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“Did you have a good flight?” Callum asks as he pours milk into the other cups. Then he passes them over one by one. The first to Brian Johnstone—the CFO, the second to Saul Shoemaker, Grant Industries' chief counsel. He hands the final one to me. It's muddy and sweet, painting my tongue and palate.
Five minutes of awkward small talk follows, and I step back, letting Callum and his team take the lead. The coffee is strong enough to give my blood a little fizz, energising me. Everybody finally takes a seat and Callum fires up the screens, filling them with brightly coloured slides that reflect in the window across the room. They flicker as he progresses through them, providing a voice over to the charts and projections, his words smooth and reassuring.
I realise that he's wearing a different persona, too. His accent is smoother than normal, his tone lower. He's all smiles and good looks, appealing to them with words of praise and reassurance.
Every now and again I glance over at Daniel Grant. His elbows are on the table, his hands clasped, fingers steepled. I notice he rarely looks at the screen, in spite of the vast array of information that flashes there. Instead he concentrates on Callum, the two of them sharing eye contact in a way I'd find uncomfortable. They’re scoping each other out.
Callum reaches the end of his introduction and hands over to one of his technical team, who begins to talk through the intricate specifications of the proposals. The poor guy is barely two minutes into his spiel, when Daniel waves his hand, and asks him to stop.
Immediately the techie looks over at Callum, looking for direction. This is clearly a part of the presentation none of them have rehearsed, and he looks lost, standing up there, his mouth opening and closing silently.
Strangely, it's Daniel who takes charge of the situation, turning to him with a reassuring smile. “I'm sorry, I know it's rude, but I don't need to go into details right now.”
The man at the front visibly swallows. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, stretching the thin skin of his neck. “Are you sure? We have some really cool stuff...” he trails off, looking down at his highly polished shoes. I can't help but feel sorry for him. I know how much effort it takes to get ready for a presentation. The preparation, the nerves, the fear that slowly morphs into elation.
“Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?” Callum's accent is stronger this time, and he's unable to hide the disappointment that veils his words.
“Yeah, but I'd like us to chat somewhere else. Just you and me.” Daniel says. “The technical specs are important, and my team will need to go into the finer detail, but that's not the game winner here.”
Callum doesn't flinch. “What is the game winner?”
Nobody says a word. It's as if we're all watching the climax of a movie. Collective breaths are held.
“You,” Daniel replies simply. “Whether I can work with you, whether I can trust you. An army is only as good as the general leading it. That's why I flew over to meet you, not to hear all the details, as exciting as they may be. I want to see if you're somebody I can do business with.”
For some reason my heart's racing in my chest. All those times I've watched boys square up—hitting the shit out of each other in beer-fuelled fist fights—they have nothing on the testosterone fest I'm witnessing here. Two alpha males circling, sizing each other up. Trying to work out if they're enemies or friends. Though it only takes seconds, it feels like full, heavy minutes have passed before Callum smiles and shrugs his shoulders.
“Everybody can go. Thank you for your time.” Nobody moves. Like me, they all assume he's talking to somebody else.
“John, Mike?” he prompts. Suddenly they're scrambling to disconnect laptops and gather up folders, sheaves of A4 paper fluttering to the carpeted floor. I bend down and help them, earning a grateful smile from Mike, then I pick up the phone and call catering, asking them to clear away the coffee cups. By the time I'm finished only Callum, Daniel and his two employees are left. I turn off the screens and retrieve my note pad.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask Callum.
He gives a languid, half-curve kind of smile that makes him look sleepy and vital all at the same time. It's the sort of smile that leads into something else, like a partly-filled promise. It waits and it lingers.
Then he turns to Daniel. “Do you play racquetball?”
It seems an odd sort of question, yet Daniel doesn't blink. “I do.”
“Can you call my club and reserve a court, Amy? The number’s in my address book. Oh, and make sure they open the shop, we're going to need some gear.” He glances at Daniel. “You up for a challenge?”
“If you're up for an ass-kicking.” Daniel grins, then shoots some orders at Brian and Saul. They're both nonplussed, standing in a foreign boardroom, being dismissed while their boss leaves with a man he might pos
sibly award a multi-million pound contract to. It's only now that I realise exactly why an internship is so integral to my degree, because all the lectures and textbooks in the world would never be able to accurately describe this.
Some deals are the result of blood, sweat and tears. It appears that this could be one of them.
8
Though it's light outside, I can see through the huge window in Callum's office that the dark blue of evening is slowly encroaching, stealing away the sharpness of day. There are a few clouds in the sky—the wispy, just-torn from a roll of cotton wool sort—and their edges are tinged with orange and pink. At 6:00p.m. my desk phone rings and I snatch it up, bringing it to my ear as I answer with a breathless hello.
“Amy, it's Callum. I need a favour.”
“Of course,” I reply. “What is it?”
“Have you got time to bring some papers over to the gym? I want to talk them through with Daniel before dinner. I'd come and pick them up but I'm covered with sweat and smelling like a dog. I need a shower.”
I glance at my watch. The two of them must have been playing for almost an hour and a half, no wonder he sounds exhausted. “Tell me where to find them and I'll bring them over on my way home. I was just leaving anyway.”
