while Callum looked concerned. For my part, I was rather enjoying this, in all honesty.
“See?” I asked into the shocked silence. I held out my hands, gesturing in Rafe’s direction in sweet, glorious vindication. “I’m clearly not the only one that has a problem with him.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes at me and took a step forward only for Brock to block him with an elbow. Callum then stepped forward, speaking for the first time.
“Miss Lauren?” His voice was smooth and deep and seasoned with just the tiniest hint of a Southern accent. Combined with his looks, it immediately put me at ease and managed to actually defuse some of my anger and smugness. How easy I was.
“I don’t mean to shrug off whatever happened between the two of you.
But I can vouch for Rafe. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just a little rough around the edges and you probably caught him on an off-day.
But he’s really good at what he does, of that I can assure you.
I know you want this place to be as close to perfect as possible, and for that you need the perfect crew.
” He smiled again, showcasing near-perfect teeth.
“I promise that if you let him on this project, he won’t disrespect you again. I’ll make sure of that.”
My heart fluttered a little at his words. I was so, so easy. But how could I not be when Callum was this effortlessly and authentically charming? I didn’t get the feeling that he was trying to bamboozle me or placate me for the sake of a check. He looked like he was genuinely trying to help me out.
Plus, he wasn’t wrong.
I really wanted this renovation to work out as smoothly as possible. This firehouse didn’t just represent a new place to live; the potential photography studio represented a tether, something I could bind myself to and call home. For that, I supposed I could deal with Rafe Merrick for a few months.
“Okay,” I said. Callum’s shoulders slumped in relief. Brock’s mouth twitched and Rafe, well Rafe just looked pissed. But he chose to keep quiet as I welcomed the three men inside.
“Here,” I said begrudgingly, finding a clean towel in one of my suitcases and tossing it to Rafe. He grabbed it with one hand and nodded with reciprocal resentment.
“That was kind of you, Lauren. Thank you,” Brock said.
He notably didn’t give Rafe a chance to even stew.
“Right, we should probably move onto the practical matters. Like I said earlier, this is just a walk-through. We need to establish a schedule that works around yours so your life isn’t too disrupted by the next year. ”
“Year?” I blurted.
“Yes,” Brock clarified. “This is a pretty extensive project. A year is actually rather generous, some companies run a site like this for two.”
My eyes dragged to Rafe who was trying to scrub off as much of the egg out of his hair as he could with my towel. He pointedly avoided my gaze.
“So a year. Got it,” I muttered.
“Good. Next thing’s next—I have the plan we discussed over the phone printed out here.
I’d like you to go through the top line items to make sure we’re on the same page about what exactly you want done here.
Callum will sort out your plumbing ASAP so you’ll have access to hot water by the end of the day. ”
After everything was finalized and we determined which work hours suited me best, Brock asked me to lead them through the firehouse so they could complete their inspection and check for any problem areas.
There was still the formal inspection with the DOB agent and then the real work would begin and, considering how long this project was going to last, that day couldn’t come fast enough.
I excused myself when we were done touring the bay, wanting to finally get dressed before we finished and I signed off on the last of the paperwork.
As I left the three men downstairs, I felt the heat of observation chase me up the steps.
I looked back quickly and caught Rafe staring at my bare legs, a heat in his stare that hadn’t been there throughout any of the interactions we’d had so far.
But when he noticed me noticing him, he immediately averted his gaze, instead redirecting his attention back to Brock and Callum who apparently hadn’t noticed.
I didn’t know how to feel about that. I couldn’t figure out what to make of Rafe except that his presence felt similar to the way it felt to have a pebble stuck in your shoe.
Piercing, annoying and completely inescapable.