Page 15 of Audacity

One thing has quickly become clear. This role will morph into something far beyond its basic requirements if Athena takes it on. I may not be experienced in business, but Iamexperienced in people. If an individual as promising as her shows up, I’m going to maximise her potential.

In the day job, that is.

I’ve been sitting perfectly still, fingers interlaced over my stomach, listening to her speak for a couple of minutes. Listening is another area of expertise I honed during my previous career, but rarely is it as pleasurable as this. Rarely in my parish prayer meetings or in the confessional was I this avid.

‘It’s clear you’re incredibly capable,’ I say now, ‘and that you like to get your teeth into things. There’ll be a lot of that here.We’re very much still in a transition phase, and I’m finding myself so busy fighting fires and improving on the most glaring problems that I haven’t had much of a chance to get on the front foot with what’s really the fun stuff—that is, building out how I want this estate to function for the next generation or two.’

‘I can definitely help with that.’

‘And I’d love your help. Once you had full access, how would you go about identifying which projects we should prioritise?’

I can see the machinations whirring in her head as she tilts it. ‘Well, the most efficient way would be if I drew up an initial, high level transition plan within a couple of weeks of starting. And then?—’

‘What would happen if we took a bit more time?’

She frowns. ‘In my experience, expediency is the preferred route, as long as it doesn’t risk sloppiness. And it sounds like we have no time to waste, if you’re still feeling like you’re on the back foot after almost a year in the role.’

I smile inwardly at her use ofweand lean back in my chair, studying her intently.

‘I’m a very patient man, Athena. Expediency isn’t always the best route. Sometimes, taking it slowly is far more rewarding.’

I pause. Sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

She stares at me, pressing her palms to her thighs, the silence stretching between us like a taut, living thing.

‘After all,’ I say after a moment, ‘nothing is more important than getting the job done properly, is it? I don’t like a rushed job. I’m nothing if not… thorough.’

Our gazes are still locked, and I’d swear I’m responsible for that flush on her cheeks. If I’ve managed to fluster the professional with a couple of unfairly made innuendos, then I’m less rusty than I thought.

‘Absolutely.’ She shifts slightly in her chair before clearing her throat. ‘Yes, I—of course. I’d aim to be efficient while prioritising excellence and, um, rigour above everything else.’

I shoot her what I intend to be a smooth smile. ‘Excellent.’

CHAPTER 7

Gabe

If I’m still slightly embarrassed by how quickly I called Camille after Athena left my offices yesterday morning, then I’m also ecstatic at how quickly Camille called me back to confirm a dinner with Athena tonight.

Even if she’d looked like Gladys, I would have got down on my knees and begged her to take the job and put me out of my misery.

As it is, I’m thrilled to report that she looks nothing like Gladys and is, if her presence across the table from me is any proof, open to taking this process to the next round.

Upstairs.

We’re dining in an intimate alcove in the excellent seafood restaurant at The Montague Hotel in Knightsbridge. It’s an elegant, discreet restaurant, perfect for clandestine dates or morally ambiguous ‘job’ interviews. Around us floats a soundtrack of dinner jazz and low voices and cutlery being employed.

I was waiting at the restaurant’s bar when Athena arrived, a fact that seemed to surprise her. It was worth it to enjoy the view of her walking across the stylish space in a dress that’s far sexier than the one she wore yesterday while being far tooclassy to hint that her profession might be the oldest one of all. It was black lace, hitting just below the knee and fitted enough to showcase her fantastic curves. I didn’t miss the appreciative, curious glances she got from both men and women, and the hit of intense smugness I experienced when she stopped in front of me and allowed me to kiss her on both cheeks was decidedly unchristian.

‘You know,’ I say conversationally once our champagne has been poured, ‘you’re the first woman I’ve taken out to dinner for years and years. Aside from my mother, that is. Oh, and the Mother Superior from our local convent in Willesden once or twice.’

She gives me a sardonic smile. ‘I’m honoured.’

‘Don’t be. Mum tells me my dinner conversation is terrible. But I’ll try not to talk about Scripture too much tonight.’

‘That would probably set the wrong tone,’ she muses.

There’s a pause while we each take a sip of our champagne. She’s surveying me with something akin to low-level amusement, I think. It’s as if she can smell my nerves, as if she knows exactly how apprehensive I am about this conversation. I’m sure she’s not apprehensive at all. I’m hoping this is very firmly in her comfort zone—in fact, I’m counting on it.

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