Crazy, Undercover, Love (10 page)

Face burning with troubled thoughts, I’m glad when Alex nods at me across the room to get started. I close the doors and dim the lights, hotfooting it onto the stage to join him at the glass table, adjusting the laptop so it’s right in front of me. As Alex rises from his seat, I notice a faint sheen of sweat across his forehead. If it was anyone else I’d wonder if it was nerves, but he’s so self-assured I scrub the idea. Maybe he’s not feeling well.

‘Ready?’ He buttons his jacket and licks his lips. I nod, puzzled. Is he okay? Without another word, he walks over to centre stage

‘Good morning everyone,’ he says, adjusting the microphone slightly. ‘Are we ready to begin?’ Conversation dies down and people turn their heads to give their full attention. ‘Good,’ he replies, ‘then I’ll start. I’m Alex Demetrio, CEO of Demetrio International.’ I can see his hands where they’re resting on the podium. His fingers are clenched and white, but no trace of doubt shadows his clear, firm voice. ‘Welcome to our AGM.’

The presentation should be boring because I’ve heard it so many times but is fascinating because Alex warms after the first few minutes, confidently running through annual reports for the previous year and year to date, explaining the financial forecasts for the forthcoming two. He looks more comfortable and I’m pleasantly surprised when he is wryly humorous about the privileges and pitfalls of running the company. It’s honest and brave and interesting.

‘I also want to thank the senior team and all support staff for their hard work and dedication, which makes all the difference to the success of the organisation. The Board of Directors and I truly appreciate the passion and energy of our employees.’ Alex gazes across the audience, taking the time to meet people’s eyes, smiling so widely his cheeks must hurt.

His voice drops slightly and several people lean forward to hear better. ‘I’ve gone through the finances, the strategies and the ambitions, how we’re going to expand, but I want to talk about something else I feel we should focus on over the next three to five years. Something important. Something worth doing. I hope you’ll agree with me and understand why.’ His face becomes serious and I’m mesmerised, like everyone else. ‘What I want to say is this. Every one of us has a responsibility to the companies we run, to each other and to other colleagues, to local economies and markets. But we also have a responsibility to the wider world. That’s why we’ll continue to fund hundreds of charities with a diverse range of good causes, as well as maintain a drive for carbon-neutral working and energy efficiency across the whole organisation. It’s also why there’s an Economic Social Responsibility programme for managers, which includes spending a month abroad in Africa helping to rebuild villages. I’d like to show you a short film of that now before I continue.’

I can’t help but be inspired by his passion, especially when he plays footage of the organisation’s best and brightest management trainees covered in sweat, caked in mud and heaving cement and bricks in the scorching sun. They interact with smiling villagers, children getting underfoot and kicking footballs to the cameraman against upbeat background music. It’s more usual to see TV celebs or pop stars, or a British Prince or two undertaking this kind of work, but even without the glitterati, the short film is moving and captivating and the result at the end is a new school for the community. It’s truly heart-warming. Imagine being able to make that type of difference to people’s lives. Imagine how it must change you as a person, to be something that is so much bigger than yourself. I sigh. I might have gone on the programme if things had turned out differently. The metallic taste of rage floods my mouth. Tony Ferrier has robbed me of so much. I feel sick.

The film ends and Alex reclaims the microphone. ‘What you just saw is the reason we’re proposing to extend the programme from one month to three, open it to other employees and double the amount of people we send over there.’ Alex pauses to let everyone adjust to the idea. ‘It’s also why there’s a plan to increase the yearly donations by an extra … ’ My mind boggles as he announces a number with an inordinate amount of zeroes. A few men in the front row blanch. One wearing a loud purple tie looks as if he might fall off his chair. I hold back a laugh, wondering how many shares he owns.

‘The other thing I want to suggest is in the information pack you were sent.’ Alex booms. ‘There’s a saying that charity begins at home, but I think we’ve been missing it. My family are from Corfu and the company was started three generations ago by my grandfather, but we’re also British and the UK feels like home.’ His voice wavers for a split second and I wonder if anyone notices. ‘We need to launch more projects in the UK. Community projects in deprived areas, housing where there are shortages, a national apprenticeship scheme so that we can drive down the number of NEETs across the country, that is young people not in education, employment or training. We have an ageing population and no default retirement age so we need to respect the experience of the older generation while also helping the next into work and out of poverty. We need to take action
now
and lead from the front and hope other businesses follow. We’ll improve our corporate image and increase the motivation of our staff, but more importantly we will feel proud.’ He pauses. ‘We will
be
proud. Who,’ he demands, looking around the room, ‘is with me?’

