

Money For Nothing

Dom Price

For all those that have helped and supported, especially Mel, Steph, Jen as well as family & friends.

Published by Dom Price at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Dom Price

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

***

Chapter First Bit Bites

***

"Good Morning Mr Marsdon." Talking to yourself is a sign of madness to many, but to Dave it was a necessity. It was 7am and he had to get the show on the road.

You know, it's not easy being successful. Not only is it extremely addictive, but as Dave Marsdon knew, it was fraught with pitfalls. Whilst many were lucky to navigate these hurdles, Dave didn't attribute any of his success to mere luck. Luck was for people who weren't as clever as him.

Laying in bed on a crisp London morning, Dave was smug with his achievements, but knew that he had no time to reflect. The post-it note on the dresser reminded him, along with the other motivational notes he left for himself around the flat that "reflection rationalises failures...don't fail".

Dave was an immensely intelligent man, even by his own very high standards. Where others saw reason to celebrate, Dave saw another victory on his journey to be successful. Driven wasn't the word, but Dave was certainly gifted, and boy did he know it. For Dave, settling for 2nd best wasn't an option and there was nothing positive to glean from just being in the race. Dave had once told a runner up in an innovation competition that, "You didn't just have to be in it to win in...you had to be the best to win it." The focus with which he consumed the opportunities that were presented showed his tenacity and unquivering desire to be the very best, a target which he neared with every step of his esteemed life.

Striding into his palatial en-suite, a sneaky grin encapsulated his face as he saw another of his post-it notes. Chuckling to himself, he grabbed it, re-read it and dropped it in the wicker bin. Some things were so obvious and pure common-sense that you didn't need reminding of them. Entering the shower, Dave muttered to himself and giggled at the same time.

"The secret of success is to know something nobody else knows."

Turning on the shower and looking himself square in the mirror, it was time for some re-assurance.

"Well that makes me very successful then", Dave delivered confidently into the admiring mirror. He'd realised over recent years that one of the side effects of being so successful, is that you attract jealousy like a fresh candle attracts a moth on a summers night. And Dave knew that jealous people didn't like to compliment those that were better than them. It was for that reason that Dave had elected to take one of his own motivational ideas, and put it into practice. On a wet Saturday in March, he'd carefully completed a selection of post-it notes, half of which contained aspirational comments to help keep his mind focused. Reviewing his stubble and realising that game-day required a clean shave; Dave looked at one of the post-it notes that made up the rest of the motivational quota. Dave had always said that one of the weaknesses of some of his peers and competitors in the business world, was their sole focus is on always looking up. Dave knew better, and the perfect pick-me-up for a dedicated business man like himself, was to be reminded of previous successes. So Dave had written the other half of the post-it notes with refreshers that were his pat on the back and reminder of the brilliance that he'd achieved to date and the inspiration for him to continue with his journey in the game. The kind of stuff that jealous people won't say.

"Exceeded my parent's gross income by the time I was 25."

Underneath the bold pen was an edit that Dave had added as an afterthought that demonstrated to himself, his divine ability to propel himself to levels of success that many can't even dream off.

"Doubled it by 26."

Dave loved his parents, Derek and Jane, and never thought lowly of them. He credited them with an amazing up-bringing and thanked them regularly for how well they'd raised him and his twin sister Anne. His note wasn't a comparison and it wasn't a dig. The notes though were factual, and Dave wasn't one to hide away from a fact, especially one which reinforced his ambition to be bigger, better, faster and just more successful, than everyone else.

Dave was part way through his morning routine, when he selected the usual track from his vast music collection and immersed himself in something other than business. Striding with the combined confidence of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jnr, Dave mumbled and sang select words with his rendition of some Rat Pack classics, which this morning meant "Mr. Success!"

It was important to take advantage of these rare moments of downtime, which weren't frequently afforded to someone who didn't like to take his eye off the game. Being the best took dedication, but with presentations following an early morning coffee with his PA, Dave knew that he needed the super-hero outfit to compliment the sharp tongue and cutting knowledge to deliver the consummate message of "WOW" today. His fingers moved like a conductor as he sized the pristine selection of pin striped suits, one of which would be perfectly finished off with a crisp pink pastel shirt and matching tie and cuff links, that when all put together would enable him to execute the required look. A look that shot fear into his peers, as it provided Dave with the essential super hero mask and conveyed an uninterrupted view of accomplishments, drive, ambition, knowledge and power, without a single crease to show any weaknesses. Dave was a personification of doing things right.

The conductor's fingers quickly changed pace as Dave admired the finished article in the full length bedroom mirror as he finished his macchiato. He quickly gave himself both guns a blazing in the mirror. "pow pow pow" was swiftly followed by an acknowledging wink. He felt like a tribute to Michael Douglas in Wall Street, but with more panache, after all, he was the real deal.

Dave was built for these times, engineered for this environment and had developed in such a way that he oozed confidence like a distance runner oozes sweat. Dave's running track was the boardrooms of London's elite blue chip companies and his pace was in his seamless delivery of honed messages that evoked dreams of success in the heads of the senior executives that warmed the plush leather chairs of these boardrooms. Darwin would be proud if he could see how evolution had chiselled Dave.

With his focus still in the mirror, Dave's eyes wandered to the one part of his life which he didn't measure, gloat about or shower with the word success. The bed had all the attributes of an expensive and luxury setting, and it was complimented by all the other stylish finishes in the flat. And as things stood, Dave knew it served its primary purpose, as a device to house him during his hours of much needed slumber. But in that moment, he was reminded of the compromise that he'd made but wouldn't admit to. With such a sheen and polished exterior, coupled with his abundance of joy he experienced in every challenge he attempted, his family, colleagues and associates were right to make the assumptions that they all unilaterally made.

Like all super heroes, there was a truth behind the mask.

***

Chapter Behind The Mask

***

"Laura, I'm in the car and I'm on my way in. What have we got on today?"

Some would call them toys, but Dave invested in necessary devices that aided his life. One such device was his wireless blue tooth set and speaker system.

"Who is this?" The voice was blurry and confused.

"I am your boss Laura, and I'm asking you what we've got on today."

"What time is it?"

"Laura, I'll repeat myself again. I'm your boss, not your watch. However to save time and expedite the conversation onto something productive, it is 6.23am. I'd give you a weather report but it's quite insignificant."

"6.23am. I like to try and help where I can sir, but it is quite early, and I haven't got your diary up on screen yet, mainly because I'm still in bed."

"Laura, I'll give you a free lesson while you fire your computer up, but you first need to answer a quiz question. Other than silicone, what have Sheena Easton and Dolly Parton got in common?" Laura hurriedly reached under the bed for her laptop. Dave had insisted that she keep it available at all times.

"I'm not sure Mr Marsdon. Erm, they are both American?"

"Think more laterally Laura. Think pop quiz."

"Oh, I've got it." Laura was slowly waking up now and her brain was in gear. She started singing in a shocking attempt to parody Dolly Parton. "Working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin'."

"Exactly. And therein lies your free lesson for the day. Women sing about working 9 to 5 because they only have jobs. Laura, we have careers, and careers don't fit nicely into a box. If you merely want a dull, safe, existence of averages, then go get yourself a job. Working for me though, you have a career, and right now, if you can't tell me what I've got on for the day, that career might be in jeopardy."

Laura's machine came to light in the nick of time, and she intuitively loaded Dave's diary. The ironic part was that Dave had more technology toys than her and obviously had access to his own diary. But this wasn't about information. It was about power.

"Well Sir, you've got a management meeting upstairs this morning, I've blocked you out some free time before and after lunch to catch up on those reports and then you've got an internal training session this afternoon with the people from Learning and Development."

"A what? What do I still need to learn? Unless they have access to senior executives at large companies with bucket loads of cash to spend, I suspect that they have nothing to teach me. Bloody waste of time."

"Actually sir, it looks quite interesting. The session is for all the senior people here at CEC Services and it's about EQ."

"Laura, it is early, dark, raining and I'm trying to navigate London traffic. What the hell is EQ when it's at home and who sent the invite?"

"According to the brief they've sent through, it's about your emotional intelligence or emotional quotient as it says here. Like IQ, but for emotions. It kinda goes on to explain that you need to be emotionally smart to be able to empathise and understand your motivations and the motivations of others. Quite clever really. And it's from Rosemary in Learning & Development. Apparently she is a fully qualified occupational psychologist."

"Yeah, I bet she's never been at the coal face though. Those who can, do, those who can't, teach. Laura, do you have one of my business cards there? Can you just read it out for me? Nice and slow, and loud too. Cheers."

"Ermmm OK sir. David Marsdon BA, MBA (Distinction). CEC Services. Director Business Transformation Consulting. 141 Willow Place..."

"That is enough Laura. You see I'm a business man, not a friggin' social worker. I need sales, not tears. I'm a solver of organisations problems, not a shoulder to cry on. I make issues go away, so that I don't need to understand them. And I certainly don't need to chat about them. They are gone. That course isn't for me. Accept the invite and you can go in my place. You girls love your emotions. Just be careful they don't try to sign you up to any feminist cults. Next thing you'll be telling me you need an appraisal! I need you focused as we hone in on this push for promotion. I need you in my team."

"Why wouldn't I have an appraisal Sir?"

"Oh you do cheer me up sometimes Laura. Appraisal? Ha. Why would you need one of those? No-one works for you, you are part of the over heads and most importantly, if you weren't doing your job I would have sacked you by now."

Dave flicked a switch and the call was ended. Without touching another button, the music gently increased in volume and the day had commenced, though his mind wondered back to his empty bedroom.

When Dave had embarked on the journey and started his game, he knew there would be sacrifices he'd have to make on the way as he prioritised his success. There had been a few birthdays where the cards had arrived late and a few family functions which had clashed with business trips or important conferences, but he'd always made up for it with a good bottle of wine for his dad Derek, and some well timed flowers for his mum, Jane.

Checking his tie and cufflinks in the rear view mirror and trying to snap himself into the zone, Dave knew that his secret was safe and that he could continue to wear the mask of success in every part of his life, even those areas where he was arguably not even taking part.

Dave wasn't accustomed to admitting failures or weaknesses, so this particular indiscretion had been put down to timing. It wasn't that he didn't have the ability, but with all the other competing demands on his time and the need to focus, he just hadn't got around to it and frankly just didn't have the time. That said, Dave was glad at the assumptions that his colleagues made, and was happy to go along with the banter around the water cooler.

"I'm sure that your presentation at the Sales Conference had the women queuing up at your hotel room door" quipped one of the guys from CEC Services, the company where Dave was a Director.

"Ah you know, what goes on tour..." replied Dave in his usual sharp, but non-committal fashion.

The gaggle of men around the water cooler all hackled and knowingly looked at each other with the mystery of a horoscope and the maturity of teenagers.

Dave was just relieved that his tactical answer had avoided a lie whilst not telling the truth. He was sure the laughter would be raucous and continual if they'd known that he'd spent that night reviewing his appraisal forms and realigning his goals to the company's new strategy. But he walked away with his head held high, as it was him that was closer to the promotion than any of them, and a good few years their junior too.

Sitting in his luxury German inspired vehicle, Dave was relieved at his investment in heated seats in this top of the range, limited edition model. It was a definite requirement on these cold London mornings as he continued the slow drive into his city centre office. Alone in the car, it was hard for Dave to shed the thoughts that had wandered aimlessly through his head a few minutes before as he swapped his stare from the mirror to the bed. He didn't like having monkeys on his back. Flicking down the visor to block the early morning sunrise, Dave saw the last of his notes, which reminded him that "knowledge is power".

Living by the mantra of 'knowledge is power' satisfied Dave that it was OK that he was aware of his frailties, as long as they remained a secret. Should this information be in the hands of his arch rivals and peers, then the power would definitely shift and cause major embarrassment. Anyway, he knew that this wasn't a real frailty, but a decision and sacrifice that he'd made in the trade off that is life. Just like everything else in his life, surely he'd be able to excel at it, if he really wanted to.

***

Chapter Knowledge, Power and Embarrassment

***

As a highly motivated and focused 27 year old, Dave hadn't experienced much in the way of failures, and didn't really have much comprehension for the emotion of embarrassment in his adult life. His life contained plans, targets and goals that meant that failure and embarrassment were eliminated.

Dave dedication to 'knowledge is power' manifested itself in his attendance at a very enlightening "Success in Business; both contain U" conference in 2001 having attended the highly successful "There is no I in team, but there is a U in Business" conference in 2000. Whilst Dave had spent much of the seminar silently gloating to himself about how much of the material was mere commonsense to someone as naturally gifted as himself, there was a session which really struck a chord. The summation by the lead speaker, focused on how the human mind dealt very well with things that were in threes.

"Just listen to how people recite numbers, such as phone numbers." The guest speaker was talking at the sleepy suited crowd.

Dave's ears had immediately pricked up, thinking of how he'd leave a meeting with the wanton client visually gasping for more, and being left with the "it's 070 705 215 if you have any questions". So maybe this guy had something? Three examples later, and Dave was sold. The session had been well worth the €500 that he'd charged his company for it.

"Ah, its only expenses...they get more than their fair pound of flesh from me", not needing to calculate the return on investment for such genuine pearls of wisdom. Dave knew that to continue to maintain the advantage that 'knowledge is power' gave him that he had to maintain his intellectual intake on a regular basis. This lead speaker had just given Dave an edge and a secret potion that would be sure to unsettle his competition.

So since that day, Dave's decision making processes, conversations and life, basically revolved around the number three. If something came to four, then one had to be lost or consolidated. From now on, to be more successful, it was 3 or nothing.

As a creature of planning for success, Dave even had an evening routine which had been penned as a "Nightly Option List". Up until the conference, Dave's routine had actually been one of two things, but he'd rectified that and added a third option so that it complied with the 'Rule of 3'.

The new option, aptly named 'Option 1' was "complete relaxation and submersion in nothing". In fact, Dave never confessed to anyone, but this really wasn't an option for him at all, and statistically, it was the least frequented of his options.

The most regular evening activity and 'Option 2' related closely to Dave's career, as the discrepancy between working hours and social hours was blurred by a corporate function for the firm he worked with, CEC Services, a partnership of management consultants. Dave was the youngest Director in the history of CEC, where he'd fast tracked through the ranks at quite a pace and he was respected and revered by many of his colleagues. But whether they liked him or not, they certainly acknowledged his prowess as he glided effortlessly and casually around corporate hobb nobbing functions, with the glamour of James Bond, the wisdom of Yoda combined with the business charm and charisma of Richard Branson. Some called it networking, but Dave was in his element, doing what he called 'business flirting'.

"Yeah, I had a client who needed to improve their efficiency with production processing to impact the real bottom line," started Dave, answering the question that no-one had asked " but they didn't have buy in from the top management at what they were doing. I mean, what is the point in churning out another thousand widgets quicker, if all your customers want gidgets. So I told the CEO...I looked him in the eye, and said Greg, it's not just about doing projects right, it's also about doing the right projects", pointing his finger empathically as if Greg was actually amongst the people listening. He wasn't.

Dave delivered his short stories effortlessly and ended it with one of his barking chuckles as the stunned crowd of petrified introverted accountant droids stood in amazement and abated applause, without truly understanding a single word he said. Their grey suits, white shirts and plain ties paled into insignificance compared to Dave's abundance of colour and frightening combinations that lit up a room even before his super sharp tongue was in first gear. His jovial slap on the arm of the nearest colleague jolted the ensuing crowd into the normal combination of awe and fear. To say Dave was in his element delivering a healthy serving of panache laced with knowledge and seasoned with finger pulsing accuracy, would be like saying Lance Armstrong looks at home on a bike.

***

Chapter Facts & Figures As Food

***

When Dave wasn't business flirting, there was 'Option 3'; the return from home, eat and consume more knowledge nights, which for Dave panned out to be essential recharging and data gathering moments for the unknown challenges he knew lay ahead. These nights involved track pants and badly fitting T-shirts as the uniform of choice, usually something from a US department store that he'd buy on one of his many business trips to show that a good income shouldn't stop someone being frugal.

A gourmet microwave meal was spinning around in the stainless steel device. Dave liked the speed and efficiency with which the meal was prepared, and the fact that the recipes had been allegedly conjured up by a chef from a 2 hat restaurant. It didn't really matter as this was the culinary distraction and mere entrée for the real food.

The real fodder and passionate consumption for Dave, the delicacy that made him salivate at the lips and his stomach grumble with anticipation of the wonderousness that he was about to dive into with no remorse and full unadulterated vigour, was business periodicals. Whether it be the Forbes magazine or the latest "How to..." business journal, Dave attacked them like a hungover person finding a super sized Big Mac meal with milkshake freshly delivered for them at the foot of the bed. Dave even turned his Blackberry device to silent, with zero tolerance towards any concentration disturbance. Dave's knife and fork were his pad and pen, as his keen starving eye gazed the material for the next gem that would get him one step ahead, and the stepping stone to his next achievement. To Dave, every morsel of information on the plate before him was filled with unlimited potential and that each mouth full of data would go some way to satisfy his never ending cravings for more knowledge and ultimately, more power.

He knew that the guys he competed with in the office were all loved up, and he knew that their cutting edge and decisiveness was diminished by too many nights in front of the TV watching nonsense reality programmes and nonchalantly agreeing with their other halves. Being invited to a 1st Birthday party was not a great sign, but being forced to go to it to keep your 'better half' happy, was a sign of weakness that would never enter Dave's realm. He was simply too good at what he did and too focused at success to be distracted by a woman. Where his peers lapped up dull dinner parties and trips to the garden centre, Dave was increasing his advantage over them with more knowledge. There were no visits to the DIY store for Dave. He outsourced his non-business critical tasks to free up the time so he could be better at what he did. Simple business logic to him.

Dave's apartment was a delusional display of technology and convenience, and to anyone who visited, shouted BACHELOR WITH TOO MUCH MONEY at the loudest decibel possible. For a place so rarely occupied and completely under-utilised, it was amazing that he bothered with his little cleaning lady. As a man with a decent disposable income, and no-one to spend it on but himself, one would expect a lavish pad, but Dave was frugal with his money, unless he was spending someone elses. His one exception to delving into his deep pockets was when it came to boys toys. You see, for all his management guru abilities, opinions and assuredness, Dave had an Achilles heel just like everyone else, and his frugal nature was frequently swallowed up when Dave treated himself to a new piece of technology. His favourite website was iwantoneofthose.com, which is where much of Dave's money was invested. His recent acquisitions had included a system which stored every one of his 2,000 CD's electronically on a server which connected to separate devices in every room which featured voice recognition playlists. Dave still got a cheap thrill every time he walked in his room and said the word Shakira, only to hear here dulcet tones come blasting out of the discreet speakers a matter of seconds later. "I wonder if one day they'll be able to make her appear in my bedroom too?", Dave thought to himself, shaking his hips and abundantly aware of this loneliness that his lifestyle choices presented. On this particular night, 'Option 3' was in full flow so the music system was getting a rest tonight, and the entertainment was coming from Dave's state of the art audio visual suite, which was fully equipped with every device most people will never need.

Dave didn't watch television as such. Too many distractions. He much preferred DVD's so he could watch things at his convenience. His entire collection was courtesy of Harvard, and consisted of more inspiration motivational speakers than it did hit comedies.

A colleague from work, Roger, had lent Dave some DVD's which he was eager to get familiar with. Dave had been a little hesitant given that Roger had provided him with a burnt copy of the show in question, and piracy really wasn't Dave's thing, but he could turn a blind eye for a free DVD.

Dave hadn't listened to Roger that intently, but he recalled something being said about a 'documentary' and 'very successful'. In fact, he couldn't even remember what the show was called, but knew it was definitely about offices.

It was series 2, when David Brent left the handicapped girl on the fire stairs during the alarm, that Dave took studious notes, quickly noting the bullet points down:

  * inspirational display of unconventional efficiency

  * sharp and effective decision making

  * survival of the fittest!! (one of his favourite theories of business)

It was only the next day when Roger suggested they go out for a coffee. Dave assumed that it was to discuss the contents of the DVD's that he'd borrowed.

"I'm glad we're out of the office. I don't feel like there are many people I can talk to in there you know. Not properly."

Dave didn't have a response. He didn't entertain personal topics, and certainly wouldn't have agreed to meet in public alone if that was the case. His fears were confirmed when Roger ordered a Chai Latte. Maybe he'd been on the EQ course.

Sipping on his insipid smelling non-coffee, Roger did what Dave had dreaded. He confided in him.

"So, thanks again for this. Look, I'm having a few problems at home, you know with the wife, and I just needed someone to talk to. Challenges in the bedroom are hard issues to talk about. You know how it is."

The silence was mainly caused by Dave trying to work out if his mate Roger really thought he was in the confession box at church, or whether he was just at the stage with his wife and two kids where it was somehow deemed as appropriate to open up to random work colleagues. However much he tried though, Dave couldn't empathise with Roger, as their lives were just too different.

Either way, this revelation had put Dave in a predicament. If he said nothing, it was a silent acknowledgement that Roger could continue, which was a hellish thought. If he cut him off entirely and changed the topic, then Roger could be hurt. Dave had to find a joint topic that they shared and navigate the conversation that way.

There was only one option.

"Oh yeah, talking about you and your wife. Thanks so much for lending me those DVD's. They are inspirational. I took some really good notes." This was an unusual foray for Dave. He didn't normally share his secrets about knowledge accumulation, but it was worth the risk to change the subject.

Breaking the silence with his story about The Office, Dave wasn't aware of the magnitude of his revelation, until the shuddering shock hit him, like the first time he tried to fix his ghetto blaster as a keen 12 year old, whilst forgetting to unplug it from the mains.

"David Brent isn't real" he muttered to himself, inhaling the expensive coffee beans whilst merely tasting disgust and disappointment in this awful truth. Roger was no longer concerned about problems he was having at home, instead focusing his attention on the only error in judgement he'd ever known Dave to make. Roger sniggered right into Dave's face, seeing an opportunity to mock the unmockable.

"Please tell me that you honestly did not think that The Office was a documentary? Everyone knows that its one of the funniest things on TV, but you'd have to be socially inept and a very sad, lonely person to have not realised that...you are joking aren't you?"

Dave's experience didn't reach to understanding the need to recover from embarrassing situations, as he prided himself on never being in them in the first place, utilising another one of Dave's dynamic ditties "prevention is better than cure". Bereft of ideas on how to get away from this situation, Dave decided that the only option was distraction. So he swilled his coffee cup with such vigour that some foam leapt from the cup and landed with amazing accuracy on Roger's dull tie. Once the napkins had been handed out and absorbed the foam, Dave began assuring Roger that he'd made up the story about thinking The Office was a documentary, to make him feel better about things at home. As they left the coffee shop, Dave patted himself on the back. It hadn't been a comfortable situation, and he wouldn't be seeking to do it again, but he genuinely felt like he'd helped Roger today and that felt good.

