Executive Affair

Also by Ber Carroll

High Potential
Just Business

Ber Carroll

Pan Macmilan Australia

First published 2004 in Ireland by Poolbeg Press Ltd
This Pan edition published in 2008 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney

Copyright © Ber Carroll 2004

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any
person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior
permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Data:

Carroll, Ber, 1971–
Executive Affair/Ber Carroll

ISBN 978 0 330 42430 1 (pbk.)

A823.4

This story is entirely fictional and no character described in this book is based upon
or bears any resemblance to any real person, whether living or deceased, and any
similarity is purely coincidental.

Typeset in 11.5/14.5 pt Granjon Roman by Post Pre-press Group
Printed by McPherson's Printing Group

Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products
made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes
conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

These electronic editions published in 2008 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd 1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

Executive Affair

Ber Carroll

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For my dad, Donal

Thanks to my parents and my entire family for all their support.

Also to Lynne Stubbs, Peter Gracie and Lyn Atkin who trawled through the manuscript in its earliest form.

To Rob, for being my best friend, a wonderful husband and a ruthless editor. To Mandy, avid reader, super auntie and nanny supreme.

Thanks also to the anonymous assessor at The Manuscript Appraisal Agency who offered me such an enthusiastic response, to my agent Brian Cook and everybody at Pan Macmillan Australia, especially Cate Paterson, Julia Stiles and Louise Bourke.

And thanks to the many others who touched this book in one way or another: Paula Campbell, Gaye Shortland, Claire Oaks, Jerry Winfrey, Dick Postman, Tristan Tegroen, Scott Mortimer, Jeanette Martin, Chris Ryan and Ann Marie Forrest.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Claire couldn't find her swipe card to get in. She stood in the cold, her frozen fingers searching through her handbag. It wasn't there. She would have to wait until someone else came along. She hoped it wouldn't be someone she knew, someone she would have to talk to.

A few minutes later Mark, her boss, came striding down the street, his chin burrowed into the collar of his padded jacket.

‘Locked out, Claire?' His warm breath fogged the air.

She nodded and forced her lips into something that could pass for a smile. Mark swiped his card, pushed in the door and they were inside, the cold locked out behind them.

They stepped into the waiting lift and Mark unzipped his jacket. He had been finance director for two of the four years Claire had worked at Amtech. He was extremely talented, but he knew how to have fun too and was thus popular with his staff. He was young for the position he held, only thirty years old. Mark was going places. Everybody knew it.

‘How was your weekend?'

It was a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Mark had no way of knowing that Michael, her boyfriend of three years, had split up with her; he had no way of knowing that she had spent the weekend in a state of disbelief punctuated by long bouts of crying.

Claire swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘Good. How about you?'

The lift had come to a stop and Mark was suddenly in a hurry to get to his office.

‘Yeah, good,' he said over his shoulder.

Most of the workforce was in transit – hanging coats, making coffee, gossiping. Claire had no choice but to mumble a response to the numerous cheerful ‘Good mornings' that were bestowed en route to her desk. Margaret and John were huddled in Susan's workstation. They cupped their coffee mugs fervently with both hands.

‘Hey, Claire. Have a good weekend?'

‘Yeah,' she replied, wondering how many more times she would have to lie.

Shrugging off her jacket, she switched on her PC and ignored the coffee and chat ritual that started the working day. She had her back to them, but she could hear their conversation dying and knew they would be looking at each other with raised eyebrows.

Claire furiously typed in her password. Then she opened her email to find there was nothing from Michael. For the last three years he'd been in every part of her life; when she wasn't with him, there were phone calls, emails and text messages. He'd gone from everything to nothing in the space of a single weekend. Her disbelief was once again escalating into the urge to cry.
Tears burned her throat. But she couldn't, not here, not now. Somehow, she pulled herself together and began to work on the messages in her inbox.

Susan waited a polite thirty minutes before sitting, uninvited, on Claire's visitor's chair.

‘You seem extraordinarily busy this morning.'

‘Yes, I am. I need to put some plans together for the upgrade project – there's a meeting tomorrow.' Claire kept typing, hoping Susan would go away.

‘Anything I can help you with?'

Claire and Susan had started with the company as graduates and were close friends as well as colleagues. Claire's career had veered into financial accounting and Susan's into budgeting and planning, but they often helped each other out.