The room is silent, then clapping begins. I feel like I’m at some political pep rally. I fully expect to see Barrack Obama appear with Michelle, but there’s just Alex, who can be both so distant and in the next moment so charming, standing at the front of the stage, charged with compassion and energy. For a moment I lose my breath. He is such a complicated guy, but everything he’s just said fills me with warm approval.

The rest of the meeting is quick, shareholders approving the previous year’s accounts and dividends per share and voting overwhelmingly in favour of Alex’s plans, ending with the composition of the Board. Everyone is re-elected and Alex seems satisfied as he wraps up, summarising the last slide.

‘Thank you all for your time,’ he says finally, smiling. ‘Now I’m going to go and lie down in a dark room with a glass of Retsina.’ A small laugh erupts from the audience. ‘You’re all welcome to stay for light refreshments next door before leaving, unlike the members of staff staying for breakout sessions and a working lunch, followed by a long afternoon of individual meetings. You know who you are!’ He waits a beat. ‘If there are no questions?’ he addresses the room. ‘Good. Enjoy the food and I wish you all a safe journey home. Thank you. Oh, and a belated Happy New Year to you and your families.’

As Alex steps from the podium, people stand, stretching and chatting and making for the door. I exit the PowerPoint and start shutting down the laptop. I’m really confused. Who is the real Alex? The formal, sharp closed-off guy, or the witty, compassionate one?

I shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter to me who he is – as long as he believes my story when I need him to.

‘What do you want me to do next?’ I ask Alex as I zip his laptop into its bag.

‘Can you take notes during the group sessions?’ he asks absently, checking his smartphone. ‘They’re rotating coffee breaks with team meetings and group thought showers,’ he continues, swiping a finger across the screen. ‘We need some ideas for a new rewards programme for customers and employees. It’d be helpful if you could capture the ideas.’

‘Sure,’ I say easily, looking over at the small group of managers chatting in the corner. It’s gratifying to see it’s an almost even mixture of men and women. ‘See you later then?’ I sling the laptop bag over my shoulder against my handbag.

‘Hmm?’ He taps something else on the phone. ‘Yes.’

The phone seems permanently attached to either his ear or hand. Would it kill him to look at me when he’s talking to me? With a quiet harrumph, I turn to scoot over to the awaiting group.

‘Charley?’

‘Yes?’ I glance back.

‘Thank you.’ Alex gives me a grateful smile with a flash of white teeth, dark blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

Almost staggering under the force of it, I return the smile weakly. ‘Uh-huh.’ The man is too bloody gorgeous for his own good.

Hotfooting over to the corner: ‘Hi, I’m Charley, Mr. Demetrio's assistant for the weekend.’ A round of greetings and a few waves meet my words, with one familiar blonde woman nodding more rigidly. ‘I’m going to take notes of your session,’ I explain. ‘Shall we get started? I think we’re in the room across the hall.’

An hour later I’ve made four pages of notes filled with their ideas and have even contributed a few suggestions, all met with approving nods, though the blonde – Sara Eden – was less enthusiastic. She might have been the woman eyeing Alex up at dinner last night, though I can’t be sure.

Taking notes at three more meetings, it’s soon time for lunch in the main conference hall, which has been arranged with round tables and matching chairs dotted around the room. Sitting with a few managers from the first session, I breathe in the scents of savoury and sweet food, listen to the group gossip about work and partners and kids, and slowly relax, though not enough that my appetite returns.

Staring blankly at the tablecloth, I recall Alex's remark about having a happy new year. I love the end of one year and the beginning of another. It’s an emotional milestone, not just a fresh page because the month has changed, but a shiny new calendar on the wall. No matter how rubbish the past twelve months have been, you can hope the next twelve will be better. God, the next twelve
have
to be better for me. It doesn’t feel likely at the moment.

It takes me a minute to realise it’s gone quiet. The man next to me clears his throat and coughs.

‘Are you all right? Do you need some water?’ I query but his attention is fixed above my head. I swing around and notice Alex beside me. ‘Oh.’ Pushing my plate away: ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ His gaze flickers over me then round the table. Do I imagine it slides over Sara more quickly than the others, as she flicks her hair and looks at him from under her lashes? ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He touches my shoulder. ‘I need to talk to you about a few things please?’

‘Of course.’ Standing, I stack my practically full plate in the middle of the table. ‘See you later everyone.’

‘Don’t go without on my account.’ Alex frowns at my food.

‘I’m done thank you. I’m not very hungry.’

His eyes flicker over my body and darken, making me flash burning hot, but he says nothing, gesturing to an empty table across the room.

Following, I smile when he edges a glass of water out of my reach as we sit down. He hasn’t forgotten my clumsiness last night.

‘How are you finding it?’ He leans forward. ‘Everything all right, any questions?’

