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Whatever my companion had chosen was a mystery to me. I sniffed the contents and smelt blackberries, but the expensive Cabernet was not Ribena. Licking my lips, I quickly put the glass back on the coffee table. I needed a clear head not expensive red wine.
I had never experienced privilege like this before. It was not a typical nightclub and definitely not one I had been to before. A different class of customers frequented the dimly lit lounge bar. It was almost like a members club with the admittance restricted by the door attendant. The dance floor was tucked away in a separate area and the noise of the music drifted in without hindering normal levels of speech. At least I would not have to shout to make myself heard.
The clientele were smartly dressed and not slovenly in appearance. No ridiculously short skirts or trousers hanging off the hips of the younger men. The bar staff mingled amongst the customers and took orders from their tables like waiters. Consequently, the bar appeared unusually quiet and inactive. The furnishings were spaciously laid out with leather sofas, armchairs and low glass topped tables. In the clubs I would hang out in glass-topped tables would have been smashed by stumbling drunks. Everything about the place shouted money. Simple glass teardrops hung below the halogen lights making the room swim with moving shards of rainbow lights. The walls were decorated with abstracts splashes of daring colours without being garish and the flooring was made from smooth panels of wood.
Jason Lucas sat opposite me in his fine suit and did not look the slightest bit out of place with his surroundings even in his black tie. With legs crossed and arms resting on the wings of the chair, he fingered a glass of wine and did not take his eyes off me once. I had not become accustomed to his good looks and it made it hard to gaze at him without feeling self-conscious. His features were chiselled on his face, not harshly like a stone statute, but elegantly as if to make him refined and ageless. I envisaged Jason was a masterpiece created over many years by a grand artist. Someone who took the time to perfect the striking face and then finally stepping back to acknowledge, with delight, his achievement.
Curling my lips, I mentally pictured Jason Lucas’s mother holding her baby son while admiring his beauty and wondering if a feckless girl would come along, kiss him brazenly on the lips and turn her child into a frog. Was I going to be the rude princess and taint Mr Lucas with my humble background and origins? The discomfort returned and I drooped physically in my seat. I had no idea what I was doing in his company. He must have had the pick of high society’s glamorous ladies and his address book would be full of names he could pick and choose from according to the occasion. My eyes dropped to the glazed coffee table and my untouched wine.
He cleared his throat with the tiniest of coughs and I lifted my eyes back up. His face gave me a little moment of encouragement and he led me back to him, just as he had with his hand on my back in the concert hall. I had to stop the self-doubt and annihilation of my own well-earned abilities. I was a competent woman, I reminded myself and more than capable of holding my own. My back straightened and I tossed my long locks of hair out of my eyes. I wanted to appear refined in his company: stature and prestige must be contagious. The faintest nod of appreciation on his part made my heart swell. We were ready to begin.
The evening was a whirlwind of talk about my area of business expertise: asset valuation. I gained little insight into Jason Lucas the private man, more the Managing Director and Chief Executive of a monstrous company. He glossed over his rapid rise to being a successful and exceedingly rich businessman. The speed at which he set up a holding company for his substantially lucrative subsidiaries, which were mainly in the areas of finance, accountancy and legal services. He was a man who oversaw the company headquarters and the few hundred people based there. Taking into account all of his UK based businesses and overseas firms, he was nominally in charge of nearly twenty thousand people. I could not stop being in awe of him.
“A small army of people. Quite a responsibility,” I commented trying to appear at ease with him.
“Yes. However, I didn’t inherit that number overnight but over many years, and by acquiring several subsidiaries with their own management structure. I prefer to concentrate on new acquisitions rather than the running of the various business groups I own.”
“Empire builder then. You like power. Why not politics?”
My curiosity was being fostered by his openness. I was been given a chance to interrogate my boss and find out what made him tick. The informal cross-examination was a rare opportunity and I bristled with the honour. I had been on the university student’s gazette for a brief period doing interviews for the student entrepreneur section.
Jason was not put off by my questions. He seemed pleased that I was taking an interest in him and his corporate personality not his looks and the private life they hid. However, I could not stop my heart fluttering and there was this need in me to keep dropping my eyes from his penetrating gaze.
“Politics means winning people over to you, I prefer to win money. Money is tangible and reliable, easier to control and manage. Not that I don’t appreciate good employees and loyalty.”
I remembered Penny’s nervousness in his presence. “And bad employees, what happens to them?”
“Out the door. I don’t suffer fools.”
“A high turnover isn’t good for morale surely?” I could not recall though anyone in his company talking about dismissals or low morale.
“True. My established businesses are robust and have low staff turnover. When I take over another company there are often personnel changes. Necessary corrective measures to improve output or productivity.”
Jason collared a barman as he collected empty glasses and requested refills, as if highlighting his style of management.
“A disciplinarian then, Mr Lucas,” I smirked.
Jason cocked his head to one side and for the first time he seemed to want to laugh at me.
“Perhaps. Although, the employment laws restrict what I can do. An unfortunate oversight. I’m left with a limited pool of penalties, aren’t I?” his voice was laced with sarcasm.
Oh God, did I just blush bright red – penalties - a seductive word for me. Please, change the topic now! I was floundering.
“What do my employees think of me then?” he sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “Well?”
He had suddenly turned the tables on me.
“Oh, you know, high standards, high expectations. That sort of thing...”
He cut me down mid-flight.
“Oh come on, Gemma! No mention of my terrible lack of patience, ferocious bad temper and hatred of time-wasters. But those are the opinions I would expect from the office floor,” he smiled and sat back again.
I crossed my legs and smoothed my dress back down.
“You know your own portrait, Mr Lucas, why ask for my meagre brush strokes?” I said caustically.
Come on, Gemma, I thought, don’t let him brow beat you.
