His eyes ran down to my chest and a leering smile spread across his face as he made no attempt to hide his ogling. The tip of his tongue slipped out for a moment before I coughed loudly, bringing his eyes back up to my face at last.
“What’s this all about?” I asked. “The agency didn’t tell me anything.”
“Do you recognise this man?” he asked, sliding a photo across the desk.
I looked down at the image. It was a portrait of a man in his late twenties, arrogant smile on his lips. He wore a suit that looked as if it cost more than the GDP of Latin America, his stubble jarringly out of place above the white shirt.
“Is he out of a Rolex advert or an aftershave one?”
“Neither. Have you never seen Mason Radcliffe before?”
I shook my head. “Not outside of Smug Business Man Quarterly.”
He faked a laugh and I realised I had better tone down my sarcasm. “I would like you to get to know Mr Radcliffe very well. In fact, I’d like you to work for him. For a week, at least.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s perfectly simple,” he said, tapping his finger on the photo. “I’ve been informed by a close friend of mine that his office are looking for a temp to help with some filing and I want you to take the role.”
“But why?”
“Ah, there’s the rub.” A quick glance at my chest and then back up again. “I want you to get to know Mr Radcliffe, get chatting to him. Find out if the rumours are true.”
“Rumours? What rumours?”
“That’s the point, what rumours? There’s been whisperings going around for years that he’s into some weird shit and I want you to get proof for me. Do that and there’ll be a reason for me to open that bottle of twenty year old malt I’ve been saving.”
“What kind of weird shit?”
“That’s for you to find out. Do whatever it takes.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You want me to spy on him?”
“I wouldn’t put it so indelicately but in a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose I do.”
“But why?”
“Because he is the reason I’m sat here and not in his chair right now. If I can get him to stand down, his board are likely to be far more amenable to my very generous takeover offer.”
“I meant why me? Why a temp? No offence, Mr Mitchell…”
“Damien, please.”
“No offence Damien, but isn’t this something more suitable to a John Grisham book? Or a private eye in a film noir? You want a temp to go in there and commit industrial espionage. Why not go and talk to him yourself?”
“Two things, you should know, Miss Brook. One, this isn’t a book. This is real life. He’d never let me in his building. But a temp? Now, who’d suspect a temp of having anything to do with me?”
“But why’d you hire me? They said you specifically asked for me.”
“I asked for the hottest, youngest looking temp they had. I’m glad to say they didn’t disappoint.” Another look at my chest. “There are perks to being in my position after all.”
I’d heard and seen enough. I got to my feet, shaking my head vehemently. “I’m sorry, Mr Mitchell but you’ve got the wrong woman. I’m not interested.”
I had my hand on the doorknob when he replied, his words stopping me from leaving. “You forgot about the second reason.”
“What?” I asked, turning back to him. “What possible reason could you give to make me agree to this instead of calling you a sexist pig and reporting you for what you just said?”
I can think of twenty thousand reasons why you won’t do that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll pay you twenty thousand for a week’s work.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I never kid. What do you say? All you have to do is spend one week in his office. That should be plenty of time to find me something, anything that I can use to get him to stand down. One week is all I’m asking. Think what you could do with twenty thousand.”
He motioned towards the chair and I was torn. He’d talked to me as if I was a sex object instead of a person. The feminist in me wanted to karate kick him across the desk before storming out. The economist in me was more realistic. Twenty thousand was a lot of money. It wouldn’t just clear my credit cards. It’d, well, it’d do a hell of a lot more than that. I’d be debt free and one step closer to my dream.
I should mention my dream, I suppose. Look, I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true so there’s not much I can do about the cheese factor of this, just don’t laugh, all right? I’d always planned to one day set up an orphanage in Africa, Gambia specifically. There was a foundation I’d donated to for years and in the back of my mind, I always said I’d go out there one day, make a difference before I got too old to do it. Twenty thousand meant I could do it at once. I could be booking my ticket next week.