The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo
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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 caf'e 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 r'esum'es 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—’