‘No, thanks. I just need to concentrate …'

‘Okay,' Susan grinned. ‘Hint taken. Talk to you later.'

Claire finished her emails and opened up the files for the upgrade project. The upgrade would make the accounting system more integrated and sophisticated, with new controls, processes and reporting capabilities. There was only one problem with the upgrade, a new problem but a big one: Michael was the project manager. She would have to send him these plans when she was finished. His office was downstairs, he could come walking past any minute, or he could ring her extension. Even if she managed to avoid him today, she would see him tomorrow at the project meeting. There was no getting away from him.

‘Are you coming for lunch?' Susan was back.

‘No. I still haven't finished this.'

‘Do you want me to get you something?'

Claire didn't feel like eating. ‘Yeah, thanks. Just pick me up a sandwich, anything will do …'

Ironically, Claire had a productive day, clearing most of her inbox and completing the work for the upgrade. There were even a few stretches of time where she had almost managed to keep thoughts of the weekend at bay. It was dark when she left for home, an early frost glistening on the footpath. The piercing cold stung her face and stripped away the veneer of composure that had got her through the day. Tears filled her eyes.

‘Claire! Wait!' It was Susan. ‘I know something's wrong,' she said when she caught up. ‘Tell me. What is it?'

Claire blinked her tears away. ‘What's wrong is that I should have never become involved with someone I work with.'

Susan steered Claire into Maguire's, the pub at the end of the street.

‘I'm not sure this is a good idea,' Claire protested. ‘Michael –'

‘It's Monday night. Michael won't be here.' Susan was confident. ‘Just sit. I'll go to the bar.'

Claire sat down next to the roaring fire. She unwound her scarf and opened the buttons on her jacket. She stared into the dancing orange flames. Monday night: she should be watching TV with Michael, not here. This was upsetting the order of things: Monday, TV; Wednesday, movies; Friday, Maguire's; Saturday, out in the city; Sunday, alternating between families. They saw each other five days out of seven, and when Claire's flatmate had gone to Sydney last year, there had been no point in getting a new one because Michael spent so much time there. From five days, from practically living together, to nothing.

Susan returned with two glasses of white wine. ‘What happened?'

‘He finished it.'

‘When?'

‘Friday night.'

‘You mean after you went home from here?'

Maguire's was a compulsory stop for Amtech employees on Fridays after work. That Friday night hadn't been any different. As well as Claire and Michael, Susan, Margaret, John and others had been there.

On later reflection, she realised that Michael had become more remote and preoccupied as the evening progressed. She remembered trying to engage him in conversation, talking to the others in the group when he gave monosyllabic answers. More images – kissing him, holding his hand – all without registering his lukewarm response.

‘I had no idea something was wrong until we were walking home,' she said, sipping her wine.

‘Did he say why?' Susan asked. ‘I don't mean to be insensitive, but I thought you two would end up at the altar.'

Claire grimaced. ‘That's exactly what he was worried about. He said he wanted to have some fun before he settled down.'

‘Well, fuck him and his fun,' Susan declared and Claire laughed before bursting into tears.

‘That's not … the worst part,' she said between sobs.

‘You mean there's more?'

‘He's seeing someone else.'

‘You're joking!'

Claire shook her head. ‘Unfortunately, I'm not.'

The
very
worst part was that she suspected the girl was more than something ‘fun'. Michael was a project manager. He was organised and meticulous and deliberate in everything he did. This girl wasn't casual, even though he might be fooling himself into thinking so.

Claire caught sight of a familiar face coming their way. ‘Oh no!'

‘What?' Susan asked frantically.

‘It's that new guy who works with Michael – Rory.'

‘Hey, Claire. How's it going? Is Michael around?'

Claire hung her hair so that Rory couldn't see her tear-streaked face. ‘No, he's still at the office.'

Truth was, she had no idea where Michael was. He could be at the office, he could be at home, or he could be out with his new girlfriend. If he was with her, what was their Monday night? TV? Dinner out? Had he known her long enough to have a routine? Suddenly Claire's head was buzzing with questions that she'd already asked herself a thousand times. Where had he met her? How many times had he been with her? Had he slept with her?
Who was she?

Thankfully, Rory didn't stay for longer than a quick chat.

‘I can't do this,' said Claire when he had gone.

‘Can't do what?'

‘I can't come here. I can't go to work.'

‘Newsflash: whatever about coming here, you
have
to go to work.'