Nodding to show it’s all under control. ‘Fine, yes and no. Are you pleased with how it’s going?’

‘Reasonably, yes.’

‘Oh. Only reasonably?’

Searching my face, ‘It’s not a criticism of you. Just other things I need to sort out.’

I give him a relieved smile. ‘Right. But you’d say, if there was anything I needed to improve?’

‘There isn’t.’

‘All right,’ I lower my voice. ‘It’s just that … this morning, by the pool. I owe you an apology—’

‘Oh, that.’ He straightens his tie. ‘Let’s not dwell on it. It’s already forgotten.’

‘Is it? I don’t want to dwell on it, believe me, but you made the comment about me napping and  …  I don’t want you to think I make a habit of—’

‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he interrupts. ‘And I’m sorry. About my comment.’

‘No,
I’m
sorry. It was unprofessional,’ my nails curl into my hands and I drop my voice to a whisper, ‘to touch you like that. I didn’t sleep well last night, was a bit fuzzy when you woke me. That’s the only reason it happened.’

‘It was?’ I must imagine the glint of disappointment in his rapidly shuttered gaze. ‘Of course it was.’ Shaking his head: ‘Look, I was a bit hard on you. Let’s just forget it. We’ve other more important things to focus on.’

‘Okay.’ Forget it? I still remember the sensation of his warm stubbly skin under my fingertips, his thick dark hair soft against my palm. ‘There were things you wanted to brief me about?’

‘Just a reminder you’ll be with me this afternoon taking notes at management meetings.’

‘I remember. It’s probably quicker to type them straight into your laptop. Is that okay?’

‘Whatever you want.’

You naked in my bed?
Thank God I don’t say it out loud. And that my dress is thick enough he can’t see the effect the thought has on my nipples, which immediately go hard and bead.

‘If that’s it then?’ I squeak. Clearing my throat, I rise from my chair.

His voice stops me. ‘What did you think of the presentation? It went well, didn’t it.’ His smile is a touch arrogant.

I won’t feed his ego by telling him how inspirational he was or how much he impressed but I’ll give credit where it’s due. ‘I liked your plans for the UK projects.’

‘Thanks.’ His fingers tap on the table. Quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. ‘I believe they’re worthwhile, especially if it means other people get involved.’

‘I’m sure they will.’ Pushing back from the table, ‘Catch you—’

‘What’s the worst thing about your job?’ he asks quietly, leaning forward.

Being sexually harassed by your creepy assistant?
No, not the place for
that
conversation. Crap. What do I say? Think about it from a PA angle. ‘You’re not about to go off and do some
Undercover Boss
thing are you?’ I ask, to give myself time to think.

‘What?’ He looks blank.

‘The TV programme? Where CEOs go undercover on the front line to find out what’s really happening within their companies? Then deliver the findings back to the Board?’

‘I don’t watch much TV. And I’m sure most of it’s garbage anyway. And no, I’m not doing undercover whatever it was, I’m just  …  interested.’

‘Right.’ I place my chin on my hand in a deliberate thinking pose and make an mmmm sound. He stifles a smile. ‘Well, I guess it would be rapidly shifting priorities.’

‘Really? I didn’t think you’d be bothered by that. You can’t handle the pressure?’

‘Of course I can! I’m just answering your question.’ I take a breath. ‘And just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Does that make sense?’

He nods jerkily. ‘Strangely, it does.’

What’s going on with Mr CEO? ‘So what are the worst things about
your
job?’ I follow a hunch.

‘Nothing. I love it,’ he answers robotically, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘Why?’ he shoots defensively.

I sit back in surprise. ‘I was just asking the question you asked me.’

He sits back too, frowns. ‘Ye–es,’ the word slides out. He’s thinking. Considering. ‘But that’s different.’

‘Because I’m a junior member of staff and you can tell me what to do?’

He waves off the remark. ‘It’s not about hierarchy in that way,’ he replies, ‘but I suppose it is.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You can share things. But I’m the one in charge.’

‘So you can’t share? Or won’t?’

‘I can’t let any doubts or weaknesses show.’

‘Rubbish! You’re as human as the rest of us. Aren’t you?’ Yanking my notepad and pen from my bag: ‘But just to keep you happy.’ I scrawl on my pad as I talk. ‘
I, Charley Caswell,’
I declare,
‘promise not to blog/post/tweet/socially broadcast/sell to the papers/tell anyone anything Alex Demetrio discloses to me, or happens, during the course of this assignment. Forthwith—
’

His white teeth click shut and he rolls his eyes. ‘Very good. You’ve made your point. Now put it away.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Putting the pad aside: ‘So, the worst thing about your job?’

