The Candidate (10 page)

‘Well, I take it …’ The line dropped out again. ‘… can’t tell me … it is?’

‘No. I can’t tell you the name of my client. No more than what’s in the ad. The line’s going again.’ There was a longer pause, and for a moment Ginny thought she had lost the call. She breathed a sigh of relief when he spoke again.

‘This is ridiculous, I’m very sorry. I’m not usually this unprofessional but the reception here is shocking.’

‘That’s okay. When do you get back to civilisation?’

‘… Tuesday.’

Too long. She could have lost it by then. ‘I really need to talk to you sooner than that, if you’re interested.’

There was a burst of clear reception. He spoke quickly. ‘Sure — I understand. I’m back home after a long stint in London. I worked with a small firm over there, lots of strategy consulting, some financial analysis and modelling. Quite a bit of onsite work with clients. Broad client base — you know. It was a pretty … boutique sort of operation.’

Ginny smiled at the jargon. ‘Boutique’ could mean a whole raft of things; she used the word herself at times to describe Shine. But in the context of what she needed for RK Investments and Strategy, it worked well: small, exclusive, specialised. And this guy was here in New Zealand, which meant he didn’t have to be coaxed away from friends or family in another country.

‘Have you got a CV you can email me?’

‘Sure. Can you tell me who it’s with, now you know a bit about me?’

Persistent, Ginny thought. ‘No, sorry. My client doesn’t want to get into that level of detail at this stage. Let’s see how we go and if things get that far I’ll be happy to talk to you about who they are later in the process.

‘When do you need a CV by?’

‘Thursday at the absolute latest. Is that possible?’

‘No problem.’

‘Great. And make sure you include your contact details. Who am I talking to, sorry?’

He laughed. ‘Daniel. I tried many times to get that through to your receptionist yesterday but the line was … rap.’

Ginny spoke fast. ‘Daniel who?’

‘Baire.’

‘As in the drink or the animal?’ Ginny asked. ’Bottom’ as a third option mightn’t be all that professional.

‘Neither. B-A-I-R-E.’

‘Great. Well, thank you, Daniel Baire. I look forward to receiving your CV.’

‘The pleasure is all mine, Ginny Hayes.’ The tone of his voice had her smiling again, despite herself. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ And the line went dead.

Well, well. First of all Nigel and now a mystery tramping man from down south. Maybe the recruitment fairy was smiling after all.

Chapter 12

Ginny woke early the next morning. Considering how much work she had to get through, a run would be the best way to set the level she planned to be operating at. Stepping outside and pausing to admire her shiny new lock, she only just avoided tripping over the huge pile of stinking rubbish at her doorstep.

‘Oh, hell!’

She noted used serviettes from the café. Marco and Bruno’s rubbish. And there was the bin on its side nearby.

A narrow alley ran between her building and the one next door. Secured with a gate, it led to a tiny courtyard where she and the twins kept their rubbish bins. It wasn’t unusual for either bin to sit just inside the gate rather than at the back of the building. Some idiot must have spied them and thought it a good idea to grab one and tip it over.

Saying good bye to the long waterfront run, Ginny went back inside, scrounged up rubbish bags and gloves and got to work. It was a revolting job. As she worked through it her anger mounted and she cursed whatever drunken fool thought it was a funny thing to do. The twins arrived at six thirty and, as horrified as she, insisted on finishing the job.

‘Thank you.’ Ginny gratefully peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into one of the rubbish bags. ‘I’ll sort out a padlock for that bloody gate later today.’

They waved her off, and she turned tail and ran. Instead of the flat run along the waterfront, a steady climb up Queen Street was exactly what she needed to work out her anger. Ginny did a fast loop around the perimeter of the city and was breathing hard by the time she arrived back; she’d pushed her pace to compensate for the shorter distance and the last stubborn remnants of her cold were making themselves felt.

Bruno and Marco had done a great job. There wasn’t a scrap of rubbish anywhere near the café or her door. However, the footpath was wet with a stinking fluid that had also come out of the bin. Screwing up her nose, she went and dragged out the hose from the courtyard. Some earlier tenant’s dream of a terraced garden had never eventuated, but a tap and hose remained.

Mac found her on the laneway, cursing under her breath as she sluiced at something that smelled of rotting rubbish.

‘What happened?’

Her head shot up. ‘Some bloody idiot dumped a bin right outside my place. Filthy friggin’ mess!’

‘Oh, Ginn — let me do that.’ He reached for the hose.

‘No.’ She whipped it away. ‘It’s my problem. What are you doing here anyway?’

‘Floors?’

Ginny closed her eyes. ‘Oh, crap. I completely forgot.’ She looked back at him. ‘I’m so sorry. I haven’t done a thing.’ She turned off the hose and walked back up the lane, winding it over her shoulder as she went.

Mac followed cautiously. He hadn’t had much exposure to Ginny’s temper these past few years but remembered it well. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t take long, and I’ve got all day.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t.’ She pushed past him on her way back.

