Harper's Rules

A B
USINESS
P
ARABLE

A R
ECRUITER
'
S
G
UIDE
to
F
INDING
a
D
REAM
J
OB
and the
R
IGHT
R
ELATIONSHIP

DANNY CAHILL

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places,
events, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.

Published by Greenleaf Book Group Press
Austin, Texas
www.gbgpress.com

Copyright ©2011 Danny Cahill

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without
written permission from the publisher.

Distributed by Greenleaf Book Group LLC

For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact
Greenleaf Book Group LLC at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.

Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group LLC and Bumpy Design
Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group LLC

Publisher's Cataloging-In-Publication Data
(Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)
Cahill, Danny. Harper's rules : a recruiter's guide to finding a dream job and the right
relationship / Danny Cahill. -- 1st ed.   p. ; cm.
   “A business parable.”
   ISBN: 978-1-60832-133-9
   1. Job hunting. 2. Employment interviewing. 3. Career development. 4. Interpersonal
relations. 5. Quality of work life. 6. Parables I. Title.
HF5382.7 .H37 2011

650.14                                            2010940053

Part of the Tree Neutral® program, which offsets the number of trees consumed in
the production and printing of this book by taking proactive steps, such as
planting trees in direct proportion to the number of trees used:
www.treeneutral.com

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

11 12 13 14 15 16   10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

Prologue

   
ONE
Should You Leave or Stay?

   
TWO
How to Resign from a Job or End a Relationship

 
THREE
And Now the Counteroffer

  
FOUR
Getting Back Out There—Résumés and Networking

    
FIVE
The Truth about Résumés

      
SIX
Networking, Job Boards, and Dating Online

 
SEVEN
Prepping for Interviews and Dates

  
EIGHT
Dating Is Like Interviewing . . . Only Harder

    
NINE
The Follow-up Protocol to Interviews and Dates

     
TEN
Other Offers and Playing the Field

ELEVEN
Endgame—Final Interview Prep to Start Date

Since my divorce two years ago, I have become good at resisting men, and I have always been good at resisting headhunters, so when you put the two together, a male head-hunter has no chance with me. I know why they call—I am a successful software sales rep with a massive network of clients, and I'm an attractive woman. They want to know if I am happy. Would I like to hear about a dream job? But I don't think much about happiness anymore. So I don't return their calls.

Except Harper Scott.

Harper placed me eight years ago when I was first learning how to sell software, and then again a few years later. He's been a successful headhunter for a long time. He seems to know everyone in my market space and everything that is going on. Harper is connected. But that's not why I return his calls.

“Casey, it's Harper. Do you really think you can get away with this shabby treatment? You don't send funny emails; you don't call. I am seriously considering starting a relationship with you just so I can break up with you and have you know my pain.”

I giggled. I'm thirty-four. I thought I left giggling behind.

“We need to talk. Call me. Notice I am not leaving my number. If you don't still have it, all is lost.”

I told myself to ignore his message. I've been at my job for just over a year, and calling Harper back would mean getting caught up with the drama of interviews and the inevitable subterfuge with my current boss. Why bother?

So I held out. For about four minutes. I got his voice mail, left a message, and a few minutes later his assistant called and said Harper wanted me to meet him at one o'clock at Max's Oyster House the following Tuesday.

As I got dressed on Tuesday morning, I convinced myself that I was trying to make a good impression on the CIO that I was doing a demo for that afternoon. But why was
I reaching for the black, form-fitting cashmere sweater and the charcoal grey skirt that even I, as my backside's biggest critic, know hangs and clings in a flattering way? Why am I giving this account the full “I'm very corporate, very astute, and wicked hot” look? I pretended to recall my meeting with Harper as I put my hair up to expose my neck.

I sat in the restaurant for ten minutes before Harper showed. Nothing is more fiendishly calculated than his penchant for making everything seem uncalculated. He must be forty now, but could easily pass for younger. Flecks of grey accent his brown hair, and at six feet, he is still at fighting weight—shoulders broad, waist impossibly narrow. My friend Hannah once asked me what he looked like, and I said, “Big in the right places, small in the right places.” She understood immediately.

