Chapter 4
Jude
Did I say I hated January as well? Well, I might have to revise my opinion.
As the first thing I spot in my inbox on my return to work after Christmas and New Year is an email from none other than Mrs Emma Lincoln, Synergy Recruitment Ltd’s CEO.
And bloody hell, asking me for a meeting.
I immediately ring her on her mobile she’d added to the bottom of the email just in case she’s changed her mind, as the email was sent yesterday.
Strike whilst the iron’s hot, and all that.
She answers on the fourth ring. Yeah, playing hard to get. She probably sat and waited, not wanting to appear too eager. I need to play it cool myself. See what it is she wants.
“Hello, Emma Lincoln speaking.” Her voice is cheery, as if she doesn’t know it’s me. I know she’ll have plugged my number in. Well, unblocked it at any rate.
“Hi, Emma, it’s Jude Greystone. Happy New Year. Hope you enjoyed your Christmas break.” I’m full of the New Year's spring.
“Yes, it was lovely, thank you. And you?” She’s very polite, her tone slightly bored already. I better get to the point.
“Yes, very. I’m ringing in response to your email. I have to say I’m surprised at your request. When we last spoke, you seemed uninterested in a meeting.” Bit of a low blow, but whatever.
“Yes, well. I’ve considered things over Christmas and New Year. Got a little perspective. I'd like to meet to chat through your thoughts, and your plans for the area.”
Her voice is light and breezy. Mmmm, no mention directly of the building, though. Maybe this is not as cut and dried as I thought.
“Of course. I’m in London this afternoon. I know it’s short notice, but I’m happy to buy you a late lunch. Do you know Vincenzo’s Italian in Kensington?” It’s like my second home, but she’ll not know that.
“Err, no. Sorry. I don’t have the luxury of that sort of delegation power. I’m free Friday if that’s any good?”
Keep it cool, Greystone. She undoubtedly doesn’t want to appear too eager. Well, two can play that game.
“Err, sorry no. Friday doesn’t work for me.” Even though all I’d got in was a visit to my sister's building site. It’s not urgent, and it could definitely be moved. But…
There’s a pause as she thinks about it. Come on, Emma. Take the lunch today. Come on over to my power play. I’m salivating. I love games.
“I’m sorry, Mr Greystone, but I’m not free next week, either.” She sounds like she’s flipping pages in a diary. “I’m out of the office for a few days, work related. So this week was solid for me to get ahead. Shall we say two weeks hence?”
Fuck no. We will not say two weeks hence. I want that meeting. I want to get my offer in before the dam bursts and her company is so far in the toilet it’s a feeding frenzy on that land.
“What time Friday can you do?” I hate giving her an inch. But if I want it… I even sound a bit grouchy.
“Anytime after one. I’m here late as it’s the Knit and Natter Christmas party.”
Her voice sounds cheery at that. My heart sinks. More celebrities for them to accost when they’re pissed, with their scarfs and woollen hats. All I need now is the choir thugs, and a post Christmas flash mob.
“I could move a few things and do a late lunch or early dinner. Say 4:30? Still at Vincenzo’s.” I’ve moved onto professional mode. Business like, crisp. Fridays in the city are always busy. Dinner and drinks my normal stomping ground.
She pauses and considers it. My knee is jumping, my foot tapping in agitation. I hate waiting for anything. It’s a flaw my family has always tempered.
“Yes, that would work. I’ll be bringing my associate. If that’s okay?” Her voice hasn’t changed. Still light and breezy.
“Fine, no problem. See you at 4:30. Just ask for me. I’ll let them know I’m expecting you.” I push a big smile into my voice.
“That’s fine, see you then.” She cuts off before I can say thank you for the time or sprinkle in any other politeness.
I pull a face at my phone. Her negotiating tactics are not good. She’s definitely not trying to get me onside. And I’m not sure if that was round one to me or her. If anything, I’d say beneath the light tone, she was annoyed.
Oh well, I’m happy anyway she wants to play. Nice or a hostile takeover, no skin off my nose. It'll be easier with the niceties. With over twenty years in business, I’ve dealt with every type of meeting. Even been punched a time or two. I hope this will not be the third time.
I stride into Vincenzo’s early, like I own the place.
To be honest, it’s like a family kitchen.
We’ve been coming here since we first moved to London, when I was eighteen.