Claire covered her face with her hands. ‘How was I so stupid as to get involved with somebody I work with?' she asked again.

‘Are you ready for the meeting?' Mark asked, stopping by her desk on his way.

Claire had been waiting until the last possible minute.

‘Yes.' She stood up reluctantly. ‘I didn't know that you were coming.'

Mark grinned. ‘This is our most important step forward since
I joined Amtech. I want to make sure I can at least bluff about it when I need to.'

Claire laughed, though she felt sick inside.

All the others were already in the meeting room, chatting while they waited. Claire was glad she had Mark to walk in with.

‘Okay, let's start,' said Michael. He made comfortable eye contact with each of the team members. Claire looked away when his eyes met with hers. ‘Thanks to everyone for coming along. We'll try to keep this under an hour – I appreciate how busy you all are. As you all know, the first stage of the plan is the accounts payable module, because our current processes in that area are weak. I want to try to agree a rollout schedule today.'

Michael was talking about a rollout schedule across the world. Amtech Ireland was the largest international subsidiary of Amtech Corporation. It was the only location outside San Jose where software development and manufacturing were carried out. Reasonable labour costs, generous grants from the Irish government and easy access to Europe were some of the factors that had attributed to the subsidiary's growth, and there were over a thousand people working there now.

‘I'd like to see Ireland first on the rollout list,' Mark said, briefly looking at Claire as the upgrade would impact her area of responsibility the most. ‘The project is being driven from here, after all. How long would the payables module take to get up and running?'

‘My best guess is three months, maybe four,' Michael answered. His light brown hair curled at the nape. His eyes were grey with flecks of green. His jaw jutted out a little. It was amazing the things that Claire could see without looking
at him. ‘We'd have a full complement of people on site to work on any glitches.'

‘Any suggestions for the next country after Ireland?' Mark asked. ‘Claire?'

All eyes were suddenly trained on her, including Michael's, and she felt her face grow hot under their stares. ‘Australia,' she replied quickly. They were all still looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. ‘They're a medium-sized subsidiary, not too big or too small. And there's no language barrier.'

After the meeting, she and Mark walked up the stairs together.

‘You seemed a little quiet in there,' he remarked. ‘Is there something I should know?'

‘Can you take me off this project?' she blurted, stopping on the stairs.

‘Why?' he asked, his voice suddenly kind.

‘It's too close for me to talk about, Mark. I'll tell you at some point – just for now I need to get off the project.'

‘Leave it with me.'

She gave him a grateful smile.

Friday came around slowly and Claire was faced with being alone with her thoughts for the weekend.

‘Are you ready, Claire?' Susan had her jacket on and she was asking if Claire was ready to go to Maguire's, as they did every Friday evening.

‘I can't. I need to get up early tomorrow morning. I'm going to come to work to catch up on a few things.' Working was a better alternative to being alone in the flat, looking at the box she had filled with Michael's things. She had spent too much time already trying to figure out how she was going to return them to him.

‘Come on! It'll cheer you up. You can go home after one –'

‘I can't. You know I can't. He might be there.'

Margaret joined Susan, bag on shoulder, lipstick gleaming. ‘Yeah, he might be there. But then again he might not. And you would have spent the night alone, feeling sorry for yourself, for nothing.'

‘I …' Claire realised that she didn't want to be alone feeling sorry for herself. ‘Okay so – just one, though.'

Amtech employees were shoulder to shoulder as they packed the limited floor space in Maguire's. The noise was deafening. People shouted over each other to be heard. Everybody seemed to have so much to say.

Margaret expertly negotiated their way through the crowds, keeping an experienced eye out until some seats were available. Then she sent John, who was the office junior and too scared to question her authority, to get the drinks.

‘Jesus!' Susan exclaimed.

‘What is it?' asked Margaret.

‘He's here, Claire. Wouldn't you think that he'd at least have the grace to keep a low profile?'

Claire felt her heart miss a beat. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. Where is he?'

‘Over by the back door.'

‘Is there a girl there?'

‘No. Just the usual work crowd.'

Claire scanned the crowd. She only saw John as he returned with the drinks.

‘Michael is here,' he said with the air of someone imparting life-or-death information.

Claire drank quickly, anxious to get out of there and as far away from Michael as possible. But Margaret sent John to the
bar again. And again.

Claire began to feel the effects. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.'

‘I'll come with you.' Susan was already pushing back her seat.

‘No. I'm fine. Honestly.'