Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1 - Jones & Sword, London

  2 - Into the night

  3 - Worst fears

  4 - Heathrow (LHR) to San Francisco, CA (SFO)

  5 - San Francisco, California

  6 - Internet chatter

  7 - Mayor votes with her feet

  8 - Hello, Dr Levchin

  9 - Pacific Heights

  10 - Second chances

  11 - Road trip

  12 - An audience with Greene

  13 - Million little pieces

  14 - Pillar Point Harbor

  15 - Silver Star Grill

  16 - The trick is to keep breathing

  17 - Freak radicals

  18 - Under the bridge

  19 - Nothing but the truth

  20 - The only easy day was yesterday

  21 - Goodbye, Jackson

  22 - Show me the money

  23 - A kiss is just a kiss

  24 - Stop, Minnie, I love you…

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  The right of Helen MacArthur to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by ignitestudio.co.uk

  Minnie Chase Makes A Mistake (First Edition)

  Copyright © 2014 Helen MacArthur

  All rights reserved.

  To Tim and Libby Larkin

  1

  Jones & Sword, London

  There are different sounds of silence in an office. There is the syrupy quietness of concentration that hangs over heads when deadlines loom. The silence can also be a noiseless hum during snatched lunch breaks when food is consumed and thoughts start to wander. Then there is a rubbernecking hush as eyes strain to witness an impending commotion that threatens to disrupt the dead calm.

  This particular Thursday, at the end of June, the disruption started with an instruction barked across the office floor.

  ‘Minnie Chase! Boss wants to see you.’

  Minnie looked up, distracted. She had too much to do and not enough time to do it. She certainly had no time for interruptions. Her hesitation was not appreciated by the messenger, Ross Brown, the boss’s personal assistant, who obviously feared repercussions should he not deliver Minnie with immediate effect.

  ‘Now!’ he shouted.

  He made a beeline towards her. He acted like a pet robot; a slavishly-devoted drone that scooted around the office following the constant commands from above without question.

  Minnie stood up and glared at him.

  Ross Brown was a reasonably good-looking man but he was also one of those people whose physical attractiveness fell off the face of the earth once you got to know them. Minnie believed he went out of his way to be purposefully abhorrent – she had visions of him casually kicking puppies.

  ‘Quick,’ he hissed. ‘She’s waiting.’ Flecks of spittle gathered in the corner of his mouth; flotsam and jetsam as the words left his lips.

  Minnie didn’t utter a word. She fixed her eyes on the office door ahead and felt her stomach take a theme-park dip into painful apprehension. Have no fear, she thought. She was aware of people’s eyes watching her, some furtively, some eagerly. They followed her steps as she marched towards the glass-panelled executive room where her boss, Ms A.A Jones, co-founder of software firm Jones & Sword, sat waiting, motionless and silent.

  A.A Jones’s face was expressionless, which was not surprising considering her dedicated attention to personal grooming and anti-ageing pursuits. She had a signature chocolate bob with power fringe – solid not wispy – and severely whitened teeth that had a curiously bright, moonlit luminosity. Minnie was certain that if the earth was suddenly plunged into total darkness, A.A. Jones’s pearly-white veneers would glow and guide a disoriented population through the remains of the day.

  A.A stood for Amelia-Anne, but no one called her this except for those in the upper echelons of business or anyone who could lay claim to an annual salary of around £5 million and above. For Minnie, and the rest of the office, it was A.A Jones. Like a new-age Industrial Average.

  Minnie did her best to walk confidently into the office, fighting the urge to fiddle with her waistband or grapple nervously with her hair as she approached the desk where A.A Jones waited. The air was heavily scented with freshly cut flowers that seemed to have sucked the oxygen out of the room.

  Minnie wasn’t invited to sit down. Her boss fixed her with an intimidating stare and ordered her to re-open the door Minnie had shut on the way in. The whole office would now be able to listen to whatever followed next.

  ‘Dinner at The Savoy,’ A.A Jones opened the conversation in a quiet voice.

  Minnie nodded, knowing from experience it was best to always agree unless the numbers didn’t add up.

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ added her boss.

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed Minnie, although there was a never a chance she would forget.

  A huge corporate event had been planned. It was intended to be a major schmooze-fest to welcome and pander to one of the world’s most visionary CEOs who was just about to sign a lucrative deal. A lucrative deal that would land this office a considerable windfall with huge bonuses for everyone. To add an additional sparkle to this glittering event he would be accompanied by his glamorous American fiancée who was currently riding high in the American political charts as the acting mayor of San Francisco. The ultimate power couple was coming to town.

  ‘You will leave immediately after dinner,’ instructed A.A Jones, voice rising to red-alert level.

  ‘Oh.’ Minnie wasn’t expecting this.

  ‘This is a risk-assessment decision. You will not jeopardise this deal. Do you understand?’

  Minnie forgot to nod. She had been instrumental in bringing this deal to its fruition. Months and months of work, overtime and analysis had gone into this event. Now she was to be dismissed with the dessert wine.

  The no-response pause immediately incensed A.A Jones. ‘Do you understand, Miranda? There will be no careless comments or inappropriate actions. Take this as a final warning. Third strike and you are out.’

