The Candidate (3 page)

Nothing was going to get in the way. One dream had gone up in smoke and flames — no way would this one. He wouldn’t let it; he wanted it too much.

‘Time to get on with it, Mac.’ He spoke out loud, checking himself. Found he was okay. That kernel was tucked up tight; he hardly even registered it was there. And, jogging lightly down the stairs, he went out for a run.

NOW

Chapter 1

As dawn cracked the skyline, shooting colour and light across the water and up onto Tamaki Drive, Ginny ran. The early-summer morning held a welcome freshness that, if the forecasters were right, would burn up by lunchtime. The bite in the air made the edges of everything sharp and clean, a welcome contrast to the building heat from the hard pace she set for herself.

Some old U2 played loudly on her iPod as she tried, and failed, to rein herself back. The round trip from Hobson Bay to St Heliers wasn’t a biggie, but she needed to warm up properly before she really stretched out. However, the air felt too good and the path ahead was too empty to not just eat it up.

She tuned into the music, put her head into the back seat and let her body take over. Running was her relaxation, her meditation. It evened her out when she was stressed or tired, or just plain grumpy, and the endorphin rush was highly addictive. With her body now in its third decade, she tried to balance the high-impact activity with swimming and the odd Pilates class, but running was her passion. It was a glorious feeling: to be fit and fast, running alongside the water with Bono singing strongly in her ears and another beautiful day beginning around her.

Not many others were out, although the cyclists were dependably present — streaming past solo or in groups, with their loud chatter and play of wheels and then gone again, leaving her with the steady rhythm of her own breath and feet. A couple of other runners acknowledged her with an economical nod of the head or raised hand, careful, like her, not to break stride or interrupt the magic of a good run.

Ginny ran on, long ponytail bouncing from shoulder to shoulder, the aged baseball cap that was her running companion jammed low over her face. As Mission Bay came into view she veered off onto the footbridge to take the path closest to the sea. Fully warmed up, she settled into a good, strong run and felt the hum take over. When it felt this fabulous, she believed she could run forever.

Her shoulders relaxed and the nerviness from a night of interrupted sleep began to ease. If only she could find a way besides running to banish the three a.m. head babble that had plagued her for the best part of a week. Kohi came into sight with its line of waterfront cafés. It wasn’t that she was nervous, or particularly stressed. No, it was definitely excitement, anticipation, and just wanting to get the hell on with it that was keeping her up at night.

The Edge took over for a heart-ripping solo as she reached St Heliers and headed for home. Ginny checked her watch: her time was bang-on. She’d allowed herself a small margin on this run and so far she was at the lower end of that. Her thighs started to burn as she pushed herself. It would be good to get back quicker than usual; a new personal best would set her up well for the day ahead.

The sun was well and truly up as she came around the final sweep and saw her car. It was the least attractive part of the run, where Tamaki Drive led into the city, but on such a pristine morning it was hard to mind the gentle bays giving way to seawall. Ginny’s legs were buzzing with lactic acid and her breathing competed loudly with U2. Sweat ran down her forehead and she briefly closed her eyes, then went hard for the last few hundred metres.

Grateful, and not as graceful as she would have liked, she bent over the car’s bonnet, ostensibly to stretch but also to brace herself for the great gasps of air she needed.

She hadn’t made a new PB, but she was certainly flirting with it. She pulled her ankles up behind, left then right, easing out her quadriceps. By the time she opened the car for her water bottle, her breathing was almost back to normal and she felt great. Loose, limber, pumped up and ready.

After a long drink, she jumped into the car and headed back into the city where work awaited.

Ginny had worked very hard to establish her own fledgling recruitment company. In the first terrifying months, she’d ridden the risk — driven by an excruciating fear of failure and the steadily growing belief that she was damn good at what she did. The work had paid off. Even in a market that had seemed saturated, she’d consolidated a good spread of client relationships, and Shine Consulting had been born.

Some thought her business name was naff, but Ginny didn’t give a flying fuck. As far as she was concerned, her work was all about helping her clients and candidates to shine.