The failure of his experiment with opening up, had convinced Dave that he needed something to prevent such embarrassments in the future. His solution was to stick to his 'Rules of 3' and do so with commitment, composure and confidence, and to do this, he needed an over aching framework with which to deliver the success he loved so much.

The rules were simple and had been noted down by Dave in the cab on the way home from the conference that very night. Dave was glad of the structure that would hopefully provide him with even more cutting edge in the office. But it was too early to reveal them to the outside world just yet, otherwise their value could be compromised. Dave knew all too well that the best competitive advantage, was one which couldn't be copied easily, and you can't copy something that you don't know about. Three words, and 3 rules.

Dave knew there were no guarantees in life, but he was certain that with these three words, he could continue on his amazingly fruitful journey to success and avoid the pitfalls that others seemed to have to navigate. And importantly, if he kept to his 'Rule of 3', then no-one would need to know Dave's secret and get to see the man behind the mask of success.

That night at home, Dave got out his marker pen and wrote his 'Rule of 3' in big bold letters on his wardrobe doors. His new mantra was safe there. No-one else would ever see it and he could begin to absorb it with each victory. Three simple words.

***

Chapter Where It All Started

***

It was a chilly winter in Sheffield in 1991 as the Marsdon family prepared for its usual busy festive season. It had been an eventful year, with the Gulf War and the death of Freddie Mercury. The festive season was always a very special time of year for the family, but this year was extra special. David and Anne, his twin sister, both officially turned 13years old on the 6th December 1991, a double celebration for Jane and Derek who could commemorate 20 years of marriage at the same time as surviving to see their little nippers enter their teenage years. There was the obvious joy of Christmas time, which was scented with a hint of sadness for the senior Marsdon's this year.

The kids were starting to grow old fast, and despite being those funky parents that thought they were really hip, Jane could definitely see that the kids were growing at a rapid pace and would soon be young adults. Some recent incidents had proved sufficient examples to her, but Derek was still staunch.

"They are still kids Jane. And they respect us because we are trendy parents " he would frequently quip, much to the dismay of Jane and the obvious embarrassment of the 'kids' who were demoralised at being asked to "hang out" with their Dad. If that wasn't enough, Derek had more than his fair share of Dad Jokes, and every time David got ready for his newspaper round, Derek would put on his 'Mott The Hoople' vinyl on the family stereo and do his air guitar entry into his rather high pitched impression of "All the young dudes, carry the news" whilst pointing at young David in his mock rock'n'roll fashion.

David and Anne were mature beyond their years when it came to their Dad's parading to old music and aging one liners, and often chuckled to themselves with his various performances. What was worse was when Derek could be found doing his drunken Mick Jagger impersonation around the lounge. Normally this was after a Sunday roast or over the Christmas period when one too many wines had been consumed, and Derek's sleeves would be slid up his hairy and aging arms, as he assumed the position. The position required legs bent in at the knees, and out at the ankles, arms on hips and head back to the right hand side in a shocked/startled pose as he flicked his lips into the Mick Jagger pose, and began prancing around the lounge like hyperactive middle aged man with a point to prove..."come on kids, come and dance with your Dad" requested Derek, looking more like a white Tina Turner doing the chicken dance, than he did the front man of the Rolling Stones! The response from Derek and Anne was one of compelling silence, delivered with the now customary look to each other, a look of embarrassment and the look for an escape.

Jane had seen the day coming for a while. There was the time that Derek sat down with David to concoct his annual letter to Santa, when the first of the teenage arguments ensued. It started with David not wanting to be called David anymore, and preferring Dave. Apparently David wasn't manly enough, which caused immediate friction with Derek. Grandad Marsdon, Derek's father, had recently passed away, and Derek had hoped that the memory of a fine upstanding citizen and gentleman of the community, would continue in the younger David.

"Your granddad was a David for his entire life and it never did him any problems young man." Derek rarely got feisty, but he was a staunch family man. He received merely a grunt back from Dave. It seemed their long silly boy chats were starting to be a thing of the past. Derek hoped that the Santa letter writing would be a good chance for the lads to reconnect, but once again this year, he'd got it wrong. Derek had busily prepared a hot chocolate for each of them and dropped in the essential marshmallow to really indicate just how much of a treat this was. Equipped with a selection of coloured paper, coloured pens, child safety scissors and an energetic imagination, Derek was mildly excited about the adventure. Sadly, on entering Dave's room, Derek was a tad shocked to find that Dave wasn't around but had already written his version of his Santa Letter.

The Atari computer screen was flashing with an eclectic mix of colours and sounds, something which was new to Derek as technology was certainly not his forte. He kind of understood computers, but just didn't trust them, and hadn't been overly convinced when Jane persuaded him to get the computer for the kids for their 12th Birthday.

"I mean, what about a good old fashioned board game that everyone in the family could sit around and enjoy?" Jane had won out, and Dave had bonded with the computer at the expense of his relationship with his father.

Derek was convinced that these boxes of wires, oversized keyboards that looked like typewriters without the paper, would not take off. Waddingtons knew what they were doing, and Monopoly would be a staple in every home for decades to come. Derek was sure of it.

Flashing on the screen in an abundance of red and white, was a statement which left nothing to the imagination..."IF YOU THINK SANTA IS GAY, THEN CLICK HERE". Alone in the room, and besotted by curiosity, Derek approached the foreign environment that was the computer table and associated electronics and nervously navigated the mouse towards the appropriate button. The shriek that left his mouth was ear piercing, but was at such a frequency, that only mosquitoes and rare breeds of Alsatians could hear him. In fact, there was every chance that Lassie was on his way over.

On closer inspection, the outer section of the screen was strewn with mini Santa's been assaulted by a selection of his reindeer. The one that will forever remain imprinted on Derek's mind was Prancer performing an erotic and thrusting style non-festive jig with Mr Claus from behind whilst Dancer was flashing his red nose into Mr Claus shocked looking face...at least he hoped it was his red nose.

"Quite conclusive!" Derek was cautious as he nudged the mouse to the HERE button. There were mixed emotions of relief combined with sadness, as Derek saw what was in front of him. David was now Dave, and his little boy was growing into a young man. Not only was his grasping technology with ease, but he seemed quite comfortable using sexual references in such a jovial fashion.

Derek was lost in his son's world of confusing wires and even more confusing teenage hormones, but immediately knew that on the screen before him was Dave's attempt at this year's letter to Santa.

Dave Marsdon Esq

15 Bleheim Pleasant

Crookes

Sheffield

S10 1DH

FAO: Dad

Re: Christmas gifts, beliefs and snooping

Dad, you have passed the test as a snoop, but it's OK, because Santa is not gay. He can't be, as he doesn't exist. And even if he was gay, what he was just doing with the reindeer has a different name, although I do believe that the reindeer were males.

As for Christmas Dad, Anne and I both know that you and Mum scurry out to get the presents between us writing our Santa letters and Xmas Day, and then try your hardest to hide them in the back of your wardrobe. For the last 13 years we have been eternally grateful for this gorgeous tradition, but we've elected to try something a little different this year. This year, we've decided what we want, and Anne has prepared a separate list that Mum will find when she goes looking for Anne's diary. I know you have been saving the coupons and vouchers for transformer toys, new games for my computer and an array of socks that would be generous for even Gandi, but I would like the following for Christmas please:

  * Any books on Richard Branson and Alan Sugar

  * Subscription to Forbes magazine

  * Subscription to Harvard Business Review and back dated copies

  * Bill Gates; Is he the next big thing? (in hard back please. I believe this will be the new bible)

  * The making of the Sinclair C5

  * A word processing software package for the computer

  * A Lexmark TD7 dot matrix printer

  * A whiteboard and marker pens for my room

I already have three copies of "The Best Christmas album EVER" so please do not get me that again. It's a false economy. I will also require a selection of razor blades and shaving foam soon, but I don't believe these should fall under the category of "gifts" as they are more like everyday consumables. We can go and get these in the January sales where we can no doubt get a better bargain.

I also do not need that cable that I had originally asked for, to connect my ghetto blaster to Anne's. Long story, but it is now surplus to requirements, so if you've still got the receipt, we can take that back to Tandy.

Please understand that careful consideration has gone into our selection of gifts for this Xmas, and we have not taken these decisions lightly. Our main objective was to provide you and Mum with the easiest opportunity to get bang for your buck and maximize the efficiency of your transactions, viz-a-viz your spending threshold.

Warmest Regards,

Dave (your only son and future CEO of Marsdon Enterprises)

Sitting there in a daze, Derek didn't know what had happened in his kids busy life to cause what seemed like a dramatic change, but he did know one thing. They were growing up and he always said that there was nothing wrong with knowing what you wanted from life. And he was left with little uncertainty that Dave was pretty confident on what he wanted for Christmas, and maybe even what he wanted from life and Derek would be there to support them wherever possible. But a little part of him did wonder as he sat back on Dave's office chair, "where did all this start?" Little did he know the significance of the ghetto blaster lead that he'd only recently purchased for Dave from Tandy electronics store. With teenage years came a loss of innocence.

***

Chapter Look, Listen and Lust

***

"Student single into town please driver?"

It was just a month previous that Dave had been on the bus into town, listening to last year's birthday present which was the ever impressive Sony WSD 75E Walkman, featuring the essential base boost and a set of carefully selected headphones which were so large that they actually doubled as earmuffs. In fact, to a novice or someone over the age of 35, they looked just like ear muffs but with wires and a dull din coming from them.

The bus was full with the usual selection of local residents. There was the purple rinse brigade of older women sporting offensive combinations of gingham check, all within the boundaries of shades of beige and brown. It was almost as if they got to a certain age and went colour blind, able to only recognise dull colours. Dave didn't know any of them personally, but guessed that they were all called Mary, June or Margaret.

The brigade were in direct opposition to the younger crowd of boys that used the bus to just cruise around town causing trouble. Whilst the purple ladies muttered endlessly, they secretly enjoyed having something fresh to whinge about. In between the young boys and the old ladies was a mixture of single mums, battling to retain control of the snivelling children as the bus turned the corners around Sheffield's city centre.

Margaret was leaning over towards June, trying to combat her partial deafness and the roar of the diesel engine. "There is one at the back. I think it's the Marsdon boy and he has got bloody wires coming out of his earmuffs? You know June, keeping up with all this electronic mumbo jumbo is impossible. What is next hey? I read in t'paper the other week that some idiot reckons we'll all have t'computers and all that crap soon? I tell you summat for nowt June. I'm having no friggin machine like that in my house, I tell you that for FREE". June nodded in complete agreement, oblivious to what was being said and concerned that she could have been potentially charged for that useless piece of information. "You're right Margaret. They couldn't have survived in our day this lot. Not with rations and the like." As naturally as a chrysalis becomes a butterfly, the conversation diverted to the 50's and 60's, when times were tough and you respected your elders.

Dave was as self aware as your average teenage boy, and saw no problems as he inevitably turned up the volume on his new tape to really test the base boost and new headphones. He'd borrowed a tape from his Dad's car that had a song on it that he just couldn't get enough of. Everyone has a song. From the past or from the now. A song that when it comes on, wherever you are, and whatever you are doing, you just want to turn it up and immerse yourself in the memory of when you first heard it, or feel like you are the video for the song. What you were doing? What you were wearing? How bad that looked? You can remember all of it. Dave had just found that song, and it was on its hundredth play of the weekend.

It just so happened that with each passing year, the propensity to be embarrassed by immersing yourself in that moment, got significantly higher. But as a 12 year old approaching his teenage years, Dave was relatively care free and had only two thoughts on his mind.

One, how hot is Veronica Cartwright, a girl from Dave's class at school, and two, how much better does Dire Straits 'Money for Nothing' sound when you really turn it up. Sitting back on the bus, Dave cranked up the volume, pressed the headphone muffs close to his ears to limit any escaping music and went to that place...the place where he is on stage, guitar in hand and playing the unmistakable riff of 'Money for Nothing' with his luminous Mark Knopfler headband on, and as he looks to the side of the stage and sings the words "money for nothing and your chicks for free" he turns casually and romantically to see a grown up and very busty Veronica Cartwright ogling at his every move and every strum. She is his and he is hers. If only the real world existed behind the thin veil of our closed eyes.

Dave was startled back into the now as one of the ladies belted him with a rolled up newspaper, as his quiet singing along hit new heights of volume and disturbed the whole bus. The breaking voice of a 12 year old Yorkshire lad really does have to work hard to reach the trained tones of Sting's backing vocals in 'Money For Nothing'. A little embarrassed, Dave was about to opt for a lower volume when he decided to conserve the batteries for another occasion. A decision well made, as it hadn't been the singing or air guitar solo that had prompted the whack from the old lady.

Mary, stunned at what she couldn't see going on behind the chair, had convinced June of something completely different to the air drumming that Dave had been entertaining. "Boys at that age" muttered Mary to June. "They think it's a toy. Tell him that it'll bloody well fall off if he carries on doing that to it. Or he'll get arrested doing that in public!" June's retort was simple but involved anger that caused splattering of spit to come with it towards a cowering Mary.

Without music as a distraction, Dave surveyed the rest of the people of the bus. A row in front of him, a couple of boys from a few years ahead of him at big school were sat chatting away. Well chatting might be a bit of a stretch. At the age of 14 ¾ normal words were replaced with grunting in a kind of dull teenage language that resembled Neanderthal man crossed with the noise we all make when we've been to the dentist and had an anaesthetic.

The boy to the right had astounding amounts of bum fluff and wispy hair on his chin that literally looked like sporadic collections of dust, that needed brushing away rather than shaving away. The aroma from him suggested that he'd taken careful consideration before leaving his house and strangely decided to forgo a shower in preference of dousing himself in some horrendous cheap aftershave that was causing irreparable damage to everyone's nose hair with its pungent smell. Dave's mind working overdrive as usual was focusing on the irony of the scent. In school recently they'd had a chat from someone about the dangers of sniffing glue or inhaling the gas from aerosols, and yet this aftershave had been deemed legal. The one advantage to the whiff was that it overtook the normal winning combination of moth balls and lavender that the old ladies chose as their potion of passion. The boy chewed gum like a cross between a cow chewing grass, and the cement mixers that sat waiting to deliver their mixture where the new motorway was being built near Dave's parents house. His hair contained so much gel, that Dave couldn't help but think that its maintenance was a full time project and probably involved walking the hair version of a tight rope walk. It was styled to be messy. That made no sense to Dave.

Dave was transfixed on the older boys, and this joyful new sport of people watching. What Dave loved most was that as well as being fun, it was free! The smell was so powerful that Dave didn't have an opportunity to admire the boy's Fred Flintstone jeans with the purpose ripped knees. He didn't yet understand why you'd ruin a perfectly good pair of jeans by ripping them, but that was the difference between being 12 and becoming a fully fledged teenager.

The second boy could only be described as the other half of the fire hazard. Whilst the gel and aftershave of the boy on the right was to a fire, what light is to a moth, the second boy was the accelerant. He was casually sporting a pristine shiny shell suit that created more static electricity than the local power station. The labelling was so prominent and large, that the shell suit paled into insignificance in comparison. It was really a true testament to his use of hair mousse and selection of the 'flat top' hair style, that meant that the static had no chance of affecting his already vertical hair style. His footwear had been clearly chosen with a growth spurt in mind, and would have suited an NBA basketball player as they didn't fit him yet. The spots and the acne that adorned his face with a glow, would have made for a good dot-to-dot, but on reflection, Dave was fascinated to try and find Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper within the boys puberty constellation. Feeling reflective, Dave touched his own face to feel his slightly greasy but extremely soft smooth face. There were no spots and no signs of the fluff that the first boy was sporting. The simple conclusion rang true in his head; "Must avoid aftershave and shell suits."

What the second boy lacked in chewing gum, he made up for in industrial strength snivelling. Surely if a man's nose was actually that runny, he'd actually opt for some kind of surgery. Mind you, on reflection, it could well have been an allergic reaction to his friend's aftershave. Admittedly, it was drawing into winter in Sheffield, and whilst some would comment that it was partly winter in every season, this year appeared to be comparably mild. In fact, Dave had opted for last year's Xmas jumper, as much for the fact that he knew Nanna would be at home by the time he got back, rather than for the fashion statements that it didn't make. Dave was convinced by now that once you got to a certain age, ie Nanna's age, you thought all children had a secret fetish for obscenely bright colours, badly combined in an ill-fitting style; after all, that is what Nanna got for him and Anne every year!

Back with the snivelling boy, Dave was suddenly dazzled by the jewellery that clogged his hands. A chain around the wrist, and a myriad of faux gold products on fingers and thumbs, including a rather brash looking ring that was sealed with a one pound coin. Dave wondered quietly if they actually used a one pound coin and just set it in the ring, and then moved on to wonder if it could be classed as legal tender...he really did need to get out more.

Not besieged by the raw class being displayed by the two boys, Dave's senses quickly changed place, and his hearing moved into first position as the overload of sights became too much. With the dull hum of the diesel bus churning away in the background as the driver navigated the old bus around the seven hills of Sheffield, Dave listened intently, without truly understanding the magnitude of what he was about to hear and how it would impact his life. In hindsight, learning who'd shot JFK could have had less of a life altering moment compared to this. Innocently listening in, with ears that his Dad Derek teased "could pick up a mouse's fart from outer space", Dave was now focused on the boy's conversation.

"So I made the tape round at me Dad's house right, and I just stuck a few love songs and stuff on, and then some stuff that would you know, really make her think that I liked her right...and then I just posted it through her door with a note that kinda said that I'd made it for her and that the songs made me think of her" retold the chewy boy.

Aftershave man's face was aghast, and simply managed a very focused "so...what happened then?"

"Well after school last week, she grabs me in the playground and asked for a chat right. So I'm like yeah, and she is like, so, I listened to your tape. Next thing I know, she leans forward and sticks lips on me. Like full on lips and tongue and allsorts."

"Did you touch her ass or tits or anything like that?" Aftershave boy interrupted, eagerly wanting more details.

"Ha, well I was about to reach for some cheek, when Mr Johnson from Science bangs on the window and shouted something about decorum and stuff, so we legged it. But I swear mate, mix tapes are the way forward. You need to get a good variety of stuff on there, and apparently if you really want a girl to like you, you just add in your own chat, in between songs, kinda like you are running your own radio station. Girls love it!" chewy surmised, with an ease that made the entire process sound like a stroll in the park. Aftershave boy nodded and was fully sold on the idea.

David had heard enough, and the plan was already devised in his head. He'd borrow the small stereo from the kitchen that his mum listened to whilst preparing the family meals. He'd get a collection of tapes from the downstairs dresser and the car, which was a great source of classic sing along love songs. The finishing touches would have to be some of Anne's chart music that her and her friends seemed to hover around like men around a TV when there is sport on. Dave's only concern was that whilst he had a good grasp on the older music that his parents indulged in, he was less comfortable with the chart music that Anne embraced so naturally. He did have the option of asking her advice or even explaining his plan, but whilst Dave and Anne were extremely close, this was a solo mission that required the utmost secrecy, preparation and delivery.

***

Chapter Target, Aim and Misfire

***

"Veronica Marsdon. Ronny Marsdon for short."

The more he said it, the more David was convinced that her name had a definite ring to it.

Dave collected his pencil case and marker pen, and made it official. Across his pencil case and school bag, the words were etched. "Dave Ronny, I.D.S.T."

Before commencing on the journey of preparing a mix tape, David had already defined success as getting a snog from Veronica. It surely wasn't too much to ask given the apparent joy that the boy on the bus had experienced. It seemed relatively straight forward and almost fool proof.

He'd never really kissed a girl, and hadn't actually ever thought he'd wanted to. Girls had been fun for some Kiss Chasey around the playground in his formative years, but Dave had never actually followed through with a kiss on the lips, always preferring the safe option of kissing them on the cheek. Commitment wasn't his strong point from an early age, but he was also risk averse having seen the consequences of others actions. He'd learnt this from his best friend, Tony. Recently besieged with a constant flow of cold sores around his mouth, Tony blamed the incarnations of his bad judgement in kissing Nina Menzies on the lips in a junior school game of Kiss Chasey. Nina was a favourite with the boys due to her cute bunches, lofty stature and early adoption of more significant female attributes. She was the first girl in their year to acquire boobs, much to the joy of all the immature boys.

Tony hadn't been humble in his victories at Kiss Chasey, kissing Nina firmly on the lips and then parading around the playground as "The Champion of Kiss Chasey". His humbleness came later with the reaction on his face. The frequent resurgence of his cold sores were the only reminder of his 'victory' which was no longer shouted about with such pleasure. During a recent kick around of football after school, Tony had revealed that he'd had a reaction to kissing Nina other than the sores, and that this particular reaction was what happened when you kissed a girl.

David was curious. "Did you get some more cream for it?", but Tony had laughed this off as a joke, and went on to give Dave a rather interesting interpretation of the birds and the bees.

"So when you kiss a girl, if you like her, and she likes you, then it causes this reaction in your trousers and it feels really nice."

"What, like your cold sores, but on your legs? How could that be nice?"

"No you idiot. Your todger! You know at night sometimes you have dreams about naughty stuff, well it's like a real life version of that!"

Dave considered his response carefully. He'd not talked to anyone about some of the dreams he'd been having, and it really wasn't a comfortable topic for him, but Tony seemed very relaxed about the situation.

"So how is kissing a girl like having these dreams then?" David had a strong desire to fill some of the rather large gaps in his knowledge and was bereft of other sources of information. Whilst Derek had sat him down for a rather embarrassing chat a few months previously, he covered it more from the biological angle and suggested absolutely no notions that you might be able to determine the future bond with a girl by kissing her and having a reaction in your pants.

Dave knew all about how to not get a girl pregnant, and even about having babies, but had received none of the illicit information about why you'd want to do either. In fact, Dave had learnt more about the real juice behind the birds and the bees from carefully placing a glass on the wall and listening intently to every gem of detail that his Mum had delivered to Anne. For one so prudish when it came to language, Jane was extremely at ease and confident in discussing intimate subjects with Anne, and when Dave saw them together, he was a little jealous of their relationship. He was close enough to his Dad, but they didn't share the same giggles and mischief that his sister and Mum did. During this particular chat though, jealousy was way down the list of considerations, as Dave learnt third hand about the contraceptive pill, something that happened every month or every period, and a whole load of very confusing conversation around "preserving your preciousness for the right man". Luckily for Dave, a selection of leaflets had been left behind by his Mum and he eagerly read them from cover to cover when no-one was looking.

"Well if you, you know...if you fancy a girl" Tony continued, now feeling a little self conscious himself, "and you kiss her right. Well if you like her and she likes you, then your todger grows as like a sign that it's all OK. Some people have to put their tongues in and then the girls do too, and that is what the French do. I overheard my Dad the other day and he mentioned something about a Scottish Kiss, but I don't know what that is." Tonys conclusion was succinct as he began scratching at one of his festering cold sores.