  Minnie had no desire to revisit the past.

  A.A Jones, however, was keen to remind Minnie and the rest of the eavesdropping office.

  ‘We had The Jane Pollard Situation.’ She made it sound like two countries in a territorial dispute with civilians dodging bullets. Minnie had suggested that a senior partner, Jane Pollard, spend less time in the office and more time at home with her family. A.A Jones had witnessed the whole horrible scenario. The suggestion had blown up spectacularly. It clearly hit a nerve with Pollard who took out her frustrations on Minnie and then threatened to quit the company, taking her clients with her.

  Minnie found herself, once again, desperately attempting to defend herself. ‘Jane was miserable and asked me for advice.’

  ‘No. She. Didn’t,’ hissed A.A Jones. ‘She said, “What can I do?” It was a rhetorical question – a throwaway comment. It didn’t warrant an analytic response that questioned the happiness of her home life.’

  Minnie heard her words being twisted and said, ‘Jane Pollard is a brilliant analyst u
nder-performing because she misses her family. There could be readjustments that would benefit both…’

  ‘That’s enough, Miranda!’ snarled A.A Jones. ‘These opinions are way above your pay grade.’

  Minnie held her breath and waited for the second strike: The Fork Fiasco.

  She had dug a dessert fork into the crotch of an investor who decided it was perfectly acceptable to enhance a business lunch by thrusting his hand up Minnie’s skirt. He hit the roof when she stabbed him and practically accused Minnie of attempted murder. All the while, he had made a point of pawing over his stunning young girlfriend, thus effectively saying: why would I lay a finger on you when I can have this?

  It seemed as though the other diners were in agreement: prime steak versus pork chop.

  ‘You can understand why I am extremely nervous about letting you near cutlery and valuable clients,’ said A.A Jones. ‘The Fork Fiasco could have cost us a fortune.’ She rehashed the event as though it were on the same alert level as a currency meltdown in a financially stricken country.

  A.A Jones was warming to her theme. ‘You are a brilliant embarrassment.’ She had a Scottish accent that chugged around the room like a tractor engine. The Rs reverberated off the surrounding glass walls threatening to leave hairline cracks on the polished panes: brrrrrrrilliant embarrrrrrrassment.

  Minnie felt prickled indents on her skin – killed softly by consonants. The words had a viral ring to them. She shuddered and could see them following her through her lifetime and, ultimately, being carved on her headstone: Here lies Miranda Chase. Brilliant embarrassment and daughter of Faith and Winston Chase.

  ‘I have never met anyone who is so smart and yet so spectacularly dumb,’ continued A.A Jones. She was warming to her theme and clearly enjoying the moment.

  The name calling struck a chord. Minnie could feel a familiar panic rise up from her stomach and she struggled to control her breathing. She had a flashback to school gate horror and helplessness but managed to bring the conversation back on point. ‘I am aware of what is expected of me tomorrow night. Is there anything else?’

  ‘Tie up that awful hair. Wear a simple black dress. Your usual look is absolutely not acceptable on this occasion.’

  A.A Jones was always vocal about Minnie’s ‘usual look’, forever commenting that Minnie dressed like someone from a Fleetwood Mac tribute band, freakishly devoted to chiffon and shawls.

  ‘Despite my great reservations, you will be seated with eight influential people including Ashton Greene who is investing millions in this natural gas project. Greene insisted that he meet the analysts closely involved in this project and you, well, you…’ she couldn’t continue. It clearly pained her to acknowledge that Minnie’s input had been key to the whole operation.

  She added, ‘Bear in mind that Greene is a… sensitive character; don’t overwhelm him or intimidate him. Laugh at his jokes. Listen and look enthralled. Don’t be you. Be more like me.’

  Minnie stared ahead, waiting for A.A Jones to run to the end of her character-assassination check list.

  ‘I’m warning you, Miranda. The weirdo inside does not come out.’ She spoke with excruciating precision. ‘Oh, and for heaven’s sake, introduce yourself as Miranda not Minnie. Responsible grown-ups who want to be taken seriously in life do not use frivolous retracted versions of their names.’

  Initials such as A.A were the exception to the rule, obviously.

  Minnie managed an imperceptible nod.

  ‘What’s the mantra?’

  ‘Be less like me and more like you,’ whispered Minnie.

  ‘Think how I think. Act how I act. Use words that I would use. Do nothing that comes naturally to you.’

  Silence somehow sounded louder than insults as A.A Jones turned her attention to a thick document on her desk.

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Minnie, aware that the whole office was deathly quiet. This time it was the cringeworthy kind of silence. Even the phones had stopped ringing.

  A.A Jones answered without looking up. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  Minnie knew from experience that there is no graceful way to exit an office when you’ve just had a bollocking from the boss. Colleagues stuck their heads into work and quickly took calls to spare Minnie further embarrassment. She had no choice: put one foot in front of the other and power back to her desk – chin up, spirits down.

  Sympathetic glances were worse than supercilious smiles. People being nice to her confirmed her worst fears: hopeless loser.

