So this is an excerpt from a book called Azur Like It by a pretty lady called Wendy Holden. She’s got a great writing style and this is my favorite passage.
Joan's telephone was ringing when Kate got back from the loo. She crossed her fingers as she answered it.
'Hello?' she asked cautiously.
‘About fucking time,' growled the other end of the line. 'Why the fucking fuck isn't there anyone in the fucking office?'
'Good morning, Mr Hardstone.'
'Can't see what's so fucking good about it. Where've you fucking been? I've been ringing for fucking ages.'
'I've been-'
'I don't want to hear excuses,' the proprietor thundered immediately. 'You want a fucking job or don't you?'
'Yes, of course, Mr Hardstone.' Kate forced syrupy tones through gritted teeth. 'Now what can I do for you?' A few tranquilisers, maybe? An injection? A restraining jacket?
'Is that useless bastard of a son of mine there yet?'
'Yes. I mean, Nathaniel is. Do you want him?'
'No, I bloody well don't. I want to talk to that stupid old twat We-miss. He is there, I take it?'
'Yes.'
'Only last time I rang, he'd taken the entire fucking afternoon off.'
'That's right. Mr Wemyss was at his mother's funeral.'
'Yeah, and what sort of an excuse is that? It wasn't as if the old bag was going to know he was there.'
There seemed no answer to this.
'Who are you anyway?' Hardstone demanded. 'What's your name?'
'Kate Clegg.'
'Oh yeah. You're that reporter with the big tits.'
Kate blinked. 'Er . . . I'm a reporter, yes.'
'Yeah. OK-looking girl, you are. Be quite attractive if you lost a few stone.'
Kate's throat contracted with fury. 'I'll try,' she muttered.
On the other end, Hardstone roared, 'Don't be fucking clever with me! Tm the clever one round here.'
'Sorry.'
'Put me through to that fucking useless editor. Now.'
'He's in a meet-'
'I said NOW!!' bawled Hardstone.
'Could you just hold on for a minute, Mr Hardstone?'
A stream of abuse came floating out of the receiver as she laid it on the desk.
‘It's Peter Hardstone,' she hissed, putting her head round.
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