"So the girl doesn't have to be French for it to be a French kiss then?" David was very confused about the authenticity of some of Tony's geographical kissing. He placed much more reliance on the leaflets he'd read, which made no mention of such actions or reactions.

"No you plonker. French kissing is when you put your tongue in the birds mouth, and she does the same, and you kind of battle. Give me your thumb."

"You can sod if you think I'm going to let you French kiss my thumb. I saw what happened with you and Nina Menzies! I don't want coleslaws all over my hands!"

"They are called cold sores, not coleslaw. And I am not going to kiss your thumb. Let's have a thumby war. One, two, three, four, I declare the thumby war"

The boys competitively gripped hands and began jostling their thumbs. Random pressure applied and the boys fought for the angle, with their teenage thumbs knocking together, their mouths grimacing with the concentration and determination that comes with being a 12yr old hormonal boy. Suddenly, just as Dave thought he was getting the upper hand over the weakening Tony, the instigator pulled his hand away and stood, extremely proud. "That is French kissing!" he proclaimed.

Dave was now all kinds of confused, and displayed a whole new level of being lost for words. His mind over-reacted and went through a crazy series of thought processes as he stood motionless with his right thumb still triggered from the war. So did French kissing require that you engaged the girl of your choice in a thumby war, or therefore did he just experience a French kiss with his best friend and male, Tony? What were the ramifications of this? On the plus side, Dave's long and strong thumbs meant he was mildly successful at most thumby wars, and therefore bode well for a decent career of French kissing. That said, he'd not competed much against girls, so maybe his stats wouldn't translate over to the weaker sex? Worse still, his first time had been with another boy.

Weighing up the pro's and con's of being gay at 12yrs old versus showing excellent promise of being a seasoned and successful French kisser, Dave's thought process and motionless was broken by Tony's extended explanation. "So what we just did with our thumbs. That is what your tongue does with the chick whilst you snog her, to make it a French kiss, only different coz you don't use your thumbs."

The relief at not being the youngest and only gay he knew was a welcome feeling, along with the genuinely good addition of kissing technique to what was a barren chapter in Dave's life story. Knowing how to kiss was one thing, but who to kiss had been a blank page for a long time.

Now with a strong desire to add to this empty page, Dave had spotted Veronica around the play grounds and in some of the classes they'd had together. His attempts to get noticed had been a little barbaric to begin with. Lost for anything to say in the queue for lunch, Dave had panicked and pulled at Veronica's hair, later realising that this form of affection could be confused for Grievous Bodily Harm which was punishable with time in prison. That though, was nothing compared to the dead arm he'd given her in history, after failing miserably to write her a cute note or communication to her in anyway which utilized words and smiles, opting for 'playful' punches and hair pullings instead.

Dave had been waiting for an opportunity, and it looked like it might come on the annual class field trip to the local zoo. On the field trip, Dave had wanted to progress things at what seemed like an alarming rate for a teenager. He was hoping for a conversation. This level of progress was pretty much unheard of amongst his peers, but Dave had always been buoyed on by confidence in his convictions, brought about by spending considerable time with Grandad Bob who had an anecdote for every occasion, and who could spur the snail on to beat the Hare and the Tortoise!

High on the confidence with a man on a mission, and with a devout desire to appease the pain he'd caused Veronica with the dead arm to her petite and yet womanly frame, Dave was mentally ready for this challenge. Almost in direct correlation to the conversations that Dave and Tony were now having, Dave had noticed that most of the girls in school had definitely started to change their appearance. As a taller than average lad, Dave was at first impressed to see that Veronica was approaching his stealthy height over recent months, but as their length grew ever closer, something dramatic happened practically right before Dave's eyes...in fact, about 10 inches lower than the eyes. Having invested months in Physical Education and the playground ogling at Veronica's glorious frame and increasing height, Dave now found himself permanently transfixed by Veronica's new depth in the chest department. Tony called them 'Babylons', "Bristols" or "Baps", but all Dave knew was that Veronica was the complete package for him and he'd be happy for a Welsh kiss for now, let alone anything else.

The ride over the Pennines and the Yorkshire Dales in the noisy school bus was largely uneventful for Dave. He'd normally sit with Tony and plot some form of disruptive fun, but on this occasion he left Tony to terrorise the girls at the back of the bus with his on-demand flatulence. Dave's seat towards the front of the bus afforded him some anonymity and the chance to plan his attack.

Despite the lack of structure and the apparent free for all in The Manchester Science and Industry Museum, Dave was searching for the holy grail of school field trips, which was a moment alone. Whilst every sinew in his body was bursting with false confidence that today was the day to make a lasting impression of the girl he'd dreamed so vividly and consistently about, each particle of excitement was matched by a larger particle of bad circumstance. The coach on the way there had been ruled out in advance, as being simply too obvious. The attack would have to be saved for the tour of the museum itself.

Throughout many sections of "The Steam Years" there was the seeming abundance of teachers or guides at every corner, and "Electricity and its Impacts" was just too crowded with tourists and another school on a similar excursion. What made today even harder, was that with a shortage of teachers and a heap of children, the school had reached out to the parents, and 3 mothers had come along on the trip as chaperones to help the teachers.

One of the parents who'd volunteered to help was Mrs Cartwright. If she was any example or vision of what Veronica might one day mature into, then she was a dream come true. Mrs C was well known in the school playground. Tall and slender, Mrs C was of Indian descent, and had been raised on the posh side of Yorkshire judging by the way she walked, dressed and spoke. She was the only ethnic who lived in the part of Sheffield that the Marsdons were from, though she'd worked hard to acclimatise with the rest of the community. Rumour had it, that when she and Mr Cartwright, a very successful local building merchant and odd job man, had got married, they'd bought a house with a downstairs toilet. That pretty much made them the poshest people in the world as far as Dave knew. Mr C was not Indian, but was Yorkshire through and through, with a serious family history in the steel works and mining. The word around the playground was that he was fishing well out of his pond with Mrs C, who was a good few leagues above him in the aesthetics department. Their combined DNA though had made for a tremendous experiment in Dave's eyes. Veronica had all the attributes of a good old fashioned Yorkshire lass, but with a soft darker skin that showed a glimpse of her heritage. All the boys that Dave knew at school had a bit of a crush on Mrs C much to the dismay and frustration of Veronica. The boys were all really happy that she was chaperoning on the school trip, apart from Dave. Having Mrs C in tow was going to make wooing Veronica that little bit trickier.

Dave had overheard one of the teachers whinging that "we can handle these little shits in a room all day, but we're a danger in public eh? Is that what they are saying?", whilst another one noted that "you should be glad that we've got some extra sets of eyes for these lot today. Did you not see them all head for the back of the bus on the way here? I reckon there has been some necking going on, so we should sit one of the parents back there for t'way home". Dave knew that he'd have to make his move well before the way home if there was to be any chance of some Scottish or French action on the back seats of the coach.

Unfortunately, what seemed to crystallise as the magic moment for opening up some flirty dialogue with Veronica, did so when Dave was least prepared. But as Derek and Bob, through the stories of Grandma, had insisted, sometimes instinct can work better than preparation. Well, the gift shop in the Science and Industry museum was a prime example of how not preparing can lead to things not going to plan. Seizing the opportunity, Dave speedily approached an unaware Veronica utilising the pincer movement and some subtle army like combat skills. En-route, Dave's brain was working out the perfect combination required of charm, without being cheesy, and the need for impact. He knew Veronica knew him, but he wanted her to remember him and then fall for him. Recognition alone wasn't enough. This needed to be good.

His gliding approach had been impeccable, and he smiled graciously at the impressed audience of shop keepers as he got closer to his prey. The sudden whiff of her perfume caught his nasal passage, and like a patriot missile, it simply disposed of his scud. He felt like an armed bank robber who'd just had his mask removed, gun stolen and pants pulled down. Sheer fear combined with unwarranted embarrassment was about to hit him as his heart pulsed, searching for the words that would woo the lovely Veronica. But her magnificence close up, the heat of her body, the fur of her hood on her parka and the glisten of cherry lip gloss on her peachy lips overloaded all of Dave's confused senses, leaving him with the physical prowess of disabled amoeba.

Veronica had been unaware of Dave's approach, and was deeply engrossed in the Egyptian display that lit up one section of the Gift Shop and advertising one of the other local museums. Charting the history of the Egyptians and the splendour of their hierarchy, she was blissfully ignorant to the glow that was rising on the fastly approaching boys face. A little startled as she turned around, Veronica nearly dropped the Ancient Egyptian figurine that she'd picked up from the display as an ideal gift for her father.

For Dave, the connection between the brain, the creation of sensible sentences and his mouth, had been destroyed by the beauty of Veronica close up in her 5 button parka. Altering between a petrified smile and a fearful grimace, Dave knew that it was now or never...as Grandad used to say' fight or flight son, fight or flight. And only poofs take the flight option!" Dave hadn't known what a poof was, but he'd assumed it was a bad thing.

The words were spinning around Dave's head as he searched in vain for something in his line of sight that would make for an intellectual comment, and desperately trying to not say either baps, bristols or babylons. Avoiding any eye contact with the humps that filled so many of his dreams, Dave quickly averted his gaze from Veronica's chest, and noticed the figurine that she was clutching as she'd spun around to greet him. Instinct kicked in, and the words came out before his brain had engaged. "I love your Mummy. Excellent colour."

***

Chapter Preparation and Playback

***

"Back in the day, you cooked with lard and you lived 'til you lived! None of this margarine crap and low fat rubbish".

The dulcet tones of an aging Yorkshire Nanna provided Dave with the information he needed. With her never ending voice in the kitchen, Dave knew that his Mum wouldn't be using the tape deck that usually sat on top of the fridge freezer and entertained Jane through the lonely hours of slaving over the stove for her family. Today she had company, so would be many things, but not lonely.

As Dave quietly entered the kitchen to plan his essential equipment heist, Nanna was still continuing. In fact, there was every chance she'd never stopped. Dave and Anne were often the brunt of some of her Nanna-isms, with a current trend around her concern for their time spent in front of the TV or even worse, the computer. Dave's timing was impeccable.

"You know Jane, I was a working woman by the age of 13, and it did me no harm at all. In fact, it got me where I am today". The fact that Nanna's interpretation of work was baking in the kitchen with her mother for the men of the house, compounded to the fact that this story dated back over 50 years, didn't stop it being delivered with precision and perfection, like it had only happened yesterday.

Dave innocently strolled over, gave his Nanna a big generous hug and a kiss on the cheek. That, combined with his boyish smile was enough to melt the old battle axe, and the change was instantaneous.

"Oh Jane, they are good kids you know." Nanna was now bear-hugging Dave with deceptive strength for a frail looking women who was smiling from ear to ear. "You are too hard on them sometimes."

Jane knew better than to respond. Deep breathing was the only method that would deal with Nanna. Oh how Jane craved for some Hollies and 10CC, but she was secretly glad to have Nanna around. Whilst madder than a box of frogs, Jane knew that it was good for the kids to see so much of Nanna and wished that Grandad, her father, was still around. Selfishly, Jane missed Bob the most for his ability to shut his wife up at any telling moment, and giving everyone some respite.

"Bloody hell woman, if you are going to tell the story about working when you were only 13 years old, then I'll tell them all the tradition that in those days, women didn't speak until they were spoken too!" He'd only take her on if he had a big enough audience. It had been only 3 years since her Dad had passed away, and Jane missed him as much as anyone else. Whilst he hadn't kept his dominating stature in his later years as time took its toll on him, the barking voice and scary eyes were always enough to take over any room and dictate any conversation, though often with a slice of wit and humour, rather than with the bluntness of fear or anger. Jane hoped dearly that her father's temperament and success would reach down another generation to David and hoped that would combine with Derek's keen eye and frugality.

Had Jane had the opportunity to reach for her stereo to play some music, she would have realised that her tape player and "The best of 10CC" tape were both missing, having been carefully stashed in Dave's bedroom.

Dave's collection of the system was a tribute to his late Grandad by using one of his favourite one liners from the old man, "remember the 7 P's David son...Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance!!" Dave's plans required the tape player.

Bob had taught David the phrase whilst trying to train him for the egg and spoon race at the end of year sports day at school. The fact that David was only 9 at the time didn't seem to phase Bob's regime. Dave's lasting memory from the session was his Grandad in some borrowed sports gear from the 60's, that looked like they had never fitted properly. Snug was an understatement. At the time he'd not understood his Mum's and Nanna's horror at seeing Grandad Dixon in his tight sports attire, or why they'd sent him to get changed before he was allowed a cup of tea. The tight pants had been expertly matched with one of Grandad's trusty vests, which amazed Dave. They provided limited coverage, and seemed to accentuate Grandad's massive and ever growing arm pit hair that bustled out of every crevice.

Sadly for Dave, he hadn't prospered too well at sports day, being slowed by the constant heavy application of Camomile Lotion that was required to cover the chaffing that he'd received during Grandad's 7am training session.

Having sneaked the car keys off the table in the hall way and emptied the trusty Volvo 440 of all of its tapes, Dave was now ready for the rest of his plan. As a family, they'd never really invested much in technology, although Dave had often displayed a keen eye for all things electronic. What Dave did know, was that he had two weaknesses with his new plan to woo Veronica Cartwright. Firstly, was the technology issue; the Marsdon's owned a varied selection of tape players and recorders, but not one of them was a double cassette deck. Secondly, for the plethora of music he had at his disposal in front of him, which incidentally spanned many generations and genres, lacked one distinct generation and genre...the current one. Dave had a few "Now that's what I call music..." tapes, but he knew that he needed something special and from the "now now" if he was going to impress Veronica. Needing to get some traction to see his project progress, Dave carefully erected the electronics in the quiet corner of his bedroom, away from any background noise. Mum's tape player would play the tapes that he'd grabbed from downstairs and the car, and his two tone red and black Sharp DMX 445, with its subtly hidden mic on the front panel, would be the receptor and creator of the best and most successful mix tape in history.

Hair pulling, dead arms and inappropriate comments had made for a disappointing progress to date, which meant that Dave was strictly enforcing the 7P's for this plan and was thanking Grandad Bob in his head. This mission required proper prior planning. Dave didn't have a lead to connect the two stereo's together, so was working on keeping the two systems in the quiet corner of his room and doing the recording when the house was empty. As for his second challenge, being the eclectic but ageing set of music he had, the collection of Smash Hits magazines that he's seized from Anne's room would surely help, and he had gathered his collection of "Now That's What I Call Music 1 -14" to compensate. He'd also located a "Best Love Songs of the 80's" from his sister, which was sure to come in useful.

His plan involved a two phased approach to what was already titled "The Ultimate Mix Tape Vol.1", ignoring the irony of the fact that if it was the ultimate one, how could there be another?

Phase 1 of the plan involved the selection of the songs in terms of creating the ambience and the message that Dave wanted to convey to Veronica. He'd decided to start smooth, build up in terms of emotion and meaning, before having a big hitter as the finishing song to side 1, with the 'seal the deal' track as the final song on side 2.

Phase 2 was the element of the plan that took this from a general melancholy collection of love songs, and traversed it into a journey of young passionate love, entwined with affection, caring and the powerful desire to snog. Phase 2 would connect the heart strings to the tear ducts and send an immediate notification that love was on its way in the form of Dave Marsdon. "No pressure then", thought Dave as he examined his playlist. Thinking back to the boys on the bus, he knew this was a good idea still, but appreciated that he needed to differentiate and lift things up a gear, not just because he thought Veronica was something extra special, but that he was needing to recover a situation where she thought he was a racist who loved her mother! Not a lost cause, but hardly ideal preparation. So Phase 2 had originally been to DJ his own mix tape by introducing each song.

"And track 2 is all about you". The practice wasn't good. Dave's voice was on the verge of breaking, and was neither deep nor innocent. He also hated the sound of his own voice.

As an alternative, Dave decided written word would provide a safer link between the songs. He took words from certain songs and paired them with moods or memories, to really lift the meaning of the songs and make them special in both their minds. Writing these words on the inlay in the cassette holder was supposed to guarantee that the meaning he intended was the same as the interpretation Veronica got when she listened to the song. Dave really didn't understand the risk he was taking here, being slightly ignorant to the thought that a song could mean different things to different people.

So far, the tape had begged its cheese from The Bangles, borrowed its tears from Madonna and stolen some emotion from Roxette. The excitement of the sauce came from Bobby Brown, the meat from 10CC, Chicago and Mike + The Mechanics, and the seasoning from Donna Summer.

Dave's first school boy error came with the finishing track for side 1. Having compiled words on the inside cover such as "Track 4; this is where I am" for Richard Marx Right Here Waiting for You, and "Track 8; how I feel about you now" for Fine Young Cannibals and She Drives Me Crazy, he was aiming for a biggish finish to the first side of the tape. You see, the interpretation of a lyric is a funny thing. With the latest edition of Smash Hits in his hand, and seeking inspiration to bring side one to a crashing finish, Dave's original plan was to bring it to life with a new phenomena in pop music, being 'Color Me Badd', and 'I Wanna Sex You Up.' He'd already written in the cover of the tape; "Track 9; this is what I think about in bed at night".

Having listening to it several times, Dave was perfectly happy with the speed and the jingle, and the mood to dance that the beat really created. Luckily, on the third listen through, it suddenly hit him as he performed some lurid dance moves around his bedroom, that given that they hadn't even snogged yet, the notion of "wanting to sex her up", however appealing, was probably a little beyond his ability right now. Dave wanted a song that shouted "LOVE" and not "SEX", and a song that talked about how love can grow and develop overtime, rather than "making sweet love all night long". Perusing the Top Of The Pops listing for that year, Dave suddenly hit across the perfect ditty that would say everything he wanted to say. And even better, it fitted perfectly in the time left over on side one.

Side 2 was a similar collection, lifting occasionally with crackers from Phil Collins, Mariah Carey, and a quick stint back into love from long ago, with Al Green, Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder. Dave was very happy with progress, and wanted a repeat of the crescendo finish of side 1, but with more impact. This would be the final song of The Ultimate Mix Tape Vol 1.1, and it had to yell about the way Veronica made Dave feel. The smile she put on his face. The laughter that spread across his entire body like a tingle when she spoke. The giggle that occupied his whole being, whenever he sat and thought about her. And it had to tell her that not only did he like her...he _wanted_ her too. Searching for this silver bullet was so frustrating, that Dave had temporarily abandoned the mission in source of inspiration. Saturday passed and Sunday came, and the pressure was on, as Dave's mission critical plan had a delivery date of T – minus 1 day.

The rendezvous point was Veronica's locker on the Monday morning, but he knew it would be battle lost if he delivered a tape with 3m22 seconds of silence at the end of side 2. Especially given that all officers in the Army of Mix Tape Specialists knew that it was the last song that carried the message. Of course, all the tunes combine to make the tape, but it's the last song that you listen to before you leave for school that hums around in your head all day, and Dave knew that this had to count. The pressure intensified as Sunday droned on with nothing to report of interest other than Derek being in the garden and Anne and Grandma preparing the delights of a Sunday Roast fit for a small clan rather than a small family. Sunday fry up brunch hadn't provided the necessary stimulus, and Dave had found himself engrossed in "Lost In Space" and "The Waltons" as Channel 4 eased him through the uneventful day with the glimmer of hope diminishing with each passing wink. As dark set in, and the preparations began for the following day with uniforms being ironed by Jane whilst Grandma had her late afternoon nap, and Derek made the finishing touches to the latest batch of home brew, Dave and Anne were in their respective rooms, packing their bags for the next day at school. This normal routine was fraught with angst this weekend for Dave, as his days and hours of preparation were looking like a waste of time. All of his homework was complete and in his bag, but the tape still sat waiting to be finished. It was a cake without the icing, the cup of tea without the milk and the Christmas without badly fitting paper hats. It just wasn't complete. It was the kiss without the recipient.

Pacing the upstairs hallway waiting for Grandma to exit from what seemed like the longest toilet visit in modern day history, Dave took a peek into Anne's room. Dave and Anne had always being close as twins, but recently, as their bodies began to change, so did their views on life and they just didn't seem as close as before. The innocence of yesteryear was replaced with a protective veil as they both grew up themselves. Anne probably knew nothing of Dave's new found admiration for girls and for Veronica in particular, and Dave certainly didn't know that Anne had a liking for boys. As Dave peered in, he noticed that Anne had taken up her now usual Sunday night position of taping the Charts. Like the keenest of operators, she'd sit and press record and then pause, making sure she only got the songs and not any drivel in between, meaning she could get most of the Top 40 on one tape. Gone were the days when Sunday meant the two of them splashing around in the same bath water and being dried by their parents. Dave would rather suffer a life without Veronica than be seen naked by any of his family. Anne would use the recording as her own "Now" album for the week, but the real work for her would be saved for after Sunday Roast, when she'd play back the charts and write down the song lyrics. Whilst she was an avid subscriber to Smash Hits, it made a dent in her pitiful pocket money, and so the frugal alternative, which Dave admired, was to write down your own song words from your own recording. This required microscopic hearing, a diligent ability to hear and write at the same time, and a wee bit of imagination to fill in the gaps. Admittedly, as Dave had learnt from many a long Marsdon car journey, Anne didn't always get the words right, but there were often some amusing variations.

As the hour merrily marched towards 7 o'clock, and the charts neared their pinnacle, and just before Grandma finally pulled the flush, inspiration came to Dave rather than Dave finding inspiration. Mountains, Mohammad and all that jazz. The song, that according to Bruno Brookes, had risen to a chart position of No.4. Given that it wasn't a new entry, it almost certainly meant that Anne would be throwing her long hair back and breaking into song as she hurriedly turned the pages of her notebook searching for the words she'd written from the previous week. Dave hadn't heard the song and wasn't particularly interested or listening, being a little pre-occupied with his need to pee, but then the words that tunelessly exited Anne's mouth changed everything.

"You're the one who makes me happy honey  
You're the sun who makes me shine  
When you're around I'm always laughing  
I want to make you mine _"_

On the "e" of mine, the bathroom door unlocked, and Dave rushed in to relieve himself, brimming with the knowledge that his mission had just acquired the reconnaissance information required to win the battle. As he excitedly left the bathroom, he had made it just in time to hear Bruno's dulcet tone provide the final piece of the jigsaw.

"That was The Divinyls there, this week at No.4 in the UK's No.1 Chart Show from BBC Radio 1."

Later that evening, as Anne was safely locked in the bathroom taking her bath, Dave rushed into her room, borrowed the tape, rewound it until he heard those same words from Bruno Brookes and quickly recorded it as the final track on The Ultimate Mix Tape. Not sure of the song title, which had been missed by the sporadic pausing in between recording, Dave simply finished off the tape cover.

"Track 20: The Divinyls; I want to make you mine...I think this song says it all, Dave, x"

***

Chapter Equal Opposite Reaction

***

"Please no. Please let this be one of those nightmares. Like when you dream that you are at school but you've forgotten your clothes. Please."

Dave's head was in his hand, but the impending pain wasn't going away.