Fast forward a few years and she had a good little business. Without the pressure she’d known in bigger firms to chase the sale first and deliver the goods second, she had built a reputation as a quality recruiter: an honest and dedicated professional who dotted the i’s, and crossed the t’s. It was a no-brainer to Ginny, but since many of her competitors didn’t bring that same ethos to their work, Shine Consulting’s reputation grew.

It was knocking on seven thirty and the city was starting to buzz. At the parking building Ginny slotted her car into its space, grabbed her iPod and cap, and walked quickly toward her home and office on one of the small laneways that criss-crossed the city centre.

While plenty of her own sweat and tears had gone into Shine, without her dad the business might never have got off the ground. Reeling after his rapid and bitterly fought death, she’d been gobsmacked to discover he had left her a piece of prime city real estate — a place to house the business and herself as she had slogged it out during those critical first months.

It was nothing grand, but Ginny had fallen in love at first sight with the narrow three-storey building. The top floor had passable living accommodation and after years flatting with others, she was delighted to call it home. The second storey was fitted out as offices that were readily adapted to her needs: an office, a basic reception area, and two rooms for interviewing that could be tarted up for the occasional client meeting.

The ground floor was occupied by a café run by two brothers, with a fast, almost frenetic atmosphere. Ginny came to rely heavily on its great food and coffee.

She was very lucky to have no rental overheads on her business or home, and to have her start-up costs subsidised by the guys downstairs. Even with the gasp-inducing rates she had to pay on the building, she was in an enviable situation. Still, she didn’t forget for a moment that the cost had been losing her father. Which doubled her determination to make a success of Shine.

Ginny entered the cafe and smiled at Marco — or was it Bruno? — behind the tough-looking coffee machine that dominated the counter.

‘Ah, Ginny! Bella! Good morning!’

‘Morning.’ She hoped she could get away without calling him by name. Identical twins. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t tell them apart.

‘Your usual brekkie, hon?’

‘No, thanks, I’ve got to keep moving — just a latte to go, please.’

‘No rest for the wicked, eh, Ginny?’

They exchanged smiles, coffee and money. Something like that, she thought. Today was the day, time to take Shine to the next level. Today she had to go catch a big fish.

Ginny had been flattered and intrigued by a call, two weeks earlier, from a woman with a polished voice inviting her to meet with a Robert Kendrick of RK Investments and Strategy. Curious, Ginny had cleared her diary to meet with him.

Just beyond the main CBD in Parnell, on the top floor of a converted warehouse, their office space was open-plan with a glass-walled boardroom smack bang in the middle. There was an awful lot of polished concrete and exposed steel, with a reception desk of ornate and gleaming wood. From behind it a flawlessly presented woman of indeterminate age greeted Ginny with a cool smile. She seemed to be the only person there.

Ginny introduced herself and learned that this was Camilla, who had set up the appointment.

‘Robert will see you now. This way, please.’

Ginny was shown into one of the corner offices and the man himself rose with a smile. Robert Kendrick was of medium height, with a frame that might have once been sturdy but was now turning soft. His eyes were sharp, though, Ginny noted as she stepped forward to shake his hand.

He released his firm grip, ‘Ginny, good to meet you. Please, take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’ Arranging herself in a deep leather chair, Ginny turned to him expectantly.

‘Had you heard of our operation, Ginny?’

‘No, not at all.’ A Google search had shown up only a schmick-looking website that didn’t tell her a hell of a lot about Kendrick or what he did.

‘Well, let me give you a run-down. I set up about two years ago after a fifteen-year stint in London. It was time to come home.’

Ginny nodded. It wasn’t an uncommon line.

‘As the name implies, there are two arms to the business. The main thrust is strategy consulting. We also offer clients financing and investment services.’

He kept talking but, as with the website, didn’t tell her much. Light on details and rich with jargon, it was a PR spiel he could probably reel off in his sleep. Nevertheless it was clear as day this man knew his stuff and Ginny’s commercial hackles were raised.

As he finished up, Ginny worked to appear nonchalant, but she could see through the spiel; there was potential work here and RK Investments and Strategy was exactly the type of business she wanted to align with. Smart, aggressive, fast-growing.