Harper took his seat, folded his hands, placed them under his chin, and smiled at me. I looked him straight in the eyes, the same way I start any meeting, but I didn't know for the life of me why I was there.

“You're wondering why you're here. You're a busy person, you're not looking for a job, you're feeling vaguely guilty about meeting with a headhunter on company time. And yet, it's so good to see me. Am I right?”

“About everything except the ‘it's so good to see you' part.”

“I'm shattered.”

“Bounce back, Harper. I agreed to see you because I'm in town rolling out a demo and because I was curious to see if you had gone to seed yet like most guys your age.”

“And have I?”

“Not quite.”

An impossibly cute, young waitress excused herself for interrupting, took our drink orders, and told us the specials. Harper asked her how she was doing, and then told her he was a headhunter and when she was ready to start a career she should look him up. I rolled my eyes as she walked away beaming.

“You're pathetic.”

“Six degrees of separation,” he shrugged. “My network is my lifeblood. You don't know who she knows.”

“I'm ready for your pitch now, Harper. I Googled you this morning.”

“Isn't that eerie? I Googled me this morning, too. Any new entries since 7
A.M.
?”

Harper's ego could be a bit much, but then he redeemed himself. He took out his wallet and showed me the latest pictures of his daughter. I raved, because she really was fabulous.

“A teenager already. Has it been that long since you first recruited me?”

“Don't remind me.”

He leaned back, and I could tell the icebreaking was over. He was here to qualify a prospect that could make him money. I would be well served to keep that in mind.

“So, here's what my research associate tells me. Nineteen months ago you're one of SAP's resident stars. Big territory, established key accounts, and overrides from three direct reports. W2 of over 330K. You leave and end up at an underfunded supply chain company where you'll be lucky to make 225. It doesn't add up, Casey.”

“I'm not going on any interviews, Harper. I like my job.”

“Were you sleeping with the boss?”

“What?! John was sixty-three, with yellow teeth and a unibrow.”

“So then, what? It doesn't add up and you know it.”

I promised myself I wouldn't share this. A solemn promise, made at my bathroom mirror just five hours ago, now wafting gently out the restaurant's open windows . . .

“I got divorced, okay? Don't look at me like that. It's not
that
shocking.”

“No. What is shocking is that my research assistant missed it. I'd fire her, except that I'd be lost without her.”

“It's no big deal. We had no kids; we both had careers. We evaluated, we made a choice, we negotiated and distributed our assets, and we moved on.”

“Well, look at you and your stiff upper lip! Did you shake hands and say, ‘Good luck?'”

“We did in fact shake hands. Then he said, ‘Godspeed.'”

Harper leaned back. “He actually said the word ‘Godspeed'? I've never been able to work that into a sentence. So you're fine? No residual sadness?”

“Nope.”

Our waitress bought me some time by asking if we had any questions. Neither of us had really looked at the menu, so we both agreed to the halibut when she raved that it was “phenomenal.” Harper clapped his menu shut. I reached over for my jacket, slipped my Blackberry out, and turned the power off.

“You turn thirty-five soon, right?” Harper said. “So if you're going to have a family, you need to pick one of the many guys I'm sure you're dating, shorten the engagement, and abandon all birth control.”

“I'm not focused on that right now, Harper.”

“There are guys, right? You're beautiful, you're smart, and you don't need their money.”

His charms had run their course; I was now officially angry. I started gathering up my things.

“Have your research assistant delete me from your database when you get back to the office, Harper.”

“Two minutes.”

I looked at him with the half querying, half irritated expression I would use on Donald when he left wet clothes in the dryer.

“Give me two minutes,” he said, “and this meeting will have been worthwhile for you, whether you eat or not.”

As if on cue, the food came. I couldn't very well exit while Miss Teen America was warning me the plate was “super duper hot.” I sat down.

He cut his food slowly and didn't look up while he spoke.

“Thank you, Casey. Answer me this, and remember, I only have two minutes, so don't overthink it. You traveled 85 percent of the time. He was home, a desk jockey. May I assume he cheated on you?”