It wasn't until the Tuesday morning just after first period that Dave realised the magnitude of his mistakes, the weaknesses in his plan, and how the best execution can be destroyed with the simplest of errors. In what proved to be a psychological version of a Roman stoning, Dave eventually saw his mission collapse around him at the same time as his chance of love was annihilated. The fact remained, that the destruction had occurred days previous when he'd failed to listen back through his mix tape with Veronica's ears and imagination, rather than his own.

The stakes had been lifted when news of the mix tape had circulated on the Monday afternoon, and excitedly Tony had reported back to Dave that Veronica had found the tape and the note, and that she was going to listen to it that night, but not alone. Last period was geography, and Veronica was going home straight afterwards with 5 members of her geography project team, all of whom were girls and all of whom were members of the impenetrable girly clique. Dave knew that this was make or break, but had confidence in his Ultimate Mix Tape Vol 1.1. Hours of research couldn't let him down, despite the fact that he'd not listened to it himself. The songs were timeless classics and had been combined with love ballads that would pluck the sternest heart strings. To keep his mind off what was now out of his control, Dave and Tony had gone to kick a ball around the local field, unaware of what was unfolding less than a mile away.

As the gaggle of girls scuttled into History on that fateful Tuesday, Dave's sleepless night of wonder was about to be resolved, but he was a little concerned by the giggles, sniggering and avoidance, particularly by Veronica who almost looked embarrassed. Confused and a little concerned, Dave scanned the room and eventually his view took him 180 degrees to the entrance to the classroom where he saw a very distraught and defensive looking Mr Johnson talking to an extremely feisty Mr Cartwright. His head flopped solidly towards his hands as Dave tried to hide. Mr Johnson was their history teacher and also their Head of Year, and a shudder of petrification went through Dave's body like the time he'd accidentally licked his fingers after chopping some chilli's for his mum. This was bad.

Dave had got 'the look' of disappointment from Mr Johnson as he'd entered the room, but was surprised and shocked to see the lesson go ahead as normal, albeit with Mr Johnson being particularly pert. It was after the lesson that Mr Johnson took Dave aside and asked him to stay behind, which is where the true final piece of the jigsaw fell into place.

"I think we need a chat young man, and you have some serious explaining to do. I'm very disappointed in you."

There was something about the word disappointment that debilitated Dave and took down any defences that he had.

During a very tough conversation between Dave and a completely perplexed Mr Johnson, Dave was informed that the matter would not be taken any further and that a letter wouldn't be going to his parents, but that he should write a letter of apology to Veronica and her parents. Through the calming and mature voice that only a real teacher displays, Mr Johnson had been almost apologetic and sympathetic towards Dave. For however much angst he'd caused on that night for Veronica, her friends and her parents, Mr Johnson knew that Dave would pay for this mistake in the playground, in a form of retribution that would be fitting the crime. The playground and the rumour mill would deal out Dave's punishment.

Dave sank silently in his chair as Mr Johnson revealed what happened in an embarrassing level of detail. He gently explained that Veronica's parents had heard the growing commotion from her room as the group of girls gained excitement as they powered up along to the journey of The Ultimate Mix Vol 1.1, and wooed at the words on the inside cover. He told how their attention went from curiosity to intervention when there was an explosion of amusement from the teens room, and the glamorous Mrs Cartwright had entered to see the five girls rolling around the floor in tears of hilarity at 'Tears for Fears'. Holding the tape cover and reading the words, barely managing to complete the sentence without breaking into raucous laughter.

"Track 9; this is what I think about in bed at night"

On the floor, and in between the giggles, the girls were forming the chorus and singing along with much vigour.

"Sowing the seeds of love, seeds of love...sowing the seeds".

Whilst Dave had picked something which said "Love" and a song which appeared a damn sight safer than "I wanna sex you up", his vision of an analogy of farmers spreading the good word of love through song, was different to the girls who thought that Dave was admitting that every night he gets into bed and dreams of sowing his seed.

Mr Johnson retold that by the time Mrs Cartwright had given Mr Cartwright the breakdown of the laughter and the reason behind it, and they'd debated what to do about the apparent vulgarity of one particular track, the girls had seemingly got part way through side 2. The romance, sentiment and nature of side 2 had calmed the girls back from the frenzy, and Dave's kudos was being re-established as he became a real contender for Veronica's affection with the encouragement of the clique. It was then that disaster truly struck. Veronica's parents entered her room to explain that they'd allow the tape, but that Veronica should probably be careful as boys can easily get confused at that age. Mrs Cartwright had a firm stance on this apparently.

"That Marsdon boy has already blotted his copy book once with his over-excited hormones, so this is his last chance, OK?" Dave's antics at the museum were coming back to haunt him.

"Don't worry Mum. The rest of the tape has been really sweet, and he has even written cute little messages inside the cover."

"Yeah Mrs C, the whole of this side has been dead nice. There were even a few old songs on there that I bet you and Mr C would like.' The clique had seemingly softened and Dave had allies in the room. Momentarily.

"Look Mum, I honestly think that he put that on there by mistake. He is a nice enough lad. Look, this last track will show you how OK this side has been. He has written that this song says it all. It says here that it's called 'I Want to Make You Mine' which is so sweet"

The girls collectively coo-ed as they covered their blushing cheeks, all secretly thinking about the boys in class that they wished had made them mix tapes.

As the drum, bass line and guitar came in, and Veronica leaned back, looking over to her parents hoping that her ears were deceiving her, the harsh reality of the moment hit. Two of her friends went crimson red with combined shock, horror and breathlessness as they tried in vain to hold back the laughter, only to snort out of their noses in an uncontrollable fashion. In a domino style affect, this set two of the other girls off crying as the collection of girls collapsed into non-stop giggles around Veronica, who could only look in trepidation at her parents. Her mother looked like someone who'd just been told that they'd won the lottery, but lost her ticket. Her father looked like he was strangling the thin air, and the air was about to be killed if the anger in his face could be turned into action. The room was silent by the time the song had reached the chorus, and the real song title became apparent.

"I don't want anybody else, when I think about you I touch myself".

From that point on as Mr Johnson calmly delivered the horrendous news, Dave realised that his dreams of having a girlfriend in the near future, and especially of that girl being Veronica, had been destroyed. If mix tapes for the girl of his dreams wasn't going to be his mission in life, something else was. Something he could control easier and something he could be good at. That last episode hadn't been a success, but he was determined that the next one would be.

***

Chapter Business and Buddies

***

"Nanna, was that you?"

The Marsdon clan collectively and instinctively covered their noses.

Christmas came and went without much drama in the Marsdon house. Grandma was her usual festive self, and managed to continue to blame brussel sprouts for the hideous stench that came out of her without a seconds notice. SBD's were their code name around the house, standing for 'Silent But Deadly'. Derek even joked that it could well have been one of those that finally sent Grandad Bob to his grave, and that the government had been in contact to consider using her as part of their battle in nuclear warfare.

As the kids were now teenagers, and Derek and Jane were still trying to be trendy parents, both Dave and Anne were allowed a small glass of Derek's home brew Elderberry Wine. Derek's view was that an education in alcohol would serve them well and help establish their pallets, fearing that making alcohol a taboo would lead them to drinking spirits and cheap liquor. Jane's view was a little more diplomatic and subtle. Having endured years of Derek's home brew, she had money on the fact that one sip of that would put them off booze forever.

With the New Year in full throw, Dave spent many of the dark nights that winter maintained, buried deep in his new literature. Derek had taken a timely trip to MFI, the local furniture store, for the January sales to equip Dave's room with a much needed set of shelves on which to house all his new periodicals, biographies and self help business books. Derek had tried to entice Dave into helping him build the flat packed shelves, hoping that it would give them some male bonding time, but Dave was of the view that manual labour wouldn't help him with his new mission in life. What made his outsourcing of this task to his Dad easier was that everyone in the Marsdon house knew to leave Derek to it when it came to DIY. Whilst bad dancers have 2 left feet, it could be said that for all Derek's keenness around the house and avid reading of "Readers Digest Guide to DIY", he definitely had two left hands. Still, the family gathered to watch the performance, like the Romans packing an amphitheatre awaiting a gladiator. All that they got was a lot of huffing, puffing, complaining that the instructions were wonky, and then a laugh when Derek inadvertently shouted "someone open a window. I'm getting warm with all this screwing". For a cold January day, you'd be amazed at the glow that simultaneously hit Derek and Jane's faces. The kids now understood those kinds of jokes.

The seasons soon changed and as the nights became lighter, Dave was really enjoying the challenge and guidance that the books provided him, and was getting sufficiently confident in the literature to start to apply some of it. Like all businessmen, his first few ventures misfired somewhat. One of his early businesses involved a rather simplistic "me-too" product, of perfume. He'd noted the strange regularity of the Avon ladies visit, and the fact that his mum still purchased perfume from Boots The Chemist. His apparent niche was providing good priced perfume, to kids at school, especially boys. With Mother's Day only a few months away, Dave spent numerous weekends concocting a potion, opting for homemade perfume over the expensive stuff you see in the shops.

"So 5 rose petals in this empty fizzy pop bottle. Fill it with water. Boom!"

After 2 weeks of 'maturing' in the back shed, unknown to anyone else in the house, Dave was ready to test his secret recipe, guarding the ingredients like the Colonel guards his spices. On revealing the scent to his mother, Dave received what he noted down as 'critical commentary, with a possibility of purchase. A maybe.' In truth, all he'd got was a clip around the ear hole and a "so it was you who stole my friggin roses was it?". By the time he reached his second tester, his confidence was dwindling in this particular idea, and Anne's caring retort of "well it's probably a better idea than mix tapes, but it does smell like rotten rose petals in stagnant water". The Avon lady and Chanel could sleep safely for now.

The business ventures came and went, some with modicums of success, but the majority with underwhelming results. But Dave was on a learning curve, and he noted each failure down in his notebook, just like the autobiographies told him too. One of the self help business books that he was fascinated by kept on talking about competitive advantage, and knowledge being power, so Dave started to analyse the life and world around him, searching for his edge and unique selling proposition.

Over the years Dave's friendship with Tony had progressed, and he was one of the few people that Dave kept close, often having Tony around for what seemed like days or weeks at a time. There were jokes a plenty from Jane.

"I should call your mother and tell her you are safe and being fed? Has she seen you this week?"

"Yes Mrs M, I go home every night, but your cooking is so spectacular, that it's something not be missed!"

Tony always delivered his lines with such heart felt sincerity, that you couldn't help but want to be a part of his life, even though he was a complete brown nose. With Tony in tow, Dave and Anne often frequented the same parties, which were becoming more and more regular as the crowd matured. Luckily for Dave, he never had to bump into Veronica at such events since her family had mysteriously left town a year or so previously.

Friday nights used to be family night with a Chinese take away and everyone crowding around the TV, but more often than not, Derek was Taxi Dad as he ferried them to and from various house parties, birthdays and such events. As trendy hip parents, the Marsdon's were very aware of the drinking that went on at these parties, and with their open minded attitude, much preferred the teenagers to have 'safe' alcohol. Derek had sat Dave, Anne and Tony down before one of the parties.

"So come on then lads and lasses. How much of your hard earned pocket money are you spending on booze tonight?"

"Dad!" exclaimed Dave, with pathetic innocence. The silence was enough for Anne to crack.

"We've got 15 quid between us, but we're not sure what we could get with that. Some of the boys at the party drink spirits Dad, but we'd rather have beer." Anne had acquired her mother's ability to play her dad like Nigel Kennedy plays the Violin.

"Right, well hand it over then, and I'll pull in at the off licence on the way to dropping you off, OK. But on one condition. You drink beer and not any spirits?!"

Once at the party, all Dave could think about was the lost margin he could make if only he could get his Dad to buy the booze in bulk and on sell it at the party. The premium to get older kids from school or the local college to buy your booze was about 20%, and Dave would deliver direct to the party for 15% and still have enough to slip his Dad some petrol money. But at the tender age of 15, Dave had promised himself that business should be legal and above board. Dave's interest in business and fear of girlfriends, meant that he spent the majority of his time supping his beers and talking about either of his new hair brained schemes to a disinterested drunk teen, or chatting about the football and his team, Sheffield United, to one of his mates. More recently though, Dave had noticed that he'd started spending an increasingly larger amount of time with the girls at these parties. His differentiator was suddenly apparent, and as none of them saw him as an object of desire, he was deemed 'safe' and therefore was trusted with the girl's gossip and stories.

The spark that struck that night took only days to materialize. Dave had the vital ingredients for his new business plan, and now it was a matter of time for the supply chain to fill up and his first venture could unofficially launch. It was the Monday morning, just before first period when Joanne Davis approached him, looking sheepish, a tad upset and definitely tired. Dave had been expecting her, but he said nothing. He'd known on Friday night that come Monday, she'd be his first customer of his new venture. Joanne had been getting serious with William Chadwick for a few weeks, and with a good few swigs of cider, vodka and chinzano inside her, she'd confessed to Dave on Saturday night.

"I think we're going to try it tonight. I think he might be...(hiccup)...the one."

The last he'd seen of them, William was on all fours, not for effect, but being the only way he could safely transport himself up the stairs into the spare room at Jono's party. Nor was it foreplay, that his pants were part way around his ankles as he traversed the final steps and made the leap to actually stand up, swaying like a building in an earthquake for about 10 seconds before settling into stillness. William was one of the boys who were also into smoking, so the combination of some light herbals with a little too much drink, meant that his eyes were like piss holes in the snow, and his hand to eye co-ordination was like his brain had been turned upside down and back to front. Definitely the 'one'.

"I think we did it" cried Joanne through the muffled tears. Her teeth were chattering like she was naked in the arctic, rather than rugged up in Sheffield. Joanne was normally a tall and confident girl, and had been close friends with Veronica until The Cartwright family had moved town the previous summer. Slightly perturbed, she looked like much of her makeup had been applied throughout a bumpy car journey, which was now being compounded as her snivels mixed in with her foundation to make streaks and cement on the top of her lip.

The next hour was the test run for Dave's new business model, and it ran super smoothly. He was the only one of the boys that girls felt they could approach, as they knew he wasn't interested. Dave wasn't aware, but many of the girls found him attractive but would add that "he's just more like a brother, you know?" As well as the trust, Dave knew from his business books that his real competitive advantage was knowledge, and he'd thoroughly read and re-read all the material that his mother had ever given to Anne. He knew more about the morning after pill, condoms, periods, the coil, and even something called the rhythm technique, than your average teen.

It was the maturity as well as the simplicity of Dave's model that impressed him the most. The Monday morning trips to the clinic with a variety of girls, served as the loss leader. It would be callous and morally wrong to try and charge these girls for his service. They would be his free PR team as the word of mouth of everything he'd done for them, and how caring he'd been, would guarantee him a steady stream of custom. The prize for him was that with every visit to the clinic, he would be assumed as the offending boy, and be provided with a small bag of extra safe condoms. It didn't take Einstein to work out that with the number of girls visiting the clinic, that the boys weren't taking their responsibility too well, and it quickly became apparent that most were too shy to go and buy condoms from the Chemist. Genius. Dave had a near endless supply of condoms and zero cost, that he could sell on to the offending boys, and his market place was the parties that he so enjoyed attending. One book said never to mix business and pleasure, but Dave was sure that this was a safe venture.

Like all businesses, Dave was aware that it didn't have endless longevity. It didn't take long for most of the guys to realise that 1 quid a condom was extortion and quite a premium to pay to save embarrassment. Others realised that they could sneak into the toilets at the local pub and buy them from the machine in there. Most importantly though, as everyone grew up a bit, the need for clinic visits quickly depleted, which was an unknown relief to Dave. Unbeknownst to him, the lady at the clinic, gently referred to in his business plan as his 'supplier', knew his mum through one of the various Women's Groups that existed around Sheffield and had actually approached her with her concerns at the numerous visits Dave had made.

"I wouldn't normally say anything Jane, but he's been over 10 times this year, and I'm just worried for his health. We've given him sheaths as part of every visit, and plenty of leaflets, but he appears to be a serial offender?"

"Marj, thanks for your concern. I'll have Derek sit him down for a chat, but I suspect that there is more to this than meets the eye."

The real knife in the coffin of this prosperous business was at one of Julie Jackson's summer bashes. Her parents made Derek and Jane seem positive archaic, and they'd left JJ their large house for the weekend and catered for most of the visitors, whilst also providing some booze. A molatoph cocktail of late evening summer sunshine, free flowing alcohol and enough festering hormones to restart mankind were set to make for a great night. Dave was taking advantage of the sun drenched patio, supping gently on a privileged bottle of Stella. He only ever drank it when someone else was buying. As he chillaxed in the evening, he was hurriedly approached by Tony, bending in a nervous fashion and practically kneeling to propose.

"Don't ask any questions OK, and I should know better, but it pains me to ask you this OK. Do you have any condoms left?"

"Ha, Tony, are you for real? You've finally found someone. There was me thinking we'd be virgins together forever...well not together! You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about it for a while, but the moment never seemed right...you know?"

"Don't worry mate. Happen you've found someone you like, and at least you are being sensible. I'll do you mates rates eh? 50p each!"

"You cheeky git. Here is a quid. Are you OK with this?" Tony was hesitating and waiting for confirmation.

"Go for it fella. Give her one from me! And make sure you take notes and tell me what it is like!"

Completely dumbstruck and slightly surprised, Tony was amazed at how well Dave had taken things. He really was focused on business, but Tony expected more of a reaction than that. Still, the relief was evident as he relaxed and sneaked into the spare bedroom in JJ's lush pad.

The harsh reality however hit the following day, when the three teenagers were sat around the Marsdon table gossiping, sharing stories filling in the gaps about the night before. Dave didn't want to jeopardise his friendship with Tony by bringing up the condom story, especially in front of Anne, but sat back and weighed up the hilarity of the story versus the temporary mood that it would put Tony in. Leaning back and assessing the situation, it was then that he saw it. Rarely lost for words, Dave saw the profits of his work in a whole new light with a mesmerizing combination of shock and joy, like sweet and sour. His brain computed the scenario way too quickly, and gave him both an unwanted mental image, shiveringly washed down like cheap warm Tequila, with the memory of his final words to Tony.

"Give her one from me!"

Tony and Anne were holding hands underneath the table. Dave felt sick. Still, he'd made a quid from it. Maybe the loyalty card idea was a good one after all.

As the three of them all silently reached the same shuddering conclusion at the same moment, it was a standoff as to who spoke the next words. Casually and business like, it was Dave who leaned forward and without emotion, resolved the moment.

"Every silver lining has a cloud they say?"

***

Chapter Ability versus Potential

***

Making his way up in the lift, Dave was ready for another successful day in the office. His adaption of the "Rule of 3" had practically become a religion or a cult for him, but it was providing him with an edge in what he saw as the finishing straight. It was 3 months until the promotions were being announced at CEC Services, and not only did Dave feel like he was in pole position, he was pretty convinced he had a far superior car than everyone else.

Dave never openly mocked the other guys in his office, but nor was he overtly subtle with some of his opinions. Whilst these guys were his peer group and his competition for the position of Partner, he honestly struggled to empathise with them. Their lives were all so different, especially when viewed through Dave's corporate tinted spectacles. Firstly, they all had girlfriends, fiancées or wives, which was not only a major cause of differentiation, but for Dave, gave him one essential piece of armoury in the war for promotion...cutting edge.

Over a beer with Tony, he'd often monologue for minutes at a time.

"I just don't know how any guy who has to miss a conference call coz he has to rush home to watch some reality TV drivel, or even worse, attending some kids birthday party, can have any cutting edge? I mean, I'm not saying I'd step on any toes to get where I want to be...well not unless the person is in my way and clearly not deserved of the role...I have my limits...I just know what I want, and I'm going for it...you know?"

Tony was ploughing through his beer and fretting that maybe he'd forgotten to set the cable to record Anne's favourite TV show. He'd lose major brownie points if he had. Their friendship had stood the test of time, though they each had different views as to why. Dave was pretty certain that Tony saw him as a role model and someone to look up to. Dave was Tony's inspiration. Tony's view was slightly different. He was more than certain that he was Dave's only friend, and that if he'd not married Dave's sister, their friendship would have parted ways many years earlier.

"Look mate. You don't need to worry about them. Worry about you. If you put your best foot forward and do what you are good at, you'll be fine. And kids parties can sometimes be fun you know."

Tony had matured gracefully, and Dave was glad to have him as a mate and as a brother in law, but for sessions like this, Dave couldn't trust his advice. When they'd married and had their first two children, Dave was secretly sad. Tony had lost some of his edge or his spark. There was no doubt whatsoever that he made a brilliant husband to Dave's sister Anne, and an amazing father to the children, but he was just so....safe. It was hard for Dave, and he struggled to reconcile the information before him. Two people who smiled so much and seemed so full of joy, yet they'd given up so much and compromised what seemed to be a back catalogue of fun experiences, for what? Dirty nappies, arguments about money and demands for more of everything. Just seeing them together sapped Dave's inner strength, and reminded him that without doubt, he was better off alone. The path to partnership would be fraught with obstacles, tests and demands on every part of his psyche, and he didn't need a bird getting in the way and jeopardizing that.

"So how are you doing on the lady front then? Any progress of extending the Marsdon family tree?"

"HA! As if I've got time for a distraction like that? Don't worry mate. I've got options. I am just choosing not to exercise them right now."

This wasn't technically true. Throughout his early 20's, Dave had experienced some sporadic dalliances with a variety of girls, all with the longevity of yesterdays newspaper. It wasn't that they were all hideous or anything. When he did dip his tow into the world of the opposite sex, Dave prided himself on his standards. Unfortunately, lack of match practice often meant that his standards and his ability weren't correlated, and many nights out fishing would end up with him returning to the bachelor pad with just his rod in his hand.

Across the city, a parallel conversation was taking place between some of Dave's colleagues.

"I wonder what it's like in his world?"

"Lonely probably! I think it's a town with a population of one."

"Yeah, but he is doing well for himself eh? He's got the pad, the car, the money and has to be a dead cert for the promotion? I'd even put a tenner on him if my missus hadn't banned me from betting!"

"Oh perrrlease! I can't tell you the number of times I've wanted to take the chip off his shoulder and shove it up his arse!"

"Oh, come on guys, he isn't that bad. Maybe he got dropped on his head as a child or something. Look, he means well enough, and I genuinely feel for him. He might be successful, but he hasn't got anyone to share it with. I wouldn't trade places with him, would you?"

Nobody responded, and the brief silence was interrupted by the waiter coming along to take their order. Whilst Dave's attributes annoyed them and polarized them, they all knew that they wouldn't trade their lives for his. At the same time, each of them had a good amount of respect for any guy who could fast track as quickly as he had. At the tender age of 27, he was all lined up with his ducks in the metaphoric row, and ready for a promotion to partner at CEC Services, despite being 4 years younger than his nearest compatriot. Some wanted his panache. Most wanted his client interaction skills and sharp business mind. A few wanted his car and music collection. None of them wanted his single mindedness or loneliness.