Mac cast a look up the alley. Although the gate didn’t have a padlock, it was pretty high. Someone must have been looking hard for a rubbish bin, or have known where to find it.

He followed her up the stairs, and noticed for the first time the running gear and the dark line of sweat down her back.

‘You been running?’

‘Yep,’ she replied shortly, opening the door to her flat.

‘I thought you were sick. Was that a good idea?’

Ginny eyed him. ‘Kill or cure. That okay with you?’

He shrugged and she slammed into her bedroom.

Feeling foolish in the middle of her flat while she thumped about behind the closed door, he looked around. He admired how straight the blinds were.

‘Ginn? Need a hand?’

‘No.’

‘Right. Okay then … well, I’ll go get the sander. Want me to pick up a coffee?’

Her door opened. ‘Sander?’

He grinned at the confusion on her face. ‘I’m flattered that you think my attention to detail is that well developed but I’m sure as hell not sanding these floors back by hand. Coffee?’

She smiled. At last.

‘Yes, please. That would be lovely. I’ll move my stuff very quickly and I’m very sorry for my foul mood and very grateful for what you’re doing.’

He tapped his forehead in a small salute, turned and left.

Lugging the sander into her flat forty-five minutes later, Mac tried to calculate how much it would cost to keep the damn thing on hire until he had finished both rooms, rather than carry it up those bloody stairs again. Just about worth the price, he thought, dumping it inside the front door. Judging by the steam and the bathroom door ajar, Ginny had just got out of the shower. Good timing. He jogged back down to pick up the coffees.

A coffee in each hand, Mac used his foot to open the door. As he entered the flat Ginny’s bedroom door opened and he couldn’t help but let out a low whistle as she walked toward him.

‘Jesus, Ginny, you got a licence for that thing?’

More than a little pole-axed, Mac took in the immaculate suit that covered her like a caress, nipping in and flaring out to give an excellent idea of what lay beneath, but severe enough in cut and colour to avoid a blatant display. It was subtle, mind-numbing sexy.

As she reached for her coffee, he was enveloped in a cloud of that damn perfume.

‘Why thank you. You like?’ She did a small spin on heels that looked dangerous.

They set off those legs of hers perfectly and he got a quick view of how the jacket was cut short at the back, and the way the skirt hugged her. He took a long drink of his coffee while he gathered his rapidly escalating thoughts. ‘Yes, Ginn. I do like. Most men over the legal age, and probably quite a few under it, would like that suit. Very nice.’

‘That’s a bit excessive. But thanks.’ She turned to the pile of things she’d hastily stashed in the lounge. ‘I’ve cleared out what I can lift. I’m sorry I’m so disorganised. Do you need me to do anything else?’

‘No, I can manage. Off you go.’ He treated himself; watched her walk out. Then let out a breath and thanked his lucky stars that after that little show he had a morning’s hard work ahead of him. There was nothing pleasant about varnishing floors, but he was happy to have the distraction.

After a busy morning, Ginny put her head up for air and stuffed a sandwich down her throat before the afternoon round of interviews. Checking her emails, she looked up when Ange walked into her office.

‘How are the interviews going?’

‘So-so. You still here?’

‘I juggled a few things — thought you could use a bit more help.’ Ange threw a set of keys onto Ginny’s desk. ‘Mac dropped these in. He said he’d stop by later to see if it was dry enough for another coat.’

‘Thanks.’ Seeing Ange’s expression, Ginny laughed. ‘He’s doing the floors. You know, varnishing them?’

‘He’s varnishing your floors? You sure you two are just friends?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘It’s a shit of a job. Absolutely horrid. I hope you’ve got something special in mind by way of saying thanks.’ Ange waggled her eyebrows at Ginny.

‘Oh, bugger off. Mac’s a good mate. He’s just like that, you know?’

‘Whatever,’ Ange said as she left.

A minute later, Ginny called her back in. ‘Ange, do you know anything about this?’ She swivelled her monitor so Ange could read the screen.

It was an RFP — request for proposal — from Auckland University. They were starting up a small incubation unit to commercialise ideas coming out of the science labs and wanted someone to head it up.

‘Yeees,’ Ange said slowly, reading through it. ‘I heard something about this.’

‘I thought the uni already had an incubator. What’s this all about?’

‘I think they’re doing it to rev us science geeks up a bit more. The tech-heads and business guys eat up most of the main incubator’s resources, but science has a much longer lead time. I think this unit is for really early-stage stuff, and if things get going, they’ll push them over to the main incubator.’ Ange read on, interested.

Ginny looked at her. ‘If I decide to pitch for this, want to give me a hand?’

Ange tore her eyes from the screen and met Ginny’s. ‘I’d love to. I think.’

Ginny beamed. ‘I knew it! You’re a closet recruiter.’

‘Bloody well am not. It’s just I can relate to this. So it’s interesting.’

Ginny nodded; that’s how it worked. ‘I know, but it’s still great that you’re coming on board.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Look, I’ve got another interview; why don’t you give them a call and see what the process is from here. It looks as if they’re holding an open information session but if you could check it out first …?’