He starts fiddling with the arrangement in the middle of the table, a finger playing with a row of red beads entwined with the flower stems. I gulp and squirm in my seat. ‘The travel,’ he murmurs.

From the way he’s acting I was expecting something a bit juicier. ‘Oh. That’s it?’ I raise one eyebrow.

‘Isn’t it enough?’

‘I’d love to travel more, see the world.’

‘Yes but you don’t see the world, only an endless series of hotel bedrooms and conference facilities. If I’m lucky I eat in the restaurant, but I usually order room service so I can work at the same time.’

It sounds lonely. Joyless. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. When you see it in movies it seems glamorous.’

‘It’s not.’ His expression is grim, lips pale. He’s wound so tight. I feel a ridiculous urge to offer him comfort, but that’s not allowed. ‘It’s tiring and relentless.’ He sighs. ‘Especially when there are people you’d rather be spending your time with.’

A girlfriend? My mind magics up an image of him kissing a skinny blonde. Ick. A friend? The look on his face doesn’t invite further questions so I settle with a soft, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he grinds out. ‘I wasn’t looking for your sympathy.’

But he does need someone to talk to, and if it’s me, perhaps he’ll listen in return when I tell him about Tony? ‘I’d never dare offer you sympathy,’ I answer, tongue in cheek, ‘but what else?’

‘What else?’

‘What else do you not like about the job?’

‘I really shouldn’t—’

‘Just say it, Alex. No judgement, I promise.’

He checks if there’s anyone around to overhear but most people are picking over the fresh fruit and light desserts laid out on a long table on the other side of the room. My nose twitches at the rich aroma of coffee but I don’t want to leave the conversation, not when he’s showing trust in me.

‘Chairing disciplinary panels or grievance hearings,’ he shares. It’s quiet and torn from him.

It’s also a perfect opening. ‘You get involved in those?’

‘Yes, if they get to a certain stage in the group, not for the smaller companies. It’s rare, because they go through management, and directors hear appeals, but a few times I’ve been hearing officer where it’s involved very senior people.’

Maybe he wants me to interrupt, stop the flow of words but I won’t. I shift further forward in my chair so he can keep his voice down.

‘It’s difficult sometimes,’ he confesses, ‘because you never really know what’s happened, especially in a grievance where it’s two people at odds. There’s that saying about two sides to every story, isn’t there? Well, I’ve found each person has their own views and the truth generally falls somewhere in the middle.’

I wonder what he’d say about my situation. Will he believe I provoked Tony? Or deserved what happened to me?

He runs a hand through his hair again, leaving it spiked up and ruffled. I prefer the messy look. He looks younger, sexier. I shake my head and focus on listening. It’s the safest option. ‘And?’ I nudge. He hesitates. ‘It’s fine as long as you don’t talk about particular cases, isn’t it?’ I ask. ‘You won’t be breaching any confidentialities.’

‘No. Still, if an employee overheard me talking about it, even in general terms—’

‘I’m an employee.’

‘Not a direct one. And not after this weekend. Besides—’

‘Besides?’

‘Nothing.’ His cheekbones darken.

He’s not–
Is he blushing?
No. It must be a trick of the light. ‘Maybe your employees would appreciate you not taking this stuff lightly. Maybe they’d be gratified to hear how much care you take, that if they were ever to go through a formal process you’d be serious about the responsibility.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ he concedes, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth.

‘It’s part of how we learn, isn’t it? Exchanging views with others, sorting through the different opinions for the ones which make the most sense to us.’

‘Not many people share their views with me. They’ll tell me what they think if I ask but don’t offer their thoughts freely. And I’m not sure how honest those opinions are.’

‘Ah.’ They probably don’t dare. One wrong opinion might get them fired. Yet from what Alex just said, his fairness, I don’t think it’s likely.

‘It’s the bullying allegations I find hardest,’ he circles back. ‘Is it a manager being a bully or them trying to proactively manage someone, bring them to account, and the employee not liking it?’ Blowing out an exasperated breath: ‘In the end it comes to down to someone’s perceptions, and those are coloured by their personal attitudes, experiences and emotions. Unfortunately, by the time those cases get to me, sometimes too much has happened. The working relationship is at breaking point. It’s sad. We’ve lost good people that way.’

Would he class me as one of them? ‘I can see what you’re saying.’ I stretch across the table, grab a glass and pour some water into it, carefully. Letting delight at his emotional intelligence show would be premature. But it gives me hope.

Like a cork has popped from a bottle of suppressed feeling, he keeps going. ‘The biggest thing for me is that I’m fair. Disciplinaries and grievances involve real people. You’re making decisions about their employment that can really affect their lives. What if I get it wrong?’

‘You have doubts?’ I take a sip of water, the liquid cool on my tongue.