Tony didn't want anything from Dave. Tony stood proud at 5ft8 and 10 stone 3, making him the average height and average weight. In fact, Tony epitomised average in every way. His favourite word was maybe. He was outstandingly mediocre and excelled at being run of the mill. Dave often thought that if you looked up 'default' or 'normal' in the dictionary, that you'd see a picture of Tony doing not very much. Still, it was great for Dave to have Tony in his life. He personified safe.

"So you don't want a woman ever then?"

Dave took a long swig of his beer. "Tony, lives are like journeys and journeys travel along a path. My path hasn't got room for a woman right now. You know if I wanted to, I could. Now isn't the right time."

"Well don't wait too long. By the age of 27 the average guy has got himself a lady."

"Ah Tony. The average never wins."

"True, but the average never comes last either. You don't wanna wait 'til all the good ones are gone. Or worse, one that's already had her fair share of journeys before you get your hands on her."

Dave was thinking of an adequate response but couldn't. Their lives were too different. Dave was juggling multiple glasses, some half full, some half empty and some in desperate need of attention. Tony didn't have any glasses. He much preferred plastic as it was much more reliable with the kids. And his plastic was neither half full nor half empty. Dave decided that a half truth would resolve this topic for now.

"There was someone the other week. An interest. But I didn't pursue it. Let's just say that if I wanted to, I could. Another beer?"

"I don't mind. I'll have one if you are." That was the most decisive Tony had been all year.

***

Chapter Signed, Sealed and Sung

***

"It's all about getting PPT right. People, Process and Technology."

Dave thumped his fist into his open hand with each word to emphasise his point. "Once we align their DNA and recalibrate output measures to monitor real success, then we can maximise the rate of change by empowering the end users and using Helicopter Management for minimal intrusion. There are just too many interdependencies to do it any other way."

The entire boardroom was smiling and nodding with confidence, yet not one person knew exactly what Dave was talking about. For someone as evangelical as Dave, the content didn't matter. It was believable and everyone in the room wanted to buy it. Whatever it was.

The client had been won over with his snazzy presentation and his model for change that he was going to use to rejuvenate one of the fledgling business units. The PPT Model that Dave had wowed them with utilised his "Rule of 3" and further enforced his belief in keeping things in 3's. What made the victory sweeter was that Dave had won the work against competition from a rival firm.

Dave's PowerPoint presentation, designed by Laura, had also maintained the Rule of 3 principles, and had 3 concentric connected circles in the style of Olympic rings, showing People, Process and Technology and their overlaps. "Good girl" he thought to himself as he rounded off the presentation.

The euphoria on this win wasn't in the client, the effort or the reputation that came with it. Dave was focused on the end goal, and a high profile win like this was sure to be on the final pillars in his path to partnership. Getting the amazing news late on a Thursday meant that all the normal people had left the office, with only Dave and his PA Laura, still keeping the chairs warm. With the end in sight, and wanting someone to share his news with, Dave suggested a quick celebratory drink with Laura, and they were soon parked up on bar stools in the local wine bar, accompanied by a decent bottle of the best fizzy. Dave loved splashing out when someone else was paying.

This was a slightly foreign situation for Dave. His interactions with Laura were normally earlier in the day and centred around a strong coffee rather than France's finest Champagne. To be as consistently successful at business as Dave was, he was a firm believer in routine and structure. On the mornings where he didn't convince himself of the need for a lie-in, he'd meet his PA at 6.30am, in Café Bella. Laura Jones was an accomplished assistant, but she'd not been picked for her ability. Recruited by Dave's previous boss who'd since moved on, Laura was aesthetically amazing, and many of the guys in the office would admire her at every opportunity. Dave's appreciation was mainly professional, as "Luscious Laura" as she was referred to around the water cooler, would arrive every morning and give Dave his briefing. With the same precision, style and perfection that she clearly got dressed with, she'd take Dave through his daily schedule of meeting, the deadlines he needed to be aware of, bios of any people he might be meeting and an update on where he was up to on his targets.

"You've got Steve Hughes at 10am, and you've met him before. You've got £100,000 in your target for him, and we've done nothing to date."

"Yeah, no worries. What else?"

"You are due to meet Peter McKay in a few weeks for some business development opportunities, so I'll pull you his bio off the system. Here is a bio for Mary Steele from Image Technologies. They are about to go through a large merger, and she is the likely new Chief Operating Officer, and you've got her for lunch at 12.30. The table is booked at your usual and under your name."

"Perfect. Looks like I am good to go!"

"Oh, and it's your father's birthday next week. I've put a card in your office that I need you to fill in. His birthday meal clashes with your US conference call. Should I cancel it?"

"Cancel it...hmmmm. Do you think he would be offended?"

"I meant the conference call..."

"Oh yes, that. Erm, yes, I mean no. I'll join the call from the dinner don't worry. I'm a man, I can multi task!"

"No comment. As for all your performance statistics, you are tracking about 21% ahead of targets to date."

"Done and done. Can you order some CEC Cufflinks off the corporate website and charge them to the department account? You should treat yourself to an early finish today."

Laura hadn't even managed to pull together a list of things she'd do with her early finish, when defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory.

"And I'm serious about the early finish. Once this afternoon's team meeting has finished and you've sent me through the notes, you should head off for an early mark." The fact was that by the time all that was done, it would be well past home time.

Dave was particularly happy with how his inter-personal skills had developed, since a surprisingly low score in a recent 360degree appraisal, and he was proud that he was treating and rewarding Laura for her hard word, giving himself a little invisible pat on the back for a job well done, and situation well handled.

Dave knew a little of Laura's personal situation, only from what he'd heard from others. He didn't like to blur the boundaries of professionalism, and really wasn't comfortable talking about touchy feely stuff with his colleagues. Work was for work. Lush had gone through a recent separation from her childhood sweetheart who she'd married straight out of college. What impressed Dave was the fact that these personal issues didn't affect her work, even if people did claim that she was sensitive and brittle. Dave treated her the same way regardless, and he believed that she appreciated that.

In the wine bar the drink was far superior to the conversation, which was one way. As the fizzy flowed, the veil of professionalism dropped, and before you could say "hang on, but she is your PA", they were in a cab back to Dave's. There had been no time to think about strategy or tactics, let alone repercussions and impact. Dave was high on the success of a deal that would see him get his title and achieve his short term goal, and for Laura, the months of loneliness after her separation could be mended in her drunken mind, by spending the night with someone who attracts so much success.

Having dealt with his credit card bills and associated admin for a few years now, Laura had an expectation of the palaciousness of the bachelor pad, but even she was in awe of its neatness, the magnitude of its internal library and the mind boggling array of flashing lights coming from the futuristic selection of boy's toys. Dave pointed towards the bedroom.

"Why don't you go and make yourself comfortable" he suggested, with a gentleness that Laura hadn't seen before. She respected him for everything that he'd achieved and admired his drive and determination, but she was fascinated to see that someone so focused could relax and show some humanistic feelings.

"Or am I just drunk and on the rebound?" she thought as she stumbled towards the bedroom and removed everything but her underwear and relaxed on the faux silk sheets. She avoided being impressed, as she knew that he'd got them in the sale from an online store. She didn't move too much, for fear of creating static.

In the bathroom, Dave was flossing and checking his crown jewels to make sure everything was in order. In the back of his mind, a key phrase was whirling around. It was something that he'd read in one of his business self help books.

"The best assets are used regular, maintained to perfection and serviced as if imperative to the company's success."

Looking down, he wasn't massively impressed with his maintenance schedule and the servicing had been infrequent at best, but he rationalised this as being OK. This wasn't exactly a blue chip client, so he considered this as just getting his eye in. He also knew that most businesses opted for a soft launch on new businesses before opening for real. Dave was hoping that tonight he could manage a hard launch.

On his way to the bedroom, Dave knew that the selection of music was essential for the mood and his chances of conversion. Strolling confidently to the voice activated system, he made his selection.

"On. (pause) Main bedroom...(pause)...chilled soul classics...play"

Despite his early disaster with music, Dave had amassed a collection that would be the envy of most, and prided himself on picking the right music to set the mood and vibe, just as a sommelier would pick a wine to match the food.

But as he walked off from the state of the art stereo system with a smug grin on his face, lightening struck again, and music once again became his downfall, but this time it was his technology that let him down.

Taking a last glance in the mirror before he went to conquer his prey, he chuckled to himself and celebrated his victory.

"Me and Mrs Jones...in the bedroom?" Dave was muttering to himself in amazement that he'd managed to get such an attractive lady into his bedroom, and impressed that she'd fallen for him with a jumble of work related stories.

By the time he entered the bedroom with a healthy stride and one hand on his belt buckle, Laura was putting her skirt back on, showing signs of tears and giving him a death stare that wouldn't have been out of place in a divorce court. As Dave stood still, she brushed passed him angrily and ploughed towards to the door.

"I'll call my own cab, don't worry."

Dave was still motionless, stunned and struggling to understand what he'd done wrong. Tonight had looked pretty much as good a dead cert as you could get.

"Maybe she was turned off by the black satin sheets?" he thought to himself, instantly dismissing that. They had been purchased a few months previous and were used sparingly for if Dave ever had anyone over. To an inexperienced bachelor, faux black silk sheets, styled in alternate black stripes like a fresh Wembley turf on FA Cup final day, Dave knew that these sheets had the potential to convert a maybe to a definite, but had they converted a definite to a maybe. Possibly?

It was significantly more likely that she'd felt out of her depth. "Probably thought I was too good for her."

As he sat on the edge of the soft sheets, a tad bemused, he leaned down to remove his shoes. It was in this moment, as Dave lifted his weary and confused head, kicking off his shoes, that it hit him again. The screen on the music display gave him the answer to his conundrum. Billy Paul and "Me and Mrs Jones", had just had a similar affect on Mrs Jones, as The Divynals had had on Veronica Cartwright. Dave shook his head in defeat, and reclined on the bed, with a wry smile. Soon he'd be a partner, and with the status, the office, the business cards and the pay rise, would come the ladies. Like the bands made their way to Woodstock in their droves, the aspiring women of the world would flock to Dave once he reached his pinnacle. A man of his calibre should not have to do any chasing. He just had to make sure that music didn't get in the way again.

***

Chapter Moving Goal Posts

***

"Of course I want this and I've aligned all my personal strategies to dove tail with the department strategy, whilst incorporating a few stretch targets that focus on my core competencies and provide true value add."

In line with his planning around the Rule of 3, Dave had set himself and agreed three targets with his boss, Big Nick. Nick was the stalwart of CEC services, and had been with them from his formative years. Nick had happily climbed the echelons of society as a younger man, using his father's impeccable wealth to enjoy an education at some of England's finest establishments. Whilst he hadn't been overly successful in the academic stakes, Nick had maintained some extremely useful relationships from his time at Oxford and Cambridge. It was these contacts which enabled Nick to survive in the business world and riled Dave who was cut from a very different cloth. Dave secretly believed that Nick had been a snake in a former life.

Suffering with SMS (Small Man Syndrome), Big Nick had notable issues with anyone above 5ft, so was most at ease either when picking up his youngest child from nursery or at the midgets circus. He also had issues walking past food without breaking into a sweat, but that never affected their working relationship. But to Dave, Big Nick represented a whole spectrum of issues and opportunities, which needed to be carefully navigated.

On his good days, Nick was a definite ally of Dave's and spoke very highly of his success, achievements and constant client praise. Almost an advocate, if advocates could slide and slither around the office. On his bad days though, Nick was a definite barrier to Dave's success, so he tried where possible to keep him in the loop with as much as possible, whilst keeping him at a distance as much as possible; a decision and mission statement that took some severe management and delicate handling.

Nick had taken Dave under his wing when he first moved down to the London office of CEC 3 years earlier, after a brief stint at CEC Manchester. Their working together had brought mutual benefit as Nick shared his wisdom, techniques and years of consulting experience, and Dave's commitment to success had resulted in Nick having a dedicated and motivated protégé. In recent years however, Dave had stepped from Nick's coat tails and started writing his own headlines. Nick was from a different school of thought and wasn't a massive fan of all Dave's tactics. He saw him as brash and controversial in his approach, but whilst it brought in the money, Nick was willing to turn a blind eye.

In a career that had been inundated with key performance indicators, output metrics and reporting protocols, Dave was glad to have agreed three simple targets with Nick. The path to partnership had been extremely competitive and Dave had seen many a peer fall at the early hurdles, like a nag in a horse race. The three targets had been in line with Dave's desire to keep things in three's, and they all seemed superbly achievable.

"So Dave", issued Nick, with his usual calm and emotionless demeanour, "how about we agree on the following things. I want annualised sales of 1.4m, which shouldn't be a problem. We need to see profitability and growth at the 21% mark, which is within your capability. It is also important that your 360 feedback comes back positive, which is currently tracking completely on target."

"OK. So assuming I achieve all those three things, then I will be promoted?" Dave pushed, looking for some commitment from a man who looked permanently startled as he sported a snail like moustache on his top lip and eye brows that wouldn't look out of place on a squirrel.

"Well you know Dave, it's hard to say before the event. There are obviously a whole host of behaviours, attributes and inter dependencies that will have to be considered to ensure we make a holistic decision that is in the best interests of all stakeholders. We need to cement your learnings and to solidify the development points to give us an appropriate way forward. Standing still is going backwards in this game...you understand don't you?"

Nick made no sense and his pompousness was riling Dave who wasn't sure whether to be nervous by this fourth possible measurement which didn't fit into the Rule of 3, or to occupy his time trying to work out what on earth Nick was talking about. He settled for the compromise that such responses were the safety net of someone who'd been in business for many decades, and who had a cash sapping child for each decade. Luckily, Dave was well equipped to compete on the business bullshit front, but decided that this wasn't the time to take Nick on.

"You know Dave, I've been doing this job for longer than you've even been in business, so I'll share something with you." Nick's penchant for patronising was frequent, so Dave bit his tongue and took a deep breath. "There is a certain magic and dynamic that we look for in people, and it isn't always either to quantify for measure. You need to show us that you have that."

Just what Dave had been dreading. Not only a fourth measure out of the blue, which didn't neatly fit into the rule of 3, but also one which couldn't be articulated or measured.

"I know exactly what you mean Nick. I've got to head off for a meeting now, but it would be good to check on progress soon. Thanks again for your time."

Dave's confidence wasn't dented by Nick's comments on his return home, as he considered himself one step ahead. After all, you don't qualify top of your class in all exams at high school (excluding Physical Education and Religious Education, which really don't count), complete a 3 year Business Management degree from the prestigious University of Manchester with Distinction and then nail 3 promotions in your first 2 years in a new job, without being confident about your ability. Dave's accelerated momentum through all things academic had been complimented by his achievement of completing 2 Masters in Business Management by the tender age of 22 and 24 respectively. Hard work and dedication had got Dave a long way, rather than being fed with a silver spoon from birth. More recently though, his Rule of 3 process, had given him a new edge. Dave had his all encompassing Rule of 3, from which all other rules were derived. It was also his most simple and his most effective.

***

Chapter Personal Success Strategy

***

Plan, Execute, Measure.

It was written in big bold letters across the top of Dave's glass wardrobe doors.

In true Dave fashion, each of the three words broke down into another three words in a pleasant tree formation. His attention was currently focused on the PLAN branch. It was time to retrieve his plans from their storage.

For a man of Dave's calibre and focus, having a fireproof safe in his wardrobe was normal, but there was no jewellery in his. It contained his holy grail. Dave's version of the colonel's secret recipe. The equivalent of proof of who shot JFK. Contained in that safe were the printed documents and electronic back-ups that represented the keys to Dave success now and in the future.

The plastic file was marked 'MASTER' and contained three documents. Dave sat with his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and flicked quickly through the three documents from his safe, with a grin of satisfaction on his driven yet relaxed face. The file contained a "Plan", "Execution" and "Measurement".

Dave started chronologically with the "Plan" document which featured his 12 month rolling plan. Dave updated this document every 3 months to take account of changes, developments and most importantly his achievements. This rolling plan was an annual account of the targets and successes required to achieve the longer term Dave Marsdon Strategy which was documented in the appendix of his plan.

Dave chuckled to himself as he re-examined and agreed with his Mission Statement on the Plan; "To be the best and constantly achieve beyond my ability and deliver above my potential". Dave liked this statement the most, as he knew that with every day that passed, he acquired more knowledge and power to boost his potential incrementally, so that this mission would be the ultimate in stretch targets.

The second document required a top up of his red wine. "Execution" took Dave's 12 month rolling plan and listed his strategy and tactics for achieving the plan, as well as the methods he was going to use to deliver on the plan. For every target statement in the Rolling Plan, there was an action statement in the Execution document which would pave the way for his continued success. Dave skim read through to refresh his mind, but this document was the most pleasing. He'd evolved into a naturally better version of himself, and the execution of his plan had become second nature to him.

The final document was the Mecca, winning lottery ticket and missing treasure, all in one. It was Dave's measurement of success and was subtitled "Long term plan for self actualisation". Ironically, for the most important and most consequential, it was the briefest document. For humour value, Dave had put a large X on the front cover to signify that this document was the solution and the home to the ultimate treasure trove. He cautiously turned the page and looked once more at the page. The page contained a large hand written cloud in the middle, with the word "SUCCESS" written in bold. Spawning from the cloud were a whole selection of tree like branches and a host of words, which Dave scanned. He gained great comfort from the fact that his long term plan for his life was a one page mind map. It was sufficiently subtle, had the ability to evolve, and most importantly suited his style of management. For every problem there is a diagram that can solve it. He'd proven that in many a client presentation, and what worked for his clients could work for him.

Having refreshed himself with his roadmap to success, Dave locked the safe and took the 12 month rolling plan with him. It was this document that he used once a week to calculate and monitor his immediate progress and to do what he knew was an essential element to success.

It was a chance to assess the interactions within meetings, the boardrooms, the conferences and the endless presentations where he'd talk about "realigning corporate DNA to provide a more cohesive workforce in a time of constant innovation and paradigm shifts that change the rules of business". Dave was his own back catalogue of business acumen, and he enjoyed these moments where he could spare himself time to reflect on recent successes and how they'd projected him to a new, higher standard of performance. To continually improve, Dave knew that he needed to critically assess every interaction that his days provided, and score himself on a variety of criteria to really work out the path to true success.

Loading up his home computer and flicking the switch on the projector, it was time for Dave to sense check his progress using mathematical proof rather than opinion. One thing he'd learnt from his years of study was the intrinsic risk of seeing what you want to see, so he chose to statistically prove his success using his own techniques. With the living room lights slightly dimmed, and part way through his third glass of red, Dave was ready for measurement time. There was no time to be nervous. Where his execution and delivery was art in real life, measurement was about science. It was about taking an expectation and assessing whether it was met, exceeded or not met. Not met wasn't an option.

Curiously inputting his scores on the keyboard and hitting the magic button, the graphic which appeared on screen was as relieving as it was pleasing. You average 27 year old would be doing something very different than Dave, if armed with a computer, projector screen and strong internet connection. Dave was hard wired differently than the average man.

Dave considered this exercise in the realms of an elite athlete who tracks his split times around the track, and who would measure many different facets of their performance in training, which was all geared at one end goal. A 100 metre sprinter who wants gold in the Olympics doesn't just repetitively run 100 metres over and over again for 4 years in preparation. Dave was assessing his interim performance and he was keen to see how he was tracking, as his big race was only a few weeks ago.

Dave made the brief stroll across his polished wooden floors to the kitchen, and poured himself a top up of what was some beautiful Cab Sauv, a fine addition to his wine collection, and not to be confused with the Clean Skins that he kept in the cupboard for parties. He was a firm believer that you don't share your nearest and dearest with strangers.

Making his way back into the living room, he stood proud, and raised his glass gently to his lips and he took in and absorbed all the information that was being displayed in front of him. The program had been created for him by a Summer Vacationer that Dave had taken into his fold the previous year. Brendon had turned out to be a whizz with spreadsheets, and had produced some excellent results for Dave working on some of his prestige clients performing some impressive data analysis. Sharing a beer one night as a treat for his good work, Brendon had explained to Dave that his dream was to create spreadsheets and programmes that studied the stock markets and selected stock to purchase that was virtually guaranteed to make money. Instead of preaching his superior knowledge around the fluctuations of stock markets and their volatility, learnt from his MBA days, Dave actually elected to listen and let Brendon talk some more. Listening proved rewarding and a light bulb went off in Dave's head. The following day, armed with intrigue but without the tools to compete, Dave set Brendon a little challenge to create a dummy version of this programme but with a slightly different market in mind. Several iterations later, Dave had probably his favourite boy toy from the entire house, and definitely the cheapest. A crate of beers had bought Brendon's silence, and now the fruits of Dave's innovative mind and expert guidance combined with Brendon's technical nous, stood glaringly in front of Dave.

Having input a score for each of the criteria on the opening screen of the program, all Dave had to do was sit back, wait for the program to churn through its scripts, previous scores and other parameters, and then hey presto. The output provided Dave with three things to consider, which was just how he liked it. First off, there was his current Share Price, which was very important. Did people want to buy the Dave Marsdon stock because it was performing well? Secondly, was how his Share Price was tracking, and whether performance was consistent against the average stock in the market. Nobody wants to buy stock that is volatile, so Dave was glad to see that his share price was showing a nice upwards trend and was performing steadily, not erratically. The final indicator from the programme hadn't always proved reliable, but this time, the words resonated nicely as Dave swilled his wine around his glass and took another swig, almost in celebration. At the special request of Brendon, he'd made a last minute adjustment to the program, which took the trending of the share price, the expected volatility and externalities, and gave you a decision. For this version of the software, the decision wasn't buy, sell or hold, but had been adjusted to fit the circumstances. In the past, some of the recommendations had been really useful for Dave, with examples including:

  * Put in more effort and more hours this week

  * Increase your sales figures

  * Maximize your exposure around the office

  * Show your peers that you care

  * Demonstrate an ability to lead your team

  * Make sure your clients love you

  * Attend more meetings

But this week's result was one of Dave's favourite suggestions and recommendations from the program, and one that showed that through hard work and delivery of the 3 stage process, all his ducks were nearly in a row. Grabbing the mouse, Dave highlighted the words and read them out loud as he charged his wine glass to the empty room. Thanks to his simple but effective plan, everything was falling into place.

"Continue what you are doing. Change nothing."

**Plan, Execute, Measure**.

***

Chapter After The Last One

***

"So how are we doing Laura?"

Leaving nothing to chance, Dave had taken the words of wisdom from his computer program and applied them 2 fold. Whilst continuing to do what he knew he did best, he upped his efforts and worked up a storm around the office. After a safe lapse of time and a few nervous moments, the 6.30am meetings with Laura were back on, and each morning Dave was exhilarated to hear that his progress and trajectory to partnership was well on track. Obviously, this was never overtly discussed, but instead Laura was required to debrief him over their morning coffee on the three measurements Dave had agreed with Nick. Hearing about the momentum he was building up with each passing day, like the avalanche gathering snow, provided Dave with the energy, drive and determination to push even harder.