‘Who are your clients?’

‘A range, Ginny.’ He shrugged. ‘Public and private, small and large. Local and offshore. Like you, I need to be adaptable.’

‘Well, it sounds busy. How many people do you employ?’

‘Not many. Yet.’ Robert cast a glance towards the empty outer office. ‘I have one other non-executive director working with me on the consulting side. Jackson Bennett — I worked with him in London and he’s a strong operator. And Camilla, whom you’ve met, is my office manager.’

Ginny paused, waiting for him to list a senior associate or two and when he didn’t, she raised her eyebrows. It was an extremely light headcount for the type of work he was involved with — start-up or not.

‘Yes,’ he laughed openly. ‘That’s why you’re here, Ginny. I’m looking to recruit.’

‘Well, great.’ She smiled confidently. ‘How can I help?’

‘I like your enthusiasm. I’m looking for someone with a solid background in management consulting who can come in under Jackson and me to assist with the modelling and research as a start point, and then, based on their experience and how well they slot in, they’ll have pretty much free rein on some smaller projects I’ve got lined up for the New Year.’

Ginny’s mind was already ticking over. The brief didn’t sound too tricky; there were a few consultancies in town that would have strong candidates for this type of role. She started to say as much but he shook his head.

‘I don’t think this person is in New Zealand, Ginny, or if they are they’ve come in on a recent flight. The guys here do some good work, but I don’t believe any have the combination of experience and client interface with the sorts of industries we currently work with, and will be working with.’

‘Where are they then, Robert? Australia? The UK?’

‘Perhaps. That’s for the recruitment company to work out. I’ve spoken to several around town and am down to three, of which you are one. Now that you know what I’m looking for, if you’re interested in pitching for the work, I’ll need a proposal that outlines your anticipated timeframes, your strategy, and of course, costs. Then I’ll select two firms to present in person before making a decision.’ His look was enquiring.

Ginny gave him a big smile. Was she interested? Hell, yes. ‘That all sounds good, Robert. I look forward to it.’ She stood and reached to shake his hand.

The fortnight since that meeting had flown, Ginny thought, as she put the finishing touches to her make-up. She’d made it through the first round and, with her turn to pitch later this morning, anticipation was running high; a familiar and welcome thrill that wasn’t down to the coffee or the run. Winning the RK Investments and Strategy account would give Shine Consulting the kudos to get through a few doors previously closed. And Ginny loved the sense of competition. She was up against one other player and she wanted to win. Badly.

Ginny stepped back from the mirror to check she was good to go. The black suit bought especially was a perfect fit and teamed with a crisp white business shirt, gave the classic look she was after. Adding a bit of herself to the package, she slipped on heels. Not as outrageous as they would once have been but definitely on the high side.

Her hair, the dark brown still proudly her own despite the odd grey that she ruthlessly plucked, was pulled back in its customary ponytail. The fringe added a few years back and hanging just shy of her eyes lent a subtle levity to the otherwise professional demeanour she rigorously cultivated.

Ginny smoothed the skirt over her hips, and slicked on a final coat of lip gloss. There would come a time to invest in better products and more skill than her current make-up routine called for, but so far her skin was holding up well. Fine lines fanned out from her rich brown eyes, but she was pragmatic: they were evidence of a life well lived and most definitely still underway.

‘Done.’ She was pleased with what she saw. She checked her watch and winced — she’d better get a wriggle on. There were calls to make and emails to answer.

Ginny scanned her room to make sure she had everything. Satisfied and in spite of her haste, she paused a moment in the living room doorway, admiring her little home. With a small open-plan kitchen tucked into one corner, the living area formed most of the flat. A grid of windows made a wall of light, which she cherished in summer and cursed in winter. She’d tried to insulate by rigging up off-the-shelf blinds, but after two years they were already ragged.

She didn’t have much furniture, but she liked the kitchen table and chairs, two bookshelves crammed with a vast assortment of books, and the old coffee table appropriated from her mother. Positioned in front of the television was her pride and joy: a sumptuous couch covered in fine grey wool. It had cost a packet but was lovely beyond measure.