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The huge main office in front of us is open plan, so we can see right through the building. Four people are walking toward us, talking and laughing. All of them are wearing suits and carrying laptop cases. One is a woman, in her thirties maybe. One guy is Japanese, slender and good looking; the one next to him has striking ginger hair and the typical pale, freckly skin that accompanies it.
But it’s the last man who grabs my attention. He’s very tall, and big like a rugby player, but he carries his height well, not stooping the way a lot of tall men do. His dark hair is cut in a fashionable short fade, and he’s clean shaven with light-brown skin. He’s wearing a dark-navy suit, and even from this distance I can guess it must be bespoke, because it fits him like a dream. A white shirt and light-blue tie complete his outfit.
A Cocker Spaniel trots at his side, keeping pace with him better than the others, because he’s walking fast. It’s a beautiful golden color, and young, probably only a year or eighteen months, still growing into its paws, which are almost too big for its body as it runs with a distinctive beautiful floppy gait.
It’s hard to say who’s the most gorgeous—the man or the puppy.
“He walks as if he owns the place,” I comment, a little envious of the guy’s confident stride and the slight roll of his shoulders. A man like that clearly has no trouble with self-esteem.
“He does own the place,” Dodie says, amused. “He’s the Chairman and CEO of Koru Tech.”
My jaw drops. “That’s Mack Hart?”
If Dodie’s surprised that I know his name, she doesn’t say so. “Yep. In the rather sexy flesh.” She grins.
“But… he’s so young.” I’m genuinely shocked. I’d expected a guy in his fifties, graying and bearded with a paunch. Or at most, an aging forty-something with an orange tan, a penis-extension sports car, and a wife half his age.
“Twenty-seven, I believe. And a genius, by all accounts—I read an article about him. He has an IQ of 172. Invented some kind of super-fast computer processor in his early twenties. A self-made man. Now he’s worth several billion.”
“Sorry… billion?”
“Nine zeroes. Can you imagine having that kind of money? God knows what he spends it on. I’ve done the six a.m. and late-night shifts here, and he’s nearly always in his office working. It’s unusual for him to leave this early.”
The other three are struggling to keep up with Mack, who’s striding out as if his arse is on fire. He reaches the doors leading out of the offices, which only just manage to slide apart in time to let him through, then glances over at us and flicks us a smile.
“Hey Dodie,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly. He knows the name of his cleaner? Usually we’re invisible to top management.
“Hey Dr. Hart,” she calls back.
He looks at me, and I find myself suddenly breathless and panicky. So much for being invisible.
His gaze lifts to my hair. The corners of his mouth curve up just a little as his eyes drop back to mine.
Then he’s gone, through the next set of doors into the lobby, the other three scurrying along behind him as he stalks across the tiles toward the main entrance.
My face burns. Cheeky bastard, smirking at my hair. Self-consciously, I lift a hand to smooth back a loose strand, only to discover I have about twenty sticking out from my bun like springs through an old mattress. I scowl, glad now that I’ve been sent to spy on him. Serves him right for being so smug. Nobody should be that self-assured.
“Weird having a dog in the office,” I say.
“That’s Gus. He never leaves his side. But I guess if you own the place, you can do whatever you want.”
“Yeah, I suppose. You called himDr.Hart?”
“Yeah. Not a medical doctor—he has a PhD. Not bad for a twenty-seven-year-old, eh? Smart fella. Anyway, you’re going to clean those six offices, please.” Dodie directs me to the individual rooms beyond the main office. “At least you won’t have him watching you now. See you back here at seven, then we’ll get going on the main room, okay?”
I nod my assent, and Dodie pushes her cart off along the corridor. At the end, I can see two white double doors that must lead through to the aircraft-hanger-sized hall beyond the building that I spotted as I drove in. I guess that’s where the supercomputer is. I wonder why it’s called Marise?
It’s no good putting it off anymore—I have to get this done. I take the cart along to the first office and go inside.
I work as quickly as I can to give myself as much time as possible in Mack’s office at the end. As I dust, polish, and clean the glass surfaces, I look for any documents that might be lying around. Everywhere is surprisingly neat and tidy compared to other offices I’ve cleaned, where piles of Manila folders, reports, and printouts often litter the desks. I check the bins too, but it soon becomes clear they must shred anything important. There are no computers, so I’m guessing the occupants use laptops which they’ve all taken home.
I get to the large boardroom in the middle of the offices. The long wooden table seats sixteen, fronted by a huge interactive whiteboard, with a projector set in the ceiling that can be linked into a laptop to display presentations. The windows overlook the gardens at the side, lit now by lights set into the numerous bushes and trees. A business lunch must have taken place here today—all the crockery and cups have been removed, but crumbs and smudges litter the table, and the bins are full of leftovers and paper wrappings. I sweep up the crumbs, empty the bins, and polish the table until it shines, too proud to rush the job, even though I want to get it over with.
In the penultimate office, the nameplate that’s turned to face visitors states the desk belongs to Mrs. Nadine Cooper, who must be Hart’s PA. The desk bears a framed photo of a smartly dressed woman with neat brown hair and creases at the corners of her eyes, standing with a gray-haired man and two children who look to be in their late teens or early twenties. Presumably Nadine is therefore in her forties. I grudgingly give Hart a little kudos for not hiring a young blonde bombshell to have at his beck and call.
A coffee machine rests on a table underneath the window, along with a box containing a dozen different capsules, ten types of herbal tea, and hot chocolate. A fridge next to it holds fresh milk, bottles of water, diet sodas, three varieties of fruit juices, and what looks like a plate of leftovers from the business lunch—neatly cut club sandwiches, asparagus rolls, a selection of small quiches, and beautiful little cakes, all covered with plastic wrap.
Her desk is also neat and free of folders and papers. A diary sits on the left of her chair; I open it and discover Hart’s appointments written in her tidy cursive script. Today was busy; Nadine has listed a financial meeting this morning at 10:00 a.m., a HR meeting at 11:30 a.m., a visit from Norman Cunningham from a company called Redford & Bloom at 12:30 p.m., lunch with the senior management team in the board room at 1:30 p.m., a Zoom call with Julia Peterson from Squires Appointments at 4:00 p.m., then another meeting with Andrew Pierce of Trinity Engineering at 5:00 p.m. I can’t imagine any of this being useful or enlightening, but I pull out my phone and take a photo of the page anyway, and of the few days before and ahead too.
