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“Quiet, please, everyone. I’d just like to take this opportunity to welcome Jasper Spencer-Jones to the Cellar Road International Australian team. I appreciate The London office sparing him to work with me in taking our little company to the next level.”

The way John worded his speech sounded very much like Jasper was here to assist John. But Jasper is the regional director. Senior—in title if not in age—to John. While there’s a polite round of applause, I turn to look at Jasper. It’s so quick; if you weren’t watching you’d have missed it. Anger. Irritation. Exasperation.

The impassive mask drops into place again as people turn to him, expecting a reply.

“Thank you, John. I’m happy to be here steering the South East Asia Regional ship. I look forward to your assistance over the coming months. Thank you all for the warm welcome. Enjoy your night.”

And with a slight wave, Jasper Spencer-Jones walks out of his own welcome party.

This office is nothing if not a crucible for gossip. Any small thing is pounced on and embellished until it’s no longer recognisable as the original point. As soon as the faint ding of the lift doors is heard, signalling Jasper has gone, excited chatter breaks out.

The general consensus is that Jasper Spencer-Jones, while delightful to look at, is cold, rude and arrogant.

“Well, McSexy just threw down,” Colin observes.

“Can’t blame him,” I whisper. “McHandsy made it sound like Jasper was his subordinate.”

Colin nods. “Hmm. We live in interesting times, as they say.”

I hope he’s wrong. But I suspect not.

Chapter Six

Jasper

If Mackelden thought he was going to get away with the dig he made, clearly in retaliation for me telling him the decision on Louise’s proposal was not his to make, he got a polite shock. If it’s a pissing competition he wants, he’ll get one. And he won’t win.

I don’t know how many people at the party realised what they witnessed was a territorial dispute, but I’m pretty sure Louise did. Before Mackelden had even finished speaking, I sensed her eyes on me. I’m not surprised. I knew she was smart, but I get the impression she’s also attuned to the subtle undercurrents in a room many people miss.

Organising drinks in my honour was, on the surface at least, a kind gesture. But I hate parties. Even after years of practice, standing in a room with thirty-odd people I don’t know, making awkward small talk, would be pretty close to the top of my list of least favourite things to do. Knowing they’re unaware that, in a matter of months, they’ll be joining the unemployment line courtesy of me, just added an extra special dimension to my discomfort tonight. Even if it were my nature, which it isn’t, making friends here is not advisable.

Australians are a garrulous bunch, but it didn’t take them long to work out they were doing all the conversational work and to wander off into cliques to chat.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, this gave me the opportunity to observe Louise.

She’s clever. Her presentation proved that.

She also appears to be liked by everyone. Well, aside from John Mackelden. Except, based on the way he’s looking at her arse, and his performance in my office earlier, I’m not sure that’s entirely true.

She was subtle about it, but I picked up a pattern in her movements, always keeping plenty of distance between herself and Mackelden as she made her way from group to group, chatting and laughing. The guy from HR was never far from her side, also watching. Although not for the same reasons as me. It’s more like he’s got her back. If he believes that’s warranted, there’s yet another reason to dislike John Mackelden.

Tate is expecting me to keep him up to date on what’s happening as I prepare to drop the axe, and it’s probably about time I sent him a report. I need to think carefully about how much I divulge. How and when I tell him I think this business can be saved is key to whether he’ll listen or not. Because when he sent me here, he came across as unusually anxious to get this business closed. Which raises red flags in and of itself.

I let myself into my apartment, open a bottle of South Australian shiraz and plug in my laptop.

Half an hour later, I’m hitting send on the email containing my report. I choose to send it via Edward, so he can keep a secure copy of the original. Paranoid? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just experience. Covering my arse has become a reflex action. And I trust Edward to have my back in the way it appears Colin Farley has Louise’s.

While I top up my wine with what turns out to be the last of the bottle, I order sushi and contemplate why I made no mention of Louise’s plan in my report.

I’m pretty confident, based on my conversation with Edward, that Mackelden hasn’t said anything to the London office about Louise’s proposal. So why didn’t I?

It’s a brilliant idea. But is it enough to save the division from closure? I’m not sure. However, with some pretty radical restructuring, I’m beginning to see there may be a way to trade through this difficulty.

Given my brief, I could look at this two ways. Just do what I was sent here to do and shut the office down. Or, come up with a plan that could save the business, and potentially make Cellar Road International a lot of money. Whilst having the added benefit of not being seen to fail in what is essentially a healthy market. That’s a win-win.

My sense of self-preservation has been honed over the years I’ve worked with Tate. I need to make sure it will work before I say anything. I’m also not convinced Tate has been entirely honest about his intentions, and until I understand his motivations, and I’ve had time to do a shit tonne of due diligence, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.

Which could be a dangerous game to play, since not telling Tate could be read as disloyalty. I need to remember who pays my salary and controls my professional destiny.