I’m now thirty-nine. Vinny was just taking over the place from his father.
He lured my sister Evie in with the promise of the best tiramisu outside of Italy.
He wasn’t wrong, and we’ve been coming ever since.
We’ve all supported each other through the years.
And in recent years, my sister has been fetching in a celebrity clientele. Vinny loves us.
His wallpaper is as famous as his lasagna and tiramisu. With my brothers-in-law and my nephews all immortalised on his walls, alongside Vinny’s mama and his whole family.
“Ah, Jude, I have your table ready. I’ve put you at the back. You will not be bothered. Is it a celebrity date?” He winks at me. Vinny knows me well. I’ve entertained a few actresses here. A TV presenter. Even a well-known female singer.
“Not a date, a business meeting. But just as important. If not more so. Just show them through. There’ll be two of them—Ms Lincoln and her associate.”
My phone rings. “Is she there yet?” Brandon asks before I can utter a greeting. He’s such a nosy git, and drama queen. He’s waiting for the fireworks.
I see them come past the window and hear the door swoosh open. Exactly on time.
“Just walked in,” I deadpan.
I can’t hear their voices, as the chatter from all the diners is loud, but Vinny guides them to the bar area and coat check.
I walk into view and waft my hand at them both.
I don’t want her to think I’m ignoring her.
I smile widely as I see her face. It doesn’t change, but she nods her head in recognition.
“She’s seen me,” I inform Brandon. “Got a serious poker face.” No hint at what she thinks.
I point at the phone, and hold my palm up to indicate five minutes. It’s a well used tactic—keep ‘em waiting, build the anticipation. And besides, it tells them I’m just so much in demand. I did change my plans for her, afterall. I’m smiling at their unsmiling faces.
“She’s more striking than the grainy photograph, but her clothes are the dullest colours I have ever seen. She’s blending into the grey skies outside,” I inform him, but I suppose it fits her profile dossier I’d had compiled. I thought dull, dull, dull, then. I’m not changing my mind now.
“When did you become a fashionista?” Brandon laughs at his own joke.
I take the few minutes I have to size her up in the flesh.
She’s not tall, but looks taller than her stated five feet three and a quarter.
Hair dark brown, tied up in a twisted ponytail of sorts.
It screams all very professional office.
A large grey overcoat covers her up. Her friend, on the other hand, is bringing the sunshine.
Dark brown bobbed curly hair, with pink clips that match her trainers.
Glasses are large and thick. Black overcoat but pink scarf and gloves.
Looks home knit. Evidently they’re benefitting from their tenants' hard work. I’d seen Carter sporting a very similar colour.
“Vinny’s seating them now. I better go.”
I watch as Vinny relieves them of their coats, and I still.
My ears are still on Brandon, but my eyes are totally on her.
Where the fuck did that body come from? White silk blouse, pulling taught over her large breasts.
Skirt knee length, with a tiny belt that accentuates her waist. Legs slim, her calves slender and toned.
Her ankles don't seem strong enough to hold her up. Not sure why I’m looking so hard.
It’s not like I’ve not seen boring work wear before.
On and off a woman's body. But it’s in the way she holds herself.
Confident. A yeah I’m here, so see me. But not loud and brash.
Hmmm. Better get myself ready for this meeting. It may get interesting.
“Really, don’t you want to make them wait. Playbook time?” Brandon is taking the piss.
I see them order drinks, and Vinny ushers them towards our table at the back. She glances surreptitiously at me, but allows herself to be propelled across the busy restaurant.
“Of course, it’s chock-a-block in here. Early dinner crowd stuffed to the rafters.”
The bar is full of people who have knocked off early and are having a drink before they go home.
It’s wall-to-wall business suits. I watch a few businessmen clock them, blatantly staring at her arse as she walks across the restaurant floor.
I can feel my face getting flushed, annoyed by their stares, even if I was just doing that myself not two minutes ago. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Right, I’m going in. Wish her luck.” I hear him just about to say something, then he realises what I said.
He laughs. “Whatever,” he retorts."
I hang up. Gathering myself together, I fluff my perfectly styled hair, straighten my very precisely straight silk tie.
Give myself a full body mental check over.
Yes, I’ve got it going on. I’m in full rock star Businessman of the Year swagger.
Better buckle up Lincoln, this is how you negotiate in person. Greystone style.