‘Sure. What’s an open information session?’

Ginny picked up her interview folder. ‘Oh, it’s shit. They invite every recruiter they think might want to pitch for the job and shut us all in one room, deliver the brief en masse, and take all the questions right there and then. It’s highly efficient time-wise but not a comfortable situation, shoulder to shoulder with the competition.’

‘Why don’t they just lock the doors and let you all fight it out? Whoever comes out alive gets the job?’

‘Ha ha. You can come along if you like, then you’ll see.’

‘You’re on. Flick me the details and I’ll set it up.’

‘Will do.’ Wondering if she had found her new consultant, Ginny did as she was told.

Feeling brain-dead, Ginny dragged herself upstairs sometime after six. She had more than enough that needed doing — especially since Friday morning would be eaten up by the meeting at the university — but all she could see in her immediate future was a glass of wine.

Pushing open her door, she was hit with a strong smell. Ange had left a note saying Mac had picked up the keys and she guessed he’d gone ahead with the second coat.

Gratefully kicking off her shoes, she padded across the main room. ‘Mac?’

‘In here, Ginny. Hang on a tick.’

Mac backed out, applying the last few strokes of varnish as he went. Ginny stuck her head into her bedroom.

‘Oh, Mac, they look beautiful!’ Instinctively, she bent to touch the smooth, glossy wood that now shone with a rich, warm tint.

‘Hands off!’ Mac grabbed her arm. ‘And stand up. If you get any of this stuff on that skirt, you’ll ruin it. And that would be a shame.’ He smiled at her.

With her shoes off she stood a lot shorter than she had that morning. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the sweep of exhaustion across her face.

‘Big day?’ he asked. ‘You look knackered.’

She screwed up her face. ‘You really are a charmer, Mac. Thanks for that. Yes — big day, but not as big as yours. The floor looks fabulous. Thank you so much.’ She headed over to the small kitchen and pulled a bottle from her wine rack. ‘Fancy a glass?’

‘That would be great.’

Side by side on the couch, they each took an appreciative sip.

‘Another cracker.’ Mac swirled the ruby-red wine in his glass.

‘Yes.’ Ginny closed her eyes and rested her head back. ‘This frisky wee thing is from Tasmania.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Similar climate as down south. Good for Pinots. So,’ she said, opening an eye. ‘What do I owe you?’

‘This will do as a down payment.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Was the big day productive?’

‘Yep. It was good. Just lots of interviews, and I’ve got this RK thing spinning in my head.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘The search work?’

‘Yes — I know.’

‘I’ve got another meeting with them on Monday. I really need to deliver the goods or I’ll lose the account.’

‘Sounds a bit on the nose, ditching you.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s how it works. The good news is I’ve been invited to pitch for a role up at the uni. It’s just, well, a bit of a juggling act at the moment and I only have two hands. I didn’t really need all that mess this morning, just another thing to deal with.’

As she closed her eyes again, it hit home to him how much she was carrying — the business, the building — all on her own. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘Thanks, mate. That’s kind.’ She patted his knee. ‘But I’ll be right. Ange is brilliant, and I’m hoping to coax her over to the badlands of recruitment. At least for the summer.’ Ginny took another drink.

Mac sat silently, sipping his wine, and thought she’d fallen asleep when she spoke again.

‘So you’re enjoying the role of hotshot lawyer?’

‘I wouldn’t call it hotshot — I’m only one level up from making the coffee. But yeah, it’s sort of fun. So far.’

Ginny turned to look at him. ‘So what’s really going on, Mac? Dropping in out of the blue, buying suits, hanging out at your dad’s firm?’ He looked at her, but didn’t speak. ‘What is it, Mac? Blowing shit up getting boring?’

He took a sip of wine as he worked out his answer. ‘No, I doubt that will ever get boring, but I can’t do it forever.’ He tapped his knee. ‘This taught me that. It’s like I told you: I had to take some time out, and anyway — it gives me a chance to suss out what I want to do … next.’

‘Right. So, more retirement planning than annual leave?’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ He nodded to himself and topped up their glasses. ‘Retirement planning. I like it.’

‘When do you think you will … retire?’ She looked across at him and he returned her gaze.

‘Not sure, Ginn. It depends on a few things.’

‘Like what?’

He shrugged.

She held his eye but when he didn’t speak, she took the hint, leant her head back and closed her eyes.

He looked at her, feeling petty. Her questions were fair enough, but he didn’t know how much he wanted to tell her. Not yet. He turned to look out of the big window and took a long drink of wine.

‘You hungry?’ she asked after a minute or two, and her tone was lighter.

‘Always.’

‘Well, why don’t we go grab a bite and then would you mind dropping me at Mads’ for the night? That smell is pretty full-on, and she’d love to see you. I’ll run back in the morning.’

‘Do you ever stop?’

She laughed. ‘No mate, not at the moment I don’t.’