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‘Oh, the photo opportunities were there, but unfortunately they weren’t to Audra’s advantage.’
A chuckle broke free from his throat. The images Neen’s quick sketch evoked were alive in his mind. ‘Why did you agree to take him?’
‘Ah, well, that would be because she snuck him into my apartment while I was in the shower, left a note explaining it all and then hightailed it for the airport.’
The act of someone who knew Neen couldn’t be taken advantage of. ‘What are you going to do with Monty?’
He shifted on his chair. Would she call the pound? He could hardly blame her. But...
‘I guess I’ll have to find a home for him.’ She sent him a smile of such extraordinary sweetness it momentarily stole his breath. ‘Mr D’Angelo,’ she purred. ‘You look exactly like a man in need of a dog.’
He stared. He floundered. Finally common sense reasserted itself. ‘I’m not home often enough. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog.’ Inside him, a grin built. The minx!
All of her sweetness vanished. ‘If only everyone who decided to get a dog had half as much foresight,’ she muttered, and the grin inside him grew. ‘There should be some kind of dog-ownership test that people have to pass before they’re allowed to get a dog.’
‘The same could be said for having kids.’
She stared at him for a moment. ‘Your troubled youth, huh?’
‘Disadvantaged,’ he corrected.
‘Semantics,’ she shot back.
‘I’m not saying they don’t have issues. But all they need is a chance.’ Which was where he came in. ‘The purpose of the cafе is to train underprivileged youths in basic waiting and kitchen-hand skills, with a view to finding them permanent employment in the hospitality industry.’
She drained her mug, set it on the desk and then leaned towards him, her eyes suddenly earnest. ‘Mr D’Angelo, I wish you every luck in your endeavour. I also thank you for the brief respite and the coffee.’
‘Neen, you’re not out of the running.’
She’d started to rise, but at his words she fell back into her chair. She gaped at him. ‘I’m not?’
‘No.’
Her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Why not?’
He laughed. It was sudden and sharp and took him completely by surprise. But...a healthy dose of suspicion wouldn’t go astray in the job either, and Neen was ticking all his boxes. ‘Not all the applicants have been a total waste of time,’ he assured her. ‘There’s a couple who have potential.’
‘But?’
‘I’m questioning their commitment.’
She sat back and folded her arms. ‘Why aren’t you questioning mine?’
He didn’t even need to think about it. ‘You’re honest, and I need that in an employee. You also have grit and a sense of humour, and I suspect both of those traits will be necessary in this particular job.’
She unfolded her arms. ‘So you’re not going to sugarcoat the position and tell me it’s the job of a lifetime?’
‘It’ll be a challenge, but a rewarding one.’
‘Hmm.’ She didn’t look convinced on that last point.
‘And you’re a dog-lover.’ That made a difference. Dog-lovers generally got on well with kids, and—
‘No, I’m not.’
He blinked.
‘I loathe dogs. I can’t stand them. They’re noisy, smelly, stupid creatures. I’d much rather have a cat.’
It was his turn to gape. ‘But you’re still trying to find Monty a home. You haven’t given him up to the pound.’
‘It’s not the dumb dog’s fault his owner has abandoned him.’
He leaned towards her. ‘That means, then, Neen Cuthbert, that you’re a person of integrity. And that definitely ticks my boxes.’ The day suddenly seemed much much brighter.
‘What about my lack of experience?’
Her lack of experience was an issue, but... He pulled her rеsumе towards him. ‘You’ve been working in the hospitality industry in one shape or another since you finished high school eight years ago.’
She nodded. ‘I’ve been a waitress, a short-order cook, and I’ve worked for two big-name catering firms.’
None of her positions, however, had carried the title of restaurant manager. ‘I see you recently completed a small business course?’
‘My long-term goal is to open my own cafе.’
‘That’s ambitious.’
‘I think one should dream big, don’t you?’
He did.
‘What do you think you can bring to the advertised role, Neen?’
Her eyes danced again. ‘Besides honesty, grit, a sense of humour and integrity, you mean?’
She was right. He opened his mouth. With a superhuman effort he snapped it shut again. He still had one more applicant to interview. And he wasn’t given to impulsive gestures or decisions.
She sobered. ‘I’ll work hard, Mr D’Angelo. That’s what I have to offer you.’
The way she said it made it sound like the most valuable thing in the world. And it occurred to him that perhaps it was.
‘I’ve been acting manager on numerous occasions at most of the establishments I’ve worked for, but it has never been part of my job description. I want the experience your job will provide me. In return for that I will work hard. And I won’t let you down.’
He believed her. There was just one final question. No, two. ‘Why are you currently unemployed?’
She hesitated. ‘There are personal reasons.’
He leaned back and waited to see if she would tell him.
She stared at him as if assessing him, as if weighing whether he needed to know the truth and if she could trust him with it. Eventually she lifted one shoulder. ‘Earlier in the year I was left an inheritance. I planned to put the dream of my own cafе into action at once.’ She smoothed her hair back behind her ears. ‘The will, however, is being contested.’
She didn’t need to tell him what a blow that had been. He could see that all too clearly. ‘I’m sorry.’