  Think before you speak. This had been suggested to her many times but her head had a mind of its own. On another note, she had let her boss speak to her as though she was a hopeless loser.

  Minnie groaned. What the hell was she thinking when she repeated the A.A Jones’ mantra? Be less like me and more like you. The critical self-help voice in her head berated her: Stand up for yourself. Command respect.

  Minnie had spent a fortune on personal coaching lessons and appeared to have had no return on her investment to date.

  Minnie arrived at The Savoy one hour before the dinner was due to start. No one from the office was there. She sussed out the seating plan and the nearest direct exit. She effortlessly memorised names including Ashton Greene’s fiancée, Parker Bachmann, the political power wower from San Francisco.

  A.A Jones, she noted, had positioned herself directly opposite Minnie and Greene. She was four seats away but still too close for comfort. Minnie could not afford to make a mistake tonight. It had to go to plan.

  Minnie watched waiters polish glasses to high-shine perfection and adjust cutlery to exact dimensions in proximity to plates. Then she went to the bar and reluctantly resisted the temptation to order a glass of wine. She politely asked for mineral water, still, no ice – she couldn’t risk choking to death on a night like tonight. She waited, almost crippled with nerves.

  She watched Greene’s security team sweep the place to eliminate any threats to the great man. She had been informed that they were hand-picked ex-Navy SEALs with save-the-world reputations. They also had chest measurements comparable with the earth’s circumference. Their combat-ready presence threatened The Savoy’s serene atmosphere. Ear pieces snugly in place they barked orders as they worked. Minnie watched one of the men go over the cutlery with a futuristic-looking metal wand, checking for goodness knows what. She pictured tomorrow’s headline: American mogul shaken by sugar spoon assassination attempt.

  Then suddenly one of the men was thundering towards her, trigger finger pointing directly at her.

  She snapped out of people-watching mode and attempted to look official.

  He loomed over her, eclipsing the light from an overhead chandelier. ‘This is a private function.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ stated Minnie, straightening her shoulders, trying to look corporate and official. ‘I’m with Jones & Sword. A.A Jones is my boss.’

  He glared at her.

  She studied him. He had a dogtag swinging around his neck stamped with ‘Dragonet’, which was the name of the security firm. His name was also visible but she couldn’t make out the rest of the writing without leaning forward. Sudden movements didn’t seem wise at this given moment. The thick-set black-clad ninja continued to tower over her. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he whipped a grenade out of his pocket and dropped it down the front of her dress.

  When he didn’t say anything, Minnie elaborated: ‘We’re hosting tonight’s dinner.’

  He continued to glare at her and for a horrible moment Minnie thought she was about to be vigorously frisked. He eventually backed off, but not before snapping a photo of Minnie with his phone.

  Minnie now understood why some cultures believed that a photograph could steal a subject’s soul. She felt horribly uncomfortable and exposed.

  Then the full Greene team arrived in a whoosh of more security. These men wore dinner suits and sullen expressions accessorised with ear pieces and knock-you-dead aftershave.

  There was a perimeter of protectio
n around Greene that reached presidential level. Even the entertainment was a military operation and the pre-dinner drinks were dispatched with terminal velocity before everyone was marched through into the restaurant. Time is money, seemed to be the message at large.

  As the evening progressed, Minnie didn’t know what A.A Jones had been so worried about. She had been hurriedly introduced to Ashton Greene before being bundled out of his line of vision to allow significantly more important people talk time with the moneyed mogul.

  It gave her a chance to observe. Greene was gracious and polite, greeting guests with a firm handshake and eye contact. She had seen many photos of him posing with the formidable Parker Bachmann at fundraising events and parties. It was interesting to see him in person.

  First impression, great hairline although his thick, dark hair was prematurely greying. Minnie had done her research and knew that Greene was born in New York 39 years ago. She also noted very blue staring eyes, slightly hooded to add intensity to his stare. He wore an immaculately tailored suit that gave him a streamlined silhouette. She guessed him to be around 6ft 3ins, maybe more.

  As he was often described as the ‘notoriously private’ type she was surprised by his presence and detected a strong, confident aura. A.A Jones had read him wrong or had been duped by gossip. This looked like a strong man who could bend iron bars with his bare hands. Instead of rich well-tended skin, however, he was slightly weathered looking and a bit fatigued: tell-tale signs of a jet-set schedule. It didn’t harm his good looks though and as he helped her take her seat at the table Minnie couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes creased up when he smiled.

  Settled into her seat Minnie concentrated on maintaining her anonymity and avoiding A.A’s glare as much as possible. She was unwittingly supported in this by Parker Bachmann who was holding court at the dinner table throughout the meal. Greene remained noticeably quiet and seemed genuinely happy for his fiancée to do the talking. Indeed, everyone seemed happy to listen to this woman talk. She was a great raconteur and certainly knew how to work a crowd. She was glamorous and illuminating like a star. Parker also had magnificent teeth that practically reached the dining room’s perimeter walls when she smiled; this woman was a walking gargantuan grin, haute couture and strikingly handsome. She began to regale her audience, Minnie included, with an outrageous tale that involved a movie star’s secret stash of laxatives and this year’s host at the Oscars.