Tuesday saw a presentation with Image Technologies, where Dave had wowed the C-suite Executives with a display of his now customary panache and bamboozling theatrics. Whilst The Board of Image Technologies had debated the need to spend so much money on something they weren't collectively sure was necessary, Dave had other ideas.

"The companies of yesteryear had deep arms and short pockets. In the modern economy, and with competition as it is, standing still is going backwards." Dave had borrowed a phrase from Big Nick, but claimed it as his own. He was in his element as the ring master in the board room.

"If you want to aspire for mediocrity, then the current plan is more than suitable. But you need to remember that if you invest in CEC Services, then you will experience an organisational change that will demonstrate the trade-off between the tactical approach to management and strategic long term growth. With proper alignment, and an understanding of the opportunity cost of current unprofitable ventures, Image Technologies can easily become a company of the future, rather than a memory of the past. However, we must hit the ground running."

The words were flowing from Dave as naturally as water from a fountain. His slick suit felt good today on his broad shoulders and his confidence was brimming. The fact that his presentation made little literary sense and was mainly full of business clichés didn't matter. It was impact he was after, and that was in the performance, not in the words.

The crowd was not stirring as the street performer style display neared its crescendo. Dave new that the real hurdle was The Chairman, a man who expertly groomed the longest nasal hairs that Dave had ever seen. His suit looked like it had been picked up from a museum rather than the dry cleaners, and Dave secretly wondered if his hair was glued on. In the four times he'd met him, not one solitary thread of hair had ever moved. Charm and charisma, combined with a healthy dose of corporate ego massaging fooled most people at this level. Dave knew the questions would come at the end of his presentation, but he was ready for that. His ethos on those questions was a simple one; answer quickly and confidently. It is more important than being right.

Alan, The Chairman of Image Technologies, was a tough guy. He was old school, and sneered subtly at the young hot shots like Dave that seemed to fester around organizations like his. He'd often sit in his gentlemans club with the other old timers and talk about the good old days, whilst sipping a whisky which had aged longer than most people in his organization had been on the face of this earth. He once quipped to an associate at the club, "How in the name of whoever you believe in, can I put my trust and investment in a chap who looks like he is as fresh out of nappies as he is new to shaving?"

Dave's secret lay in Laura. Not only was she becoming one of the best PA's in CEC, she also had more contacts than your average optometrist. Her research had resulted in a large leather bound compendium being delivered to Dave at one of their morning coffee sessions, the contents being a complete bio and background on all The Board of Image Technologies. Her notes on Alan had given Dave some potential, and Dave knew that if he used this correctly, that he could turn Alan from a hurdle to an advocate. Laura's note was succinct and Dave instinctively knew what to do. It simply read "very charitable family man who thinks he knows best and hates know-it-all consultants".

Dave had a series of beliefs, techniques and tactics, that he'd not yet managed to put into a Rule of 3, simply because he was scared that there might be more or less than three. Today, selecting the weapon from the ammunitions stockpile that was his brain, Dave knew he was going into battle well equipped. Internally, he nodded to himself as an acknowledgement and permission that on this occasion, the chosen course of action was appropriate.

"Alan", delivered Dave loudly and directly, with a concerted effort to deflect all attention on Alan and away from himself."I'm not going to be one of these Consultants who stroll into YOUR office and tell YOU that we have all the solutions. That would be patronising and ineffective."

Dave paused at the first victory in the battle. He was confident that the other firms bidding for this work would have arrived with fancy presentations telling Image Technologies what they should do. Step one had been achieved; discredit the opposition and put words into the mouth of the decision maker via flattery. That line alone made him look humble and meagre, two things that he definitely wasn't, whilst also making Alan feel like he was running the show. And he chuckled quietly as he strolled across the head of the Board Room Table dramatically, thinking of the irony of patronisation. Alan was his puppet and Dave was the puppet master.

"You see Alan", Dave turned, almost taking on the leader of the pack, something unheard of in Image Technologies folk law. No-one took on Alan Davis and survived to tell the tale...well apart from his wife. "Your management team, led by you, know so much more about this organisation, than any of my team could hope to accumulate from outside. But you already knew that. You are the life and breath of this organisation. All we hope to do is use our specialist skills, industry knowledge and acquired expertise, and combine that with your team's unbridled internal understanding of this amazing business, to produce meaningful decisions that aid YOU by providing YOU with a fresh perspective."

Dave had used the subtle flattery thing before with a software development client that he had, and the CEO there loved it. Dave knew that Image Technologies needed him, and he knew that he and his team were the best people for the job. Alan though was softening up, but was far from putty, and Dave knew he needed the big armoury if he was going to seal the deal on this one.

"You see Alan, this engagement reminds me a lot of some pro-bono work I did for a local charity" announced Dave, crossing his fingers to avoid going to hell. Two of Dave's associates, Ben and Karina, were in the room and thankfully Alan was so focused on Dave that he hadn't seen the pair's confused and contorted faces. They'd worked under Dave's stewardship for 3 years each, and charity wasn't a word that they'd ever associated with Dave Marsdon. They too leaned forward to hear more about this, and suddenly Dave had a fully captive audience. This was his boxing ring, his stage, concert hall and his studio. He was conducting his orchestra, teasing the bull and impressing the Emperor.

"This particular charity, which for client confidentiality reasons must remain nameless, thought that they needed a major overhaul. They'd tried some changes internally which hadn't resolved the problem, because they hadn't gone back to the cause. Well it turned out that they had all the right ingredients in the mixer, but they'd just put them in the mixer in the wrong order" as Dave began slowly stirring the imaginary ingredients with the imaginary large wooden spoon. "All we had to do was to show them how major overhaul wasn't required because they had everything they needed already, and within a month, their performance was back at optimal level and they had a very engaged workforce. It was probably one of my proudest engagements helping such a good cause."

Silence fell over the room. Alan was emotionless. Ben and Karina were nervous that Dave was going to continue his analogy and produce an imaginary cake out of the imaginary oven. Suddenly the coolness in the room warmed a few degrees as the cracks on Alan's face showed and he broke into a brief grin, just like an older man does when he manages a fart that he's been holding in. Dave was calm. He didn't mind silences. Earlier in his career he'd been far too much a fan of his own voice, and had once stolen defeat from the jaws of victory by talking too much. Not this time. Alan stood slowly, approaching Dave and reached out his right hand. Dave shook it confidently, assuming Alan was tapping out and the submission was obvious to everyone in the room.

"Let's hope your results with this program of work as are successful as your theatrics here today. To use your analogy Mr Marsdon, we haven't got funds for more ingredients and definitely not for a new mixer, but I sure as hell look forward to tasting the new cake in a few weeks. Your team starts on Monday, and I expect results" as the grin broke into a smile. The deal was sealed. At the back of his mind, Dave was a tiny bit worried that he'd overpromised to under-deliver, but he had a good team behind him and turned to wink at Ben and Karina, who now knew their fate for the next 4 weeks and that they would be responsible for managing the expectation gap that Dave had just created.

Back in his luxury vehicle, wearing an extremely smug grin, Dave was almost too euphoric to notice that Ben had brought a little mud into the freshly detailed interior of the car. "Luckily Ben you don't start at Image Technologies until Monday, so that gives you plenty of time to clean my car!"

"Dave...which charity have we done pro-bono work for? I always thought you said that pro-bono was undervaluing the magnitude of your services and that most charities wouldn't need to exist if people utilised the opportunities they had in life?" Karina's curiosity to learn more had gotten the better of her.

"Certainly young Karina. You were both fortunate to see three very important rules of business in demonstration there." Dave only had used two, but knew he had to make it into three!

"Firstly, the 7 P's. Alan Davis was not keen on us from the get go, so I had Laura pull every bit of information on him. Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance.

"Secondly, never let the truth get in the way of good story. Now then, my dearest mother works in a St Anne's Hospice Charity Shop a few mornings a week, and when I met up with her the other week, she was very stressed. My mum was far happier on the counter or helping customers find suitable items, and she hated sorting through donations and washing the clothes which got largely donated in the mornings. Her colleague, Miriam, much preferred being behind closed doors and helping around the back, but she worked afternoons when all the donations had already been sorted, so ended up working in the actual shop. They'd been fretting over how to change the pattern of donations, and had tried posters and everything, without success. So whilst having a cup of tea with my mum, I suggested that her and Miriam should swap shifts. The next week they did just that, and they are both like Neil Armstrong now...they are over the moon. Haaaaaa." Dave liked nothing better than one of his own jokes.

"But..." Karina paused, not wanting to offend her boss who didn't take criticism too well.

"And the BUT Karina, is rule number 3. Maybe I was a little liberal with the truth, but I certainly didn't overtly lie. Rule number 3 is to let your audience choose their own interpretation of your story."

Karina sat, half upset, half impressed and two thirds frustrated. Working for Dave was doing wonders for her career progression, and she was definitely learning things, but she didn't like everything she learnt.

Dave didn't care. He'd just secured the client win that would surely be the icing on his promotion cake. Now, as they approached the office, his logistically enthused mind kicked into play, and Dave was carefully planning.

"I need a venue, an event e-mail address like surprise@promotion.com and a theme. Maybe the theme could be success? Or I could be the theme? And I should make sure there is a good mix of friends and clients, after all, it's a networking opportunity as well?" Dave loved collaborating with himself.

It wasn't that Dave didn't trust his friends, but you know what they say. If you want something doing, and you want it doing well, you are best off doing it yourself.

Tony was the first to realise when he got the 'Save The Date' in his e-mail inbox, and Anne followed soon after. All those that knew Dave well realised. Dave was organising his own surprise celebration party.

***

Chapter But You Said!

***

"I don't know what you mean?"

Dave was in a daze, his face contorted and his fingers tapping nervously on the table like Stevie Wonder on the ebony and ivory of a piano. But Dave didn't like the tune that was being played out here. It had started as expected with a positive statement that Dave assumed would to lead on to even better news.

"The good news is that you have comfortably exceeded all your _hard metrics_ and the fiscal targets that we set you."

Nick was sitting opposite, and Dave was resisting the temptation to react. This was clearly a test, or some kind of wind up. Admittedly he'd been a tad nonchalant in the last week or so, but he'd obliterated all of his agreed targets, so it had been OK to take the foot off the gas a little bit. Almost in tune to Dave's tapping, Nick continued and the chorus was repeated for the first time in the ballad of Dave.

"And whilst it's commendable that you've focused on those hard metrics, that isn't always enough. As a leadership team, we just don't feel that you are balanced. You've got all the ticks in the boxes David, and we really appreciate your efforts to date."

"But you set me those targets. And I nailed them. I knocked them for 6. I even got Image Technologies on board!" Dave was tense and trying not to be emotional. He couldn't face the embarrassment of cancelling his own surprise promotion party.

Nick was visibly nervous. As a bigger gentleman, it had been a good while since he'd visited a gym. Whilst he claimed to play for a local veteran's football team, rumours suggested that he spent more time warming the bench than he did kicking a ball, and he only played for the networking. Either way, he looked physically uncomfortable breaking this news to Dave, and was starting to break out in a constant sweat. Nick was renowned for his perspiration. As a keen eater of all things fattening, it was widely acknowledged that whilst 100m runner Carl Lewis went on the B of Bang, Nick started sweating on the F of Food. The agitation that he displayed now produced beads like there was an all you can eat buffet wafting up his nostrils.

"As a leadership team, we just don't feel that you are balanced. You've got all the ticks in the boxes David, and we really appreciate your efforts to date, and hope that they continue. With another year under your belt, who knows?" Nick was being careful to share the blame around the leadership team. Accountability had never been his strong point, especially when you could point the blame at other people who weren't there to defend themselves.

It was the second time that Dave had heard the chorus, but it wasn't getting any easier to swallow. He just couldn't fathom how this could happen. He'd checked his share price only last night, and it was at an all time high. His 12 month rolling plan was speckled with more bright red ticks than a kid with chickenpox, and he'd done everything they'd asked of him and more. That was it!

"But I've done everything you've asked of me and more. You can't move the goal posts on me now. You asked me to do three things, and I've done them all? What else can I do?"

"Well David, that is where we disagree. There was a fourth dimension that I mentioned on your appraisal session the other week. To truly be a leader and a role model, you need more than technical ability. I would liken it to the electricity between a guy and a girl when they just hit it off. That pizzazz. The energy, and presence of an aura that when connected together form a whole which is greater than the sum of the parts. Do you know what I mean?"

Dave was lost, like a young boy in the woods as the clouds crowded in and the trees grew ever larger and more dominating. Nick was playing him at his own game with all these word, analogies and holistic chat. Dave was in two minds. There was option one, which was to flap his arms around like a child thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool, and to scream "it's just NOT fair". Maybe a little immature and tantrum like? Option two required him to dig deeper than a coal miner, and search inside for the inner belief that this disaster could be resolved. There was no-one else in the room. Nobody need ever find out about this...it was time to beg.

"Look Nick, you win, OK. I need this. Forget want. Want is for those try hards out there. I am stronger, bigger, better and more than them. I have done everything you ask and more, and we both know I deserve this. There is time before the promotions are announced, so tell me what it is. Dangle one more carrot and I'll eat it like Red Rum ate his last meal before becoming glue!"

Nick did that patronising pause and sigh, like inferior people do. Dave didn't retaliate. His calmly sat and waited. The ball was firmly in the big man's court, and Nick wasn't letting this one go.

"Well you see Dave, you have more than exceeded our expectation on the hard metrics that we set for you. Almost too much." Nick eased his glasses down his nose for dramatic effect, but looked more like a seedy science teacher. For most people, standing up would now give them the superior footing on which to deliver the key speech, but being ¼ inch off medically being a midget, and being as wide as he was tall, this wasn't an option for Nick. He rocked back gently in his chair, and Dave instantly saw this softening as an opportunity.

"Just tell me straight. You know I love full and frank feedback. I know I can do this, and so if you just tell me what it is, I will do everything in my power to get this promotion."

"Well it is hard to quantify, but I'll give it a go. You see, as a group of partners, we had a chat about what we feel makes us good at what we do. Your statistics cannot be questioned David, but being a partner requires more than statistics. A life as a partner is a juggling act, and one that requires the utmost balance and occasional grounding. As a group we feel that your professional efforts are immense, but that maybe they have been sacrificed in the face of your personal pursuits."

"Yes, yes, yes, that is all well and good, but without this promotion I've got nothing?" demanded Dave, thinking that this guilt trip would push Nick over the line.

"Exactly young man." Nick reached for his jacket and folder. The suit had clearly been built for someone with Nick's waist and chest measurements, but those guys clearly had longer arms as his hands barely appeared out of the suit. Hitching it back, he repeated his words once again, like a parent wagging his finger at an errant child.

"Exactly young man. You need to show us that there is more to you than just the workaholic consultant. If you can show us, as a leadership team, that you are balanced, then the job is yours."

Nick's hungry hand patted Dave's shoulder as he left the office, and the temptation to bite it off like a rabid terrier chomping at the postman, was rife in Dave.

"And remember Dave, you've done really well this year and as a group we appreciate that immensely."

There it was. Dave had just been served a good news sandwich. Two firm and honest pieces of good news bread, with a healthy slice of bad news filling. The books he read called it 'balanced feedback', but he knew that the good news was only there to soften the blow. He was numb as he sat there alone. Hurt, but not defeated.

"Balance? What the fuck is balance?"

Dave knew where he could find the answer, but he just wasn't sure whether he'd like the answer. While Laura sat excitedly and expectantly, he left Nick's office, closed his laptop and headed for the door, not even looking her in the eye.

"No more calls for the rest of the day. Cull any meetings I've got. If anyone calls you don't know where I am. My mobile is off. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Plan, Execute, Measure" he thought to himself as he descended in the lift.

***

Chapter What Happens Next

***

"Look kids, it's Uncle Dave. Come on in. Dinner won't be long; I've just got to put these two down. Say goodnight kids."

The spread was exactly what Dave had expected, but the welcome blew him away as always. Lashings of gravy did little to hide the mass of food that lay on the plate in front of him, with every seasonal vegetable being used as the perfect accompaniment for a lavish joint of beef that just oozed flavour like a marathon runner oozes sweat.

As was protocol for these random visits, neither Anne nor Tony had enquired as to the reason, but sure as an out of tune song at a football game, they knew something wasn't right. Dave had gotten better as the kids had reached an age where he could talk at them more with some level of engagement, and now they were able to answer back, Dave had been a regular at the birthdays and other parties. That was on the condition that Anne got the invite to Laura in enough time before Dave's hectic diary got too busy. Before then, his visits had been infrequent in their timing, but entirely obvious in their reason. Dave tended to arrive at the Hamilton house when he needed help, and there was a certain type of help that he knew only Anne and Tony could deliver.

Dave stood momentarily and carefully cracked open the bottle of red that he'd brought with him. Despite being phased by the news that Nick had thrust upon him, he'd had his wherewithals about him when he'd pulled into his place on the way to the Hamilton house. Dave had two selections of wine in his bachelor pad. There was the display set, which included some very select and reserve bottles of fine red and white. These were his special wines, and were to be drunk by him only, but really were more for show than anything. In fact, he was very careful to purchase wines with screw caps, so that when he'd drunk them, he could refill them with coloured water and put them back in the display. As a frugal businessman, Dave had another consignment of wine, which was his sharing dinner party, or gift wine. He'd stumbled across a bottle shop during one of his international business trips, where you could buy wine labels. It didn't take a millisecond for his synapses to connect and send a message of pure joy to his head.

"Nice labels plus cheap wine equals expensive wine...check!"

A few weeks later he'd gone to his local wine merchant and secured a few boxes of their finest clean skin wine, at less than €1 a bottle, and invested a brief wet Sunday afternoon, attaching his own labels. For just over a quid a bottle, he could arrive at any event proud of the fact that he had a unique bottle of red. In fact, during some recent client dinners, he'd even bragged about how "you won't see this label anywhere else...it's very exclusive and I promised my supplier that I wouldn't tell!" Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Anyway, it proved Dave's point that most people didn't know a good bottle from a cheap plonk, as many a guest would harp on about the "woody aftertaste" and "crimson bark" or what was "a truly divine example of a red!"

Anne sat cautiously at the table. She knew what the opening words would be, but not what would follow. The kids were safely tucked up in bed, and she knew that time was on their side, but the anticipation of these events was quite something. Given her brothers staunch standing on pride, success and desire to never admit a failure, she knew that something pretty significant was in the air if he was around for an uninvited meal. Looking across the table, she wondered if Tony was thinking the same. After nearly 10 years of marriage, their thought processes were often in harmony, but she was confused by the look on his face. His body language was confusing her.

As Dave slowly poured the wine, the anger raged inside Tony in equal measures to the voice which simply said "let it be Tony, let it be." Tony didn't mind Dave coming around. In fact it was great to catch up with his best mate and wife's brother. But today?? Tony had been dreaming of his meat and veg all day as he slaved away at work, and he begrudged getting a half portion of his favourite meal so that the other half could be given to a man who had turned up uninvited and who could afford any meal in any restaurant in any part of town. But what really took the biscuit for Tony, was that bloody wine. It seemed that as Dave smugly topped up the glasses, that he'd conveniently forgotten that a drunken conversation they'd had over a few beers where Dave had regaled in great enjoyment about his secret wine stash. Now Tony was faced with his best mate eating half of his dinner whilst pouring cheap wine in disguise around the table. Luckily, the excitement at what news Dave was about to break, was just enough to overcome his anger. "There is nothing like someone else's problems to make yours seem better!" thought Tony, quietly wondering how much more joint he would have got if Dave hadn't been there.

Dave took a healthy swig of his 'unique' wine, swilling with a nonchalant expertise that made him look like he was washing out his mouth at the dentists. By the time his glass was back on the IKEA coaster, both Anne and Tony were virtually dribbling with anticipation, and salivating at the news which nearly always followed the first big gulp of vino. Inhaling a breath in anticipation, they nearly rid the kitchen of oxygen, as their gaping bright white eyes bulged in unison and focused solely on Dave.

"So..." as Dave paused and looked up, seeing the open caverns that were his confidants mouths, "work...they've said they aren't going to promote me."

Dave gently circled the top of his glass, now avoiding eye contact and waiting for a reaction. When the response was silence, he gingerly raised his gaze, to see the shock on the faces before him, like the day the world found out that George Michael might be gay. (How didn't we realise?!)

"But I already accepted the invite to your promotion drinks and we've lined up a baby sitter" added Tony. He was always keen for a night out, few beers and a party, which had become a bit of a rarity since the kids had come along. Before he'd had a chance the finish the sentence, the heat from Anne's glare in his direction was warming his face uncomfortably. Sensing he'd said the wrong thing, he opted for a safe return to his evening meal while the siblings debated the news with more consideration. His time would come.

As the twins debated the shocking news, Tony observed with amazement. Their lives had taken such different paths. From the age of 13, Anne had wanted to be a wife, mother, parent, daughter, sister and guardian. As he watched her graciously dance around the subject, he recalled how they were each other's first love, had married young and now had a gorgeous young family to show for it. Anne's life was so different to Dave's and almost polar opposite, despite the same genes and upbringing, yet they somehow had an inherent understanding of each other that defied nearly every opinion they had. Where Anne was paternal, Dave was cut throat. Where Dave saw weakness, Anne saw someone who she could help. Anne had given money or time to charity for every big deal that Dave had closed. Her blood spread warming and caring to every extremity of her body. Dave's blood rattled with the clatter of loose change and was pumped around his body twice as fast chasing the desire for more, bigger, better and success. Dave would have topped up the glass that was half empty and found another one that needed filling...Anne was just glad to have a glass and didn't see it as half full or half empty. Watching Dave, Tony had always had a hint of envy at his success, achievement and the financial stability that he undoubtedly had. But in that moment, like many others, as Dave stacked some carrots on his beef and topped it with some gravy, he was happy to be himself and in his situation. Life as Tony Hamilton wasn't three bad.

"So they are just delaying it then? From what you've just said, you can still get it if you can prove that you aren't a career junkie?"

Anne had a certain way with words at times like these. She'd not learnt the tact of the Boardroom, but had learnt the brutal honesty of raising two young children and having a husband!

"Yeah, if you put it like that. But..."

"Don't Dave. No more buts. If you really want this, then first things first. You need to admit what we all know. You are a corporate whore and career junkie...just admit it. No more fighting...go on, do it!"

"I AM NOT A CORPORATE WHORE!"

Dave seemed angered and his sudden raised voice had caused a nervous silence around the whole kitchen. The silence was broken as Tony burst into uncontrollable sniggers that saw a combination of carrot and red wine start to emit from the side of his mouth. The infectious laughter was quickly contracted by both Anne and Dave. Picking up his wine and taking a swig, Dave surmised the situation well.

"I know people with life coaches and counsellors, and I have to wait 'til the proverbial hits the fan, and my shrink is my kid sister and my best mate who is her husband, and I get fed during our sessions...that's got to be the definition of crazy!?!'

"Definitely is mate...especially when you add in the fact that you've brought cheap ass clean skin wine around with fake labels" as Tony once again erupted into secondary laughter with caught on even quicker. He was surprisingly witty for Mr Average.

Dave instantly relaxed all his neck muscles and slowly and deliberately made gentle head butting motions towards the table. Lifting his head to the sermon, he looked vulnerable to Anne and Tony.

"I really want this. We all know you are right, but I strongly believe that if I can get this over the line, it will all be alright from thereon in. Consider it a stake in the ground?

"Mate, we've been friends for nearly 20 years yeah? Well trust me and believe me when I tell you this. I've never given you advice because I don't like giving it and you don't like taking it. But these aren't normal circumstances and we're all desperate. Agreed?"

There were gentle nods from around the table, as much from the confusion as backseat Tony took control of the situation with such poise.

"Now you can try as many get rich schemes as you like. My guess would be that you'd start by taking your team out and getting them drunk, before bullying them to start telling the hierarchy that they love working for you because you are balanced."

"Well, the thought had crossed my mind...briefly..."

"Well uncross it. You need to do this for real mate. You can't fool these guys. They don't want to hear that you are balanced. They want to SEE it. And to really see it and believe it, you need to be balanced. I can only see one way you can do that."

"Come on then, don't hold me in suspense. I've only got a few weeks to turn the tables, and I sense this isn't going to be straight forward."

"You need a lady." There is was. Delivered. Out in the open. As quick as he'd let the words out, Tony was back to his plate and casually mopped up the remaining gravy with his potatoes.

"A lady. Thank god for that. I thought you were going to suggest something awful like charity work or helping the homeless. Yuck. Well that can't be too tough, as there are plenty around and I'm a definite catch. Rich, single, successful. Hell, if I was a lady, I reckon I'd fancy me."

There was nothing right about the final statement, but they let it pass given the delicateness of the current situation.

Anne reached over and doing her ultimate parental look, placed her hand on Dave's arm, more like Mother Theresa than his kid sister. She enquired softly and with hope.

"David. Have you been with a lady recently? Do you have a love interest?"

"Easy Sis! Look, I've been busy the last few months. It's been a rough quarter. It wouldn't have been fair. The last year has been about focus and dedication. There was no room for anyone else."

"Mate, you've just gone from months to years. How long has it been?"

"Let's just say a while. I've not lost my licence, but nor have I been behind the wheel for a while."

"I just hope you haven't taken too many taxis!" Tony was unable to resist the temptation to blow Dave's analogy into a sexual innuendo.

"OK, so if I get a girl, then you reckon they'll consider me balanced?"

"Mate, getting a girl isn't going to be as easy as you think. Getting one and then keeping her is going to be even harder. Some guys never do it. I was just lucky and found the love of my life at an early age, and now I'm fortunate that I get to grow old with her." Tony leaned over and gave Anne a kiss that was more of parents than it was of lovers, but it was enough.

Dave suddenly realised that this wouldn't be a stroll, and he'd need his wits about him if he was going to succeed at this venture like everything else. He couldn't bear to have to cancel his own surprise party.

His mind wandered around the topic as the conversation continued and the meal was complete.

Before you could say "top meal and thanks for the counsel", Dave was reaching for his keys, exchanging handshakes and kisses. Equipped with a stimulus and idea, he now knew what he needed to do.

"Plan, Execute, Measure", he muttered as he turned the key in the ignition.

***

Chapter Simple Solution Surely

***

"Come on. It's just a problem, and problem solving is your forte."

Dave was into his second bottle of wine, as he sat stumped in his bachelor lounge. There was a horrible feeling that the walls were closing in on him and a fear that the fundamentals in his life were about to collapse and everything around him would come crashing down. The challenge seemed so simple in words, but now he sat with his cheap Merlot swilling around his glass, he realised that this was a mountain he'd not climbed before, and a mission that he couldn't take lightly. The prize was too important. He'd already selected an array of executive toys for his new office that he'd get with his promotion, and had even enquired about upgrading his car to one more befitting of the private car park that CEC Services provided its partners.

Bereft of ideas, Dave was starting to get a little agitated at the lack of progress. He needed a plan. Realising that he was firmly back at square one, unless there was a square before that, he knew that this plan needed cunning, guile and inspiration. He moved to his bedroom, wine in hand, and collected the board marker on the way, sliding the opaque bedroom door to provide the perfect white board, as important to a consultant as a sword is to one from Arthur's round table. Dave had cleaned the doors to give him the full space for this epic challenge, but the faux white board looked sparse, but for a few arrows and the words 'GIRL' and 'BALANCE'.

It didn't take too much soul searching for Dave to realise that he didn't have writers block, but more importantly he had no idea where to start and no experience to draw on.

'If only getting a woman was like getting a client? I've got plenty of those" he thought. "Hang on...I might just have something there."

The drawing continued, and there was a plan. Dave knew lots about business. Business was about relationship management, pitching for something and being best of breed, making promises and delivering on them, and about beating the competition. Women are the same...ish? Kind of. Well, near enough. The lines were drawn, and the first phase of the plan was in place. Dave did have the skills required, so now he just needed a strategy. Finally, leaving his wine, Dave rushed excitedly towards his myriad of business and strategy books and began sifting through them in search of the Holy Grail. A business strategy that would help him woo a lady and demonstrate balance.

After limited success, it was time to give the information super highway a chance to shine, and Dave booted up his computer. Within minutes of loading and a variety of searches, Dave finally saw his treasure map, which would surely lead him to the gold.

On the large screen in front of him was a sign from a more powerful force, as it fitted so perfectly. Not only was it an ideal business strategy for Dave to plan his acquisition of a young lady, but it also satisfied one of Dave's other desires...it used the Rule of 3.

The strategy was ideal, preferring to utilize a diagram over long laborious words, and was called 'Three Horizons" and was pioneered by McKinsey's, a top tier consulting business and one which Dave admired greatly.

Studying the methodology with a decent accompaniment of wine sloshing around his cranium, Dave was convinced that this was an ideal fit. The fact that it was designed as a growth strategy for businesses was conveniently ignored. Dave's growth and profits would be the securing of a lady friend and the achievement of 'balance', that would see him in the hot seat of the CEC partnership within weeks.

Collecting his paper and a pencil, Dave quickly established his strategy whilst the creative juices flowed, though slightly infused with Merlot.

The interpretation was simple, and even better, it used the rule of 3, so was certain to work.

Horizon One was about current. So that was easy. His first efforts would focus on someone he already knew and who already knew him. The bonus here was that if he could convert H1, then he'd do so quickly and with minimal effort. With his killer instinct back on track, he instantly selected his prey for H1. "L.J." was scrawled on the plan, and Laura Jones had a target on her back.

With his mojo back and having moved onto a glass of port, Dave was feeling the momentum picking up for this plan. H2 needed something different and something new, but intricately something that he could run in tandem with H1. Where could Dave quickly meet new women and not arise the suspicions of Laura who may be a work in progress at that stage? With a shake of his head and a smile of glee, H2 was born. H2 needed new women, and Dave was aware that his percentage chances of success were decent, but the more potential women he could squeeze in, the higher the chance of success. Only one strategy presented this kind of opportunity. Dave scribbled on his plan "play the numbers game".

H3 was a little trickier, and took some real consideration from Dave. What was the innovation and break-through strategy that he'd use if H1 and H2 didn't work? In his strategy presentation, this was a new market and a new product. In his dating terms that was dating a new kind of girl because he had something different to offer. Dave necked the last of the Port in trepidation at the mere thought of this. The words were written and he hoped that he'd never have to deliver on H3.

"Reinvent oneself in an innovative and creative way to change the perception of who I am, to therefore attract a new type of woman."

"Fail to plan and plan to fail" he muttered to himself as he cleaned his teeth. Happy with his plan, he slinked off to bed.

On the other side of London, Laura was in bed, hurriedly preparing the final bio for their 6.30am meeting, without realising that the agenda had just changed.

***

Chapter Drink On The Horizon

***

"You look simply radiant today Laura."

Laura had been concerned from the first interaction at their routinely morning coffee session. Dave arriving late was something that was strange, but Laura had a variety of reasons that she could attribute to this unusual lack of punctuality.

She was having considerable more trouble rationalizing away the other changes in behaviour. The double espresso that he'd shot back before embarking on his usual skinny cappuccino had thrown her somewhat, but that all paled into insignificance compared to his extremely odd behaviour. Having issued the diary, bio's and given the monologue update of his stats, Laura had expected one of two responses. The most likely response involved Dave digesting all the information before barking out a series of orders. This is what usually happened and strangely would have relaxed Laura.

Given the urgent and rather emotional departure from the office the day previous, Laura had also considered another response. This option would involve Dave opening up and explaining what had gone on in Nick's office, and Laura was nervous that a conversation about feelings, reality and relevance, might make for an uncomfortable topic for someone like Dave.

The fact that neither of these was occurring was confusing enough, but Laura's brain was trying to do trigonometry in Russian with a blind folded guide dog, as it attempted to understand what Dave was doing.

As well as using the word "radiant" to describe her, he continued with a question. Dave didn't ask questions. He gave orders.

"How's my favourite Laura today?"

This had just been amplified by him waving his hands away in a dismissive manner when she handed Dave the daily bio's and his retort of "oh, I can deal with those later. I want to know more about you. How's things?"

The statement had bothered Laura, but the wink that accompanied it sent 10,000 volts of fear through her nervous system and a shiver that shook the chair.

Taking a deep breath to try and re-establish some normality, it was then that the secondary wave of shocks hit her. Dave wasn't wearing a tie. Laura blinked like a strobe light, but no tie appeared. But her deep breath had picked up something else. Something different. Dave was wearing aftershave. Something catastrophic had gone wrong.

Suffering sensory overload, and not believing the information her eyes, ears and nose were delivering to her, Laura was a serious risk of a major brain fart, so opted for complete silence. If she let Dave continue, that would give her time to work out what was going on.

"Have I got a lunch meeting today?"

Clearly the silence had worked and Laura relaxed as normality was resumed.

"No Sir, you are free for lunch today. Would you like me to make you a booking?"

"Please Laura. Usual table, usual time, for two."

"No worries, I'll do that when I get back to my desk. Which client engagement shall I put it under?"

Dave threw his arms back behind his head with the grin of a man who was betting on himself with great confidence. The smirk on his face made Laura feel uneasy and move backwards in her seat.

"Put it under 'Getting to know Laura better' and you better make it a long lunch. I'll see you then!"

Dave rose from the table, taking his papers with him and was in a taxi by the time Laura had gathered herself and stopped shaking. She didn't want to feel so ungrateful, as every PA at CEC would kill for lunch at Dave's usual restaurant. The bill alone was more than she earned in a week. But then the other PA's didn't work for Dave, and nor had they just experienced the exchange that had just occurred. That was not the normal Dave Marsdon that Laura had got used to, and that meant only one thing. Something was going on, and she seemed to be stuck in the middle of it.

Despite feeling completely out of place at C'est Bleu, Laura had arrived early in an attempt to conquer her nerves with a stiff drink. On the back foot, she'd been thrown when she'd ordered a "quick shot" and he'd presented a menu. Laura wasn't used to places with menus for drinks. Food yes, but drinks? Her brain nearly froze when she saw that the Tequila list alone took up a whole page, as she'd previously thought that there were only two types; the cheap stuff and the nice stuff. "This definitely must be the nice stuff" she muttered to herself. Not knowing the etiquette for these places unnerved her, and this was fuelled by the lack of prices on the menu. What kind of place has a menu for drinks and then forgets to print the prices?! Her intention was to pay for this pre-dinner drink herself, but the embarrassment of wanting to ask how much each drink was, meant that ordering was a step too far. She knew she had £15 in her pocket, and in all the bars she frequented, this was enough for a round for her and her buddies. But in here, it might not even cover the cost of the lemon that the Tequila came with.

Panicking at her third page turn of the menu, and with the elderly bar gentleman keenly waiting, Laura spouted out the reflex words from a normal Friday night out with her girly mates and defaulted to her favourite drink.

"Double Vodka...Red Bull...please?"

The immediate relief of having actually managed an order was quickly replaced by distraught fear, as she hurriedly reviewed the menu again. She'd not even seen vodka on the menu, let alone Red Bull. Wanting to shout "bollocks" at the top of her voice but censoring herself and preferring to shout it very loud in her head, Laura looked up to the barman with an apologetic puppy face, that just muttered 'help me'.

"Grey Goose OK for Madam?" He had a generous and relaxing smile on his face as he poured the vodka, and cracked the Red Bull with his other hand in unison.

As the warmth of his generosity calmed her, the fingers were back in the power socket to shock Laura, as the words came tumbling over her shoulder, and set the tone for the afternoon.

"Good choice. Make that two please Geoffrey...actually no, make it THREE and have one yourself Geoffrey!" Easing in with a drink made sense, but so did sticking to the Rule of 3!

Dave tried to reassure Laura with a comforting hand on the shoulder, but she'd nearly leapt from her stool, so he thought he'd wait for the vodka to kick in and placed his hand back on his hip. He liked the fact that she was nervous. Dave knew that a nervous client was one with money to spend and he often had the solution. Laura's nerves bode well as far as he was concerned.

For every twinkle there was in Dave's eye, there was a shock of nerves, confusion, doubt and upmost fear drilling its way through every agitated nerve in Laura's body.

Eating in a restaurant of this calibre was enough of a sensory overload and learning curve for Laura, without having to attempt it with your boss who seems to have just had his cut throat business brain replaced with slime.

"Shall we" as Dave ushered Laura towards 'his' table. Dave had caught on to Laura's nervousness, and had allowed the waiter to seat her to avoid any more reactions when he placed his open hands within 5 yards of her suddenly insatiable body.

As they sat, it suddenly dawned on Dave that this was his place of business. It was his boardroom. He'd never flirted here. He'd never really brought a woman here. Well, there was Margaret from Aztec Logistics, but she was more of a man than most of the suits he worked with. His endless delivery of killer lines that took a client from a potential to an advocate, and from curious into customer, just didn't quite seem appropriate.

The alternative to killer lines, was nerves, and this wasn't a comfortable or customary sensation for Dave. He fidgeted as he sipped his drink and swapped occasional grins with Laura, who had already polished off her first drink and was waving at the waiter for her top up.

Supping slowly, the energy drink kicked into Dave's senses and his mind was working a fanatic pace, if not a little jumbled up by the vodka. Dave put the drink to his lips as his train of thought focused in.

"If I just think of her as a client, then it will be OK. Not like a client as in paying for it, but as someone with something to sell. NOOOOO! She is a customer and we need to build a business relationship. Perfect. So I need to start off with something flashy that sets the tone, and then build on that. Easy." He thought to himself, just as he drained the glass and placed it down.

Laura had ordered for both of them, and his top up was ready and waiting for him. Buying some time, he sipped the top off, and lowered the glass and his glance to take note of his prey.

"You know I've sealed many a deal in here you know"

It just came out. It had made sense in his head, but out loud, it carried a different message, especially judging by the crimson colour that bestowed Laura's concerned face. It was time for Dave to dig.

"I don't mean like that. Well I do, I mean client wise. I've wooed many a paying customer in here...you know, as in clients of CEC. Not where I'm the client, like ladies of the night. Not that that was what you were thinking. I meant that this is where I do some of my best work. Deals where money changes hands. Oh god!"

Looking up, the colour remained on Laura's face, but it had been joined by a massive grin and the start of an elongated chuckle.

"What are you talking about Mr Marsdon?"

"Please Laura, call me Dave. Erm, what I was trying to say was...ahem..."

"That you've had lots of women and that you picked them all up here, in exchange for an amount of money." Laura interjected with a wry smile on her face that suggested that Dave was off the hook.

"I wish that was the case." Dave was muttering, seemingly under his breath, but with enough volume to catch Laura's keen ears as her eyes shot bigger than an owls and she let out a tiny high pitched squeal, freezing all the features on her face with complete shock.

"Oh there I go again. I don't mean that I wish I'd paid for sex." Dave had a little more certainty this time. "I mean that I wish I had more luck with women."

"Luck or success?" retaliated Laura. The second double vodka had numbed the blow of that comment, but it resonated deep inside Dave. Now wasn't the time.

"Let's order. The Duck is exquisite and the slow roasted pig is just divine."

"The last time someone suggested duck to me, it was so I didn't bang my head." Laura tried and failed to hold back her sniggering, to the point where much of her laughter emanated from her nose and the tear ducts let loose to confirm just how hilarious she found herself. Luckily, Dave hadn't eaten since the small bite of toast before 7am, and so the vodka had alerted his sense of humour and Laura's infectious giggles caught him with his guard down.

Wary still from the "Luck or success" comment that Laura had jabbed him with earlier on, the topics of conversation throughout lunch were much safer, and centred around the people they knew from the office and Dave catching up on some of the gossip that he normally missed as he was too busy to socialise.

"Is all that really going on?" Dave was slurring his words slightly whilst enjoying the stories of other people's infidelities, affairs, hobbies and past times. But deep down, he was baffled to grasp how that could all happen and the requisite work gets completed. It simply didn't compute. These people had targets too, surely. Dave had been aware for a while that the drive, desires and determination that he had, wasn't necessarily equalled by that of his lesser peers, but he had assumed that they were still that way inclined. Hearing all this gossip and washing it down with the finest vodka money can buy, was creating a smouldering melting pot of chuckles, glances and eye contact.

But the untrained eyes of Dave didn't see the ingredients nicely coming together in the cauldron, his eyes blurred by the steam as the infectious giggles bubbled along. Dave felt like the conversation was off topic and he had to manoeuvre it back there if he was to succeed. "Focus Dave" he silently reminded himself, "plan, execute, measure."

"Do you like wine Laura? I was thinking of getting a bottle to go with our meal?"

"Yes Sir. I mean Dave. I love wine. I prefer white though. Red gives me a headache."

"Well we wouldn't want that would we? Do you think you'd like a Semillon?"

Laura burst into that giggle once again and it comforted Dave further.

"I'll just order shall I?" Dave got the waiters attention. "Hello there. Do you have a good Semillon?"

Laura was practically bent over double in pain from trying to resist the laughter, and Dave was struggling to keep a straight face. Lunch with Laura was proving to be fun, and this dating lark was a breeze.

"Might I recommend the Hunter Valley '06 Award Winner for sir and madam?"

"Perfect. Thank you."

The subtlety of the conversation was relaxing Laura, and she now felt guilty for suspecting the worst from Dave. She had always labelled him as such a stuck up wannabe, who lived to work and who fed himself on the scraps of the corporate junk pile. For these reasons and for her stereotype that Dave would only be nice if he wanted something, she now felt bad. It seemed that he'd just wanted to treat her, maybe for the long hours, or maybe just as a thank you for all her hard work. As the second bottle of wine was placed on the table, her mind wandered in the haze of tipsiness, and she thought for a moment. "Surely not...but maybe...maybe he is saying sorry for the little incident at his house. Oh my god. After all the nasty things I said to the other PA's and all along he just wanted to say sorry. He is genuine after all, and it's me that is bad!" Thinking through all these emotional connotations was making Laura well up inside, and the flood gates were just about to burst.

"Anyway, let's get back to the business at hand. You know Laura; the way I operate you have to seize opportunities. You can't waste your life wondering if something better is coming around the corner, as it rarely does. Taking time out to reflect is a sign of indecision and flushes ££'s down the drain and I detest that. It can take an age to get the answer 100% right and to find the perfect solution. Well sometimes in life, being nearly there is enough. My clients don't want 100% fixes, as they are too expensive. They want me to correct what isn't working, to do so efficiently and then leave them to carry on with business as usual. I'm a fire fighting businessman who can perform first aid on companies and calm a rowdy crowd in any boardroom."

Dave paused from his monologue to swig the last of his Semillon from his glass for dramatic effect, and to take the breath that would deliver his killer blow. The line that sealed the deal. Closed the case.

"So how about it...me and you?" nodding towards Laura who was speechless.

Dave had well and truly stolen defeat from the jaws of victory in spectacular fashion. In one deep breath, he'd taken Laura from a smothered kitten ready to be pampered at the foot of the bed, to a vicious pit-bull in the neighbours back garden, scratching at the fence to get through to its target.

Dave swirled his finger around the top of his glass, with a confidence that defied the position he was in. Laura's silence didn't unnerve him yet. He was sinking, but he didn't know it. Dave was amazed at how similar this situation was to some of the deals he'd closed. He quickly thought back fondly to the £1m contract he'd got with McKenzie Beverages, to provide some consultancy in their Head Office. There had been four other big competitors all vying for the same piece of work, but over a Crème Brule and glass of Tawny Port, he'd performed a similar monologue and challenged the CEO of McKenzie's with the words "you don't want someone to spend an entirety detailing every movement in your company and telling you what doesn't work. You want someone to come and find the top 3 things that don't work, give you 3 solutions and fix them within 3 months. 100% is expensive and time consuming. You need a quick fix, and we'll start with the low hanging fruit, build up some quick wins and work from there. So how about it?"

His quick and punchy lines had swayed a very successful businessman, multi millionaire and head of one of the largest drinks manufacturers in the country, so it was certainly safe to assume that it would work on an under qualified and slightly tipsy personal assistant. She had no defence for his intelligence.

Laura sat. Her legs wanted to leap into life and run far far away. In fact her entire body wished it was somewhere else, and not getting quite as pickled as she feared she was getting. Whilst her words were clearly slurring, and she'd missed her mouth with at least two of the last three sips of wine, there was no doubting the anger and hatred that currently infested her entire body. For a moment, all her bodily functions shut down as she digested the words that had just blurted out of Dave's mouth like he was at one of his wanky presentations.

She pondered briefly and thought to herself "Did he really just say that I was nearly enough and that he'd like to perform first aid on me????"

Most senior businessman had melted by this stage, so Dave was rightly starting to get a little agitated by the lack of response from Laura. He'd comforted himself for the first 30 seconds of silence that she wasn't as intelligent as his usual audience, and so he was forgiving her a little extra time to understand the magnitude of his offer. But the last minute had been a little uncomfortable. Laura was kind of staring, but not. Her eyes were focused like a chess player going for the jugular of his opponent, and there was a menace that Dave feared laid behind that look. It was time to interject with some well timed words of Marsdon wisdom. Maybe she just hadn't got it.

"Laura...are you OK? What I am saying is that metaphorically speaking, I am your fireman and you are my low hanging fruit. I can put out your flames and you can ride the wave of success with me."

