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We work for a couple of hours, then break for lunch. I check my emails, and discover one from Helen, the head of HR at Kingpinz.
Damon,
When you’re available, would you mind giving me a call? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.
Helen.
While the caterers begin bringing in platters of sandwiches and hot savories, I take my phone out through the sliding doors onto the terrace, bring up Helen’s number, and press call.
She answers after a few rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, Helen, it’s Damon.”
“Hello, thanks for coming back to me.”
“No worries. What can I do for you?”
“Yeah, sorry about this, but I want to have a quick chat about a sexual harassment issue.”
Holy fuck. Even though there’s a stiff breeze blowing across the terrace, I break into a sweat. “Oh.” I swallow hard. “Right.” My brain works furiously as I try to work out who it could be. I’m always super careful not to get involved with anyone at work. I never touch women inappropriately. And I always make sure I know the woman very well before I say anything remotely risqué. At Christmas, for example, I gave Kip’s PA a kiss under the mistletoe, but only because she’s in her forties and happily married. I’ve known her for five years, and she’s more than able to handle the three Chevalier brothers when they make near-the-knuckle quips.
Surely it wasn’t she who complained? I can’t think of anything else I might have done that would have offended someone. But who knows in the current climate?
“What have I done?” I ask.
“What? No, it wasn’t you, Damon.”
Relief rushes through me. “Jesus. You gave me a heart attack.”
She chuckles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that.”
“It’s okay. I just need to lie down for five minutes.”
“Aw. I really am sorry.”
I blow out a long breath. “It’s okay.”
“I wouldn’t have bothered you while you’re in Christchurch, but Saxon’s in Auckland, and Kip’s obviously got Craig to sort out.” We’re having trouble with one of the members of our Senior Leadership Team, and Kip’s dealing with that, so I’m not surprised she wants to keep this off his desk. All three of us—Saxon, Kip, and I—have had management training in dealing with issues including sexual harassment, so she was right to come to me.
“So what’s happened?” I ask.
“I was talking informally to one of the office juniors, and she said that Lewis Chaplain has been coming on a bit strong.”
“Ah.” Lewis Chaplain is the deputy head of accounting, the same age as me, incredibly good looking, and the one guy I thought every young woman in Kingpinz—and possibly several of the older ones—would give her left arm to go out with. I’d have been less surprised if Lewis was the one making the complaint against some overzealous admirer.
“Who’s the junior?”
“Jessica.”
Jessica Lambert is only eighteen, and also works in accounts as a junior. She’s small, chatty, and bubbly.
“She doesn’t want to make a formal complaint,” Helen says. “She tried to laugh it off. But I could see she was bothered by it.”
“What’s he done, exactly?”
“She says he flirts all the time and makes suggestive comments. She tried to tell him she wasn’t interested, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then on Monday, when she was alone in the break room, he came in, closed the door, and tried it on again.”
I go cold. “Did he touch her inappropriately?”