She lifted her chin. Her cool blue eyes were veiled. ‘These things happen. Until it’s sorted out it seemed wise to find another job.’
She obviously wasn’t the kind to sit back and wring her hands. He had the distinct impression that, like him, in times of stress she liked to keep busy.
He picked up his pen and tapped it against her file. ‘One final question. Would you be prepared to sign a two-year contract?’
‘No.’ She spoke without hesitation.
The weight slammed back to his shoulders. The day went dank and grey.
‘I would be prepared to sign a twelve-month contract.’
It was something, he supposed. But it wasn’t enough. It was a shame, because on every other point Neen Cuthbert had been perfect.
* * *
The next morning Rico sifted through his shortlist of three applicants. He rang the nominated referees for his first two choices.
He discounted the most experienced after speaking to the man’s former employer. ‘Talented pastry chef with five years’ worth of managerial experience’ did not make up for ‘hot-headed and temperamental’. Hot-headed and temperamental were the last things this project needed. He needed a manager who would create a nurturing environment.
Nurturing and no-nonsense. Which immediately brought Neen Cuthbert to mind.
He thrust her out again and checked the references for his other shortlisted candidate. They were impeccable.
On impulse he seized Neen’s file and rang her referees too. Their testimonials were glowing. If he didn’t give her the job they’d take her back in an instant. ‘I want the experience.’
Rico chewed the end of his pen. He paced the length of his office. This job was too important for him not to get it right. He strode back to his desk and set Neen and the other applicant’s rеsumеs side by side. Neen’s rival had a fraction more experience, but...
Why on earth was he dithering? Helen Clarkson was prepared to sign a two-year contract. Commitment!
He swept the applications up and shoved them back into his folder, then strode out into the outer office. ‘Lisle, can you phone Helen Clarkson and offer her the position? If she accepts she’ll—’
‘I just got off the phone to Helen. She’s accepted a position in Launceston.’
She’d what? What about all her talk of commitment?
Lies. All lies!
Neen hadn’t lied.
‘Fine!’ he snapped. ‘Offer the position to Neen Cuthbert. Tell her she’ll need to come in and sign the contract one day this week.’
‘Roger, Rico.’
He slammed back into his office. He had a mountain of paperwork to get through and grant acquittals to write. Not to mention grant applications. Securing funding for his projects was an ongoing challenge and not something with which he could afford to fall behind.
An hour later he threw down his pen. Too much of this bureaucratic red tape always set his teeth on edge. He strode to the door and flung it open. ‘Did you get onto Neen Cuthbert?’ he barked at Lisle.
‘She was delighted to accept.’
‘Excellent.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘She lives in Bellerive, doesn’t she?’
Lisle flicked through her files. He could have told her not to bother—he’d practically memorised Neen’s file down to the last detail.
Lisle held up the file. ‘Yes, she does.’
He took it. ‘I have a lunch appointment with the manager of Eastlands Shopping Centre.’ He was trying to convince the man—so far unsuccessfully—to sponsor a programme to provide traineeships for unemployed youth in the area. ‘While I’m on that side of the harbour I’ll drop the contract off to Ms Cuthbert.’
Lisle handed him a copy of the contract without a word. She’d grown accustomed to his bull-in-a-china-shop approach long ago. ‘You know Harley’s job is going to be advertised next week, don’t you? You should think about applying, Rico.’
‘I’m more use on the ground, Lisle.’
‘You’re wasting your talents.’
‘I’m happy where I am.’
He was making a difference. A real difference. And happiness didn’t come into it.
* * *
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Monty, give it a rest,’ Neen muttered under her breath. She reached over and ramped up the volume on the radio in the hope of drowning out the dog’s great booming bark.
She’d get complaints from the neighbours if this kept up, but...
Her hand tightened around the red pepper she’d started to dice. She just needed half an hour to get the worst of tonight’s dinner prepared and then she’d let him back inside. Without her full attention he’d wreck her apartment. Knowing she was inside, however, he was obviously intent on barking...and barking...and barking until she did.
She knew he was lonely. She knew he missed Audra. She knew he simply craved some company. Poor dumb dog. If he could be trusted just to sit at her feet and chew a bone...
She glanced around at her chewed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life furniture and shook her head. She opened the kitchen window instead. It looked out over the courtyard. ‘Hey, Monty!’
He came charging up. Barking, barking, barking.
‘If you keep up with that kind of nonsense,’ she chided, ‘how will you ever hear what I have to say?’
He quietened for a moment. The radio blared. She dragged in a breath. For good or ill, she had a way with dogs. ‘What we need to work out is the kind of home that would be best for you. Do you have any thoughts on the subject? I’m thinking no small children, as you’ll only knock them down, and—’
He started barking his head off again. She continued to slice the onions, cabbage and red peppers for this evening’s stir-fry.
‘What I was thinking was a lovely big property where you could run about to your heart’s content, and...’
He didn’t stop barking. He no longer looked at her, just barked and barked. Her chopping slowed. She glanced at him again. In fact, he seemed to be barking at a point behind her and—
Her nape prickled. In the reflection of the window, something moved.
Whirling around, she held the knife out in front of her, every muscle tensed and readied.