The ludicrousness of those words alone would have sent Laura off, but combined with the cheesy nature of Dave's delivery, resulted in a sudden snorting burst of laughter from Laura, that provided Dave with a view of her fillings and tonsils. Laura was giggling inside, as only the weekend previous, she'd poured a pint of lager over a man who'd suggested she had "droopy melons for her age". Now with Dave's comment of low hanging fruit, she was definitely going to have to get more support for her puppies. The transition from her silence to this raucous laughter was in stark contrast to the rest of the restaurant, which had now fallen into unison as they eagerly observed the noise coming from their table.

Wailing now, Laura yelled with combined laughter and deep routed anger "I strongly suggest you take your hand off your hose as you've well and truly put my bloody flames out with those lines mate".

Astonished by the outburst, and slightly confused by the response, Dave was on the relationship highway without his GPS. In fact, he might have even been driving on the wrong side of the road.

A veil of sadness suddenly consumed Dave as the embarrassment of Laura's volume, the error of his words and total compromise of his professional nature all collided with horrific effects. It brought feelings and sensations of his teenage vulnerabilities towards women, and reminded him of those parts of his life which he'd sacrificed to have such unparalleled success in business. Whilst he didn't regret a single moment of his glory or success, he was certainly a stranger in this world of women, and that unnerving thought that he couldn't talk himself out of this situation, made him feel more stricken with fear.

Luckily, his lack of experience in this situation meant that Dave was wholeheartedly reliant on his instincts, which were struggling to decide between the flight or fight response. He deeply wanted to run, but Laura was his PA and even if he sacked her, this was still his favourite restaurant, and he'd have to come back. But he didn't know how to fight in these situations that were so foreign to him.

Bereft of ideas and lost for words, Dave naturally slipped into a deep and vocal laughter, which was inspired by Laura's chuckling and sniggering, and proved to be a catalyst for both of them. They were so deeply engrossed in the moment, that neither noticed the waiter deliver the two shots of Petrone Tequila that Dave had nervously purchased before the commencement of his now much forgotten monologue.

As they settled back into normality with aching faces and tense muscles from the endless laughter, they took their shot glasses in unison, clinked together with a jovial 'cheers' and tipped their heads back in perfect symmetry.

"To not needing my hose for your fire"

They both resembled a bulldog licking piss off a thistle as the strong spirit mixed with the rest of the booze in their system, but parity had been restored.

In those moments without words, where the only sound track was the crackle of their combined hilarity, both Dave and Laura had spoken a thousand words. Despite not been considered the smartest cookie in the jar, Laura had ridden the lifestyle roller coaster in her short time, and backed herself with a very high emotional intelligence. In the eternity between her boss talking utter rubbish and her realisation of what was really going on, Laura had deciphered the message that was written all over Dave's face. She'd been helped by the fact that Dave's appraisal notes had been sent around to all the other partners in the department and Laura, as a PA, had managed a quick glance at these. Now it all made sense.

Dave didn't want pity or forgiveness. He wanted success, and he was frustrated that things weren't going as planned. 'Plan, Execute, Measure' had worked pretty effortlessly so far, so there was some confusion as to why it hadn't quite delivered this time. Thankfully, the tequila was numbing the pain and Dave's usual desire to perform a post mortem of events and complete a 'lessons learnt' was being delayed by the infusion of 50% alcohol by volume.

Dave felt heavy and laden with annoyance that his brilliant yet simple plan hadn't flourished as intended. He looked over to Laura, and she appeared blurred. A quick rub of the face, and Laura was back in focus and to Dave's amazement she had a massive beaming smile on her face.

Laura leaned forward and grabbed Dave's hand. Maybe it had worked. This whole signals malarkey wasn't hard at all. It had only taken a few drinks, some strong inspiring words and a giggle and she was putty in his hands.

"I get it Mr Marsdon, don't worry. Don't explain. Don't back track. Don't justify. I know you don't think I am all that clever, but I am street wise and I know what is going on here."

Her tone was strong and very much to the point, but her smile and openness suggested warmth and empathy. This confused an already dumbfounded Dave even more.

"I get it you see. I get that you want a woman, and I suppose I should be flattered that you started with me. Well whatever your reason for starting with me, I've certainly had a memorable lunch, and I think I've drunk more in the last hour than in the last month. But to use a word that you so frequently use yourself, I am not your 'solution'."

Dave looked up to the waiter and merely nodded. The next bottle of wine was on the way, and Dave was warming to the intelligence that Laura was showing. She had been right so far, and Dave wanted to lubricate the engine that was Laura's brain and see where this could go.

As the bottle landed on the table, Laura started her own little monologue, and in Dave's head, he was spuriously taking notes.

"So if you want a woman Sir" she slurred, believably, "then you need to find one that likes you for you, that you like her for her, and that you can call the one."

Dave sat back with his glass in his hand, took a deep breath and began to absorb the impromptu lesson that was about to be delivered. Laura didn't know his secret and she didn't need to. She understood the situation and the gentle tirade of advice that followed, gave Dave enough ammunition to try Plan B. Even better, Laura had guzzled so much drink by the end of lunch that Dave was safe that none of their experience would ever be repeated as office gossip. You can't repeat what you can't remember.

The mask was intact, but the mission was still in its infancy.

***

Chapter Putting It Out There

***

"Yeah look, I've got a few strategy things to work on this afternoon, so I need you to carry on working on the report and the presentation. I need to focus, so only call me if it's urgent, OK Karina? Thanks."

"That is £24.60 please mate?"

"Thanks driver. Keep the change." Dave handed over £25 and felt very good about his generosity.

There are theorists and then there are practical people. Dave liked to consider himself a man who whilst flattered with theories, made his money putting them into practice and delivering them with an ease that others could only aspire too. That's not to say that he was the workaholic that many people presumed he was. Dave prided himself on working clever rather than working hard. Admittedly, he'd put in his fair share of hours in the office and running on the constant wheel of the rat race, but he was smart too. There was always an old suit jacket kept in the office that would frequently adorn the back of his chair to suggest that he was only metres away, whilst he was swinging on the golf course. Dave never left his desk without paper work in his hands of some form, so that even the stroll to the office toilet looked like an official meeting of some form. And his powers of delegation and sourcing the competitive graduates to work under his stewardship, all contributed towards providing him with plenty of 'me time' which Dave used to get ahead.

History had consistently proved him right, and whilst many had cabinets filled with trophies, rosettes and team accomplishments, Dave's success had been in the delivery of his lifestyle strategy. Sitting in his lounge, Dave was deep in thought as he considered the results of the day's lunch and revealing discussion with Laura. He'd been quick to do two things immediately on his return to the pad to kick start his planning for the next iteration of his personal strategy.

Firstly, he had to head into the kitchen and make himself a drink with one of his favourite toys. For Dave, an espresso was one of life's luxuries that he frequently enjoyed and today was no exception. He was hoping that as well as providing some much needed alertness, it might just make him sober enough to get some serious thinking done. Dave took great joy in finessing his coffee from the machine, and the routine of grinding the fresh beans, through to watching the chocolaty dark liquid ooze down into his espresso shot glass to waiting for the last dark drop to leave the machine making its journey towards the glass, with elegance that demanded his utmost concentration. It was one of the few things in life that actually made Dave Marsdon stop and admire, and like every other occasion, he was transfixed by the swirling darkness as his drink settled and prepared itself to be enjoyed.

Taking a sip, Dave gave himself the gentle reassurance he often required. "Perfection again Mr Marsdon", smugly leaving the machine for his next task knowing that he'd passed the first challenge with flying colours.

The second chore was equally important and time pressured. The equation in Dave's mind was simple yet effective, like all of his plans. Alertness and sobering effect of a few espressos combined with the formalisation of Laura's advice, overlaid with his requirement to fulfil Big Nick's challenge, would produce the next iteration of his plan. Dave knew more than anything that keeping the end goal in sight was essential. "Easy!" Alone in the apartment, but buoyed by the caffeine hit.

It was time for one of Dave's older investments to pay off. Searching through his drawer of odd's and sod's, he armed himself with a colourful selection of white board markers, a set of tools that were as important to any businessman as a monkey wrench to a plumber.

Dave's opaque glass fronted built in wardrobe doors had been a lavish expense, and originally were selected for the ambience and clinical finish which they afforded his already luxurious bedroom. But as a man of achievement and efficiency, Dave was a fan of items around the house that held more than one purpose and his wardrobe doors hadn't escaped that challenge. They doubled as his whiteboard, and Dave was in his element armed with his coloured pens, a blank canvas, a problem and a whole host of ideas that he hoped would eventually culminate in a solution.

With the 3 glistening canvases in front of him, and with the caffeine oozing through his body, Dave was ready to recall some of the semi-inspirational words that Laura had shared with him only a few drunken hours earlier. However, as a creature of habit and a man of process, Dave knew that all good brainstorming sessions need a frame. Each panel of the three framed built in robe had a word written on it, in large bold letters, each door getting a different colour. Dave took an admiring step backwards and smirked to himself. It was all falling into place.

PLAN **,** EXECUTE **,** MEASURE **.**

Commencing his storming session, Dave was joyed by the fact that back in the office, his minions' were still working away and earning him money whilst continuing his striding ascendancy towards promotion. That very thought sent a shock wave through his energised body and reminded him of the challenge at hand and the chink in his armour. All this success right now could be worth nothing without the promotion.

There was no admitting to weaknesses in Dave's life. Dave preferred to think about this as a hurdle, a stepping stone and an obstacle that he could manoeuvre. Life was made up of tests, and Dave knew that if he treated this one with the same respect and vigour that he'd approached others, that he would once again be victorious. Big Nick had a reputation of putting people through the mill to test their metal, and Dave was confident that he wouldn't come up short.

Focused, Dave racked his brain for every single insight he could produce as his selection of pens danced around the wardrobe door. Breaking only to refill his coffee cup, a now restless and agitated Dave sat back on the bed, admiring his masterpiece.

It was no Van Gogh. It was a mind map of thoughts, ideas and possible directions. Like a map, it was full of useful information, but lacked the final destination. Dave breathed heavily, with the weight of expectation on his shoulders being added to by the frustration of not being able to solve what should be a simple riddle. Virtually all of his peers at work had girlfriends and they weren't half as successful as him, so surely it was just a matter of finding one.

The diagram however showed the extra dimension that was required to solve this problem, and it shot fear through Dave like nothing else could. The doors contained a selection of elaborate plans, and a complicated series of lines and arrows that lead to and from a host of phrases that he'd recalled from lunch with Laura. Some of her words suddenly came back to him as he sat there thumbing his '3 year strategy', avoiding the temptation to rip it to shreds.

"Love is like life. It's as simple or as hard as you make it. If it seems too hard, then something is wrong and you should simplify it. If it seems too easy, then you are not doing it right. You have to put yourself out there and be on the cusp of exposure, before you find what you really need." Laura's words were echoing around Dave's head.

At the time, Dave had attributed much of Laura's monologue to excessive alcohol intake, but looking at his diagram, it started to make sense. The realisation was slow but effective. Whilst he knew he was vastly intelligent, the world of finding a woman wasn't about intellect but nous. It was about putting yourself in the shop window of life, and that was something that Dave had accomplished with ease in many facets, but momentarily dropping into a deeper thought, he realised that he'd only put things on the line where he was in control. Where there was a greater chance of winning. Where if he lost, he could blame others. Where victory was solely his doing. And where he could always wear his mask.

If this was going to work, he had to take it seriously. Dave hadn't chosen this path, and it annoyed him that someone else, someone who he didn't respect, appreciate or particularly rate, had the power to force his hand in this way. But that was by the by. He was here and he had to deal with it. In a reaction of fury, he grabbed a tissue off his bed side table and began furiously rubbing at the words that had adorned his wardrobe door for a matter of minutes.

Saying it out loud, Dave knew that he needed the next gear, but he also felt that sticking in his comfort zone would ultimately help him.

PLAN, EXECUTE, MEASURE were the only words that survived his ravaged editing process, and grabbing his three horizon woman plan, and with a renewed vigour, he started again.

Option 1 had been Laura, and whilst there were lots of lessons learnt in the post mortem process, it was important to categorise that for what it was. A failed experiment and a damn good reason to move onto Option 2. Looking back at his plan, Option 2 simply read "play the numbers game". Using his interpretation of the business model, it required Dave to find a woman from a new source.

Using the wardrobe doors as a matrix, Dave fleshed out Option 2, and sticking to what he knew, even using some of his favourite business statistics and probability. The bedroom suddenly became a boardroom and Dave was in his element working the floor with panache, pace and precision. Feeling like he was talking to a group of high flying Executives, Dave started by summarising that the objective of this workshop was "identify opportunities for the inclusion of a woman" and that a good outcome from the session would be "a deeper understanding of who, where and how".

Dave no longer needed the energy from the caffeine. It was nearing 9pm, but with the pillows ruffled on the bed to represent the important client staff that formed the workshop, Dave relaxed and the information flowed from him like steam from a runners mouth on a cold winters day. Instead of feeling pedestrian and alien in this process, Dave put it in his terms. The workshop was like any of the hundreds that he'd facilitated before, only this time the product was Dave Marsdon, and the market was one he'd never sold to before...women!

"Right, so let's think of it this way. In an ideal world, we want the ideal person, but we all know that is a little too farfetched. So let's work top down. What are we working from in terms of a total sample size and let's start by narrowing the field down to more suitable candidates"

Turning to the wardrobe, the pen just magically immersed itself into words and squiggles on the board. Dave was seeking input from the audience, but in almost utopian fashion, he was his audience and for once in his career, every answer from the workshop participants was correct! A few minutes in, the left wardrobe door was decorated.

Total female population = 4.3billion

\- Those under 18 or over 32 years old

\- Those without necessary qualification (honours degree as a min)

\- Those that are highly religious

\- Those that are not ambitious

\- Those that are too ambitious (must know their place!)

\- Those that are not suitably aesthetically pleasing

\- Those that aren't within travelling distance

\- Those with facial hair

= Still lots of women!!

Extremely happy with the first session, Dave acknowledged the attendants with a knowing nod and appreciative thanks for their input. His criteria was precise without being restrictive. Dave looked over to the mirror and the people pillows.

"Good work team. We're making progress. Now, the next phase requires ranking or weighting these, and I like you to use the following categories. There is 'Essential', "Nice to Have' or 'Could do without'. So any thoughts?" as he opened up the conversation initially to the white pillow but allowing input from anyone.

"That's correct" he interjected excitedly in the silence of his bedroom, "they are all ESSENTIAL." There was no room for compromise here.

"So doing my sums quickly, whilst we have vastly reduced our target market with some excellent modelling, I fear we still have too large a total market to work with."

Up on the wardrobe door, Dave began planning the next phase of his workshop.

"So team, we're now going to flip things on their head", complementing the excited words with hand gestures. "Now we'll go bottom up. Let's look at what we've got available for our market and try and look at some connections."

The board quickly filled up with some superb superlatives to describe Dave. Intelligent, successful, role model, punctual, confident, financially secure, asset rich, attractive, lucrative, flourishing, modest, deserved.

Dave took a step back and momentarily stood in complete confusion. He realised that without focus, he could quite easily spend an entire lifetime trying to understand why someone so appealing, was having to complete such as task.

Addressing his audience, he allayed their fears with the message of "some things are so good, you don't think you can achieve them. The irony of the imbalance that such an exceptional product should require any form of marketing is one of those fascinating challenges that keep us all intrigued in business. We only have one Dave available, and so our mission must continue."

Turning back to the board, it was now the all important part of this session. To the left, Dave had carefully constructed the criteria for the target market using the top down approach. To the right, the not too humble words that described the Dave product were adorning the door in large bright colours and capital letters. Successful had even been circled 3 times, just for those that might have missed it.

"So, where the top down and bottom up meet, is commonly called the middle" Dave continued enthusiastically feeling like the finishing post was nearing. "Here we will need to link the left door to the right door. Thoughts?"

The silence was deafening, as for once Dave didn't have an answer either. Progress had been made, but what was the link. How did successful, young, attractive men, who were busy and career focused, find these elusive women?

Was the target market too restrictive? Hardly...Dave's calculations showed a total possible audience of 250,000 women within 30mins tube ride or drive from his abode, that all fitted the criteria.

Looking at his descriptive, he was confident that they are all accurate and a very fair reflection of who he was.

Dave knew. He knew that he had to do it. He hated doing it. He'd not had to do it for years. He prided himself on not doing it. One of the principals of his life was if there was something that he couldn't do, either by capability or desire, then he outsourced it. Often it made financial sense. The prime example was the ironing of his shirts, which represented an amazing double whammy. The lovely Vietnamese woman at the end of the street did an amazing job on washing and ironing them to a quality superior to that which Dave himself could achieve, but the icing on the cake was that at £2.50 a shirt and 10 shirts per hour, she was far cheaper than Dave was. He could invest the time saved and make a hundred times that. So it made good business sense.

But what he was about to do wasn't outsource as such. There was no transaction, which made Dave nervous. There was no contract, however formal or informal. There were no terms and conditions. He was about to step into what was unchartered territory for him.

Feeling sick to his stomach, he decided that he needed to do this quickly before the emotions and confusion of the affair overcame him. He reached for his phone and sent the message, immediately feeling the weight of debt hit his heavy shoulders.

***

Chapter Other People Bit

***

"You've had a few e-mails and voicemails from the guys at Barker Constructions. They are a key client, so I thought you'd want to know."

Dave's head wasn't nearly as sharp as its usual self, and the clouds in his brain weren't helping his morning thought processes. Luckily, Laura had scared him into some early morning action over their usual coffee and toast session.

Groggy from the events of the night before and laden with some unanswered questions, top of Dave's mind now was real life and real work. The message from Laura was loud and clear and resonated with Dave easily as they were in his native tongue; business language. With the distractions of the last week, things had slipped slightly. One client, Barker Constructions, had experienced a few issues with some of Dave's team, which was a fire he would have to put out. It wasn't too much of a concern, and Dave knew how to placate the Executives involved with some ego massages. The first action for Laura was to book a "surprise" meeting for him with the client in question. Dave believed that his clients always valued an impromptu visit as it demonstrated that he was always thinking of them and was available at any time.

Of more concern was point 2 on Laura's agenda, not only because there wasn't a point 3 to follow, and Dave hated two's. Point 2 clearly showed why he hated two's and why three's were much better. Point 2 involved an issue around one of Dave's long standing clients that had recently had a significant change in their leadership team. Rumours from advocates that Dave and some of his colleagues had with the client, Food United Group, suggested that a new management team would be in place soon and that they'd be starting with a massive cost cutting exercise. Dave didn't want to be one of the costs to be cut.

Mulling over his macchiato, Dave was very concerned. He couldn't help but feel that none of this wouldn't be happening if Big Nick hadn't thrown him off the scent with this ridiculous notion of 'balance'. And there was no certainty that his subtle hints around women actually indicated that finding one would even show balance. Surely it would show a level of desperacy rather than the clear thought and goal orientated view required of a partner in CEC Enterprises.

Dave's spiralling internal anger was broken by the magical words that often flew from Laura's mouth and usually basic brain.

"But I have a plan Mr M. Through a friend of a friend of a friend, they have heard that the new big boss at Food Group United is coming from their parent company in the US, and he's called Ronnie Patel."

"What? How on earth do you know this? Is it true? What do we know about him? Who is your friend?"

"Well I don't like to reveal my sources yeah, but one of my mates who does my nails, her hubby deals in Executive Cars and he has been asked by some relocation company to sort out a fancy car for this Patel chap. This company are preparing some massive pad on the Thames, and a car and stuff, and it's all in Food United Groups name."

"OK, good work. So what else have we got other than a possible dwelling and a maybe set of wheels???"

"Well sir, that's where the good news stops for now. It seems that this Patel chap keeps a pretty low profile, and I've not managed to dig up much so far. I've got our new Business development girl doing some research, and we've added his name to our internal systems to see if anyone in CEC anywhere else in the world has had any dealings with him. I even tried to find him on Facebook, but nothing. Bizarre I know, who isn't on Facebook these days?"

Dave looked at Laura like she was speaking a completely foreign language, and had no real comprehension of this Facebook crap she kept on going on about. Dave knew the people he needed to know, and avoided the ones he didn't want to know.

"OKAY, let's keep this simple Laura. I need you to run the numbers for worst case and best case scenario, and have them to me by lunch time, clear?"

"No need Mr M, I ran them this morning. Ermmm, it's not great. Basically, with the sales and stuff you've got to date, you are on track. But one of the targets that you were performing best on was how busy you and the team would be next year, and Food Group made up 45% of next year's figures. If we lose them, there is no way you can make your targets for partnership sir."

Laura was used to instantaneous answers and barking instructions from Mr Marsdon, to the point where his careful and considerate silence really unnerved her.

"You OK sir?"

The words were genuine and heartfelt, but the whirlwind on information, thoughts, frustration, confusion and anger, were numbing Dave's reactions. When this happened he knew that his heart was taking over from his head, and those kind of distractions were dangerous. The head had to take charge in this situation. Deep breath.

"Right, plough those internal systems and find this Ronnie Patel. Get the new grad, send him to the library and get him to search the archives. We've got a good ethnic mix in our group yeah? One of them must have connections back to India where we can get some inside information. I've got a business card in that spirally thing for the old Head of Finance from Food United, who used to play squash with my Dad. Track him down and get me a coffee meeting with him. Ronnie has come from somewhere before he goes here, and I want all the information you can get. We have to get this right!"

Laura was excited, relieved and annoyed. The excitement of the challenge, which is what motivated her every day. Dave was a bit of an arse to work for, but she felt close to the action and enjoyed the responsibility without the stress. Relieved that Dave was back. The barking, the energy and the sheer determination in his eyes, were all infectious qualities that gave her the drive to work for him. It certainly wasn't for the money. The annoyance though, was that when there was a challenge afoot, Dave always said 'we'. Laura just wished that when things went so well, he'd use a word other than 'I'.

With the passion and fighting spirit running back through his system, Dave left Laura and commenced his busy day of meetings, coffee's and lunch. The impromptu arrival at Barker Construction to 'bump into' the Head of Operations had worked a treat, and Dave had managed to convince him to a quick lunch. If he was going to get out of this sticky situation he had to keep the conversation flowing and utilise one of the oldest consulting tricks in the book...never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Pretending to be oblivious to the complaint that was about to come his way, Dave laid the safety net, explaining that it had been a tough week for Dave's team out there with one of the senior members, Eric, having to take some personal leave due to family problems.

"You know Peter, I'm as hard a worker and as hard a task master as anyone, but the lad had some issues at home, and I just said to him 'some things are more important' and he took some time out. I really hope it hasn't caused any inconveniences or problems on the project. I had another lad, Tom, drafted in to fill the gaps, and you'll be pleased to know that Eric will be back next week to take the reins and wrap things up...assuming everything is still OK that is?"

"Oh, don't be daft Dave. Everything is 100% on track. And it is great to hear that CEC take such a firm and empathetic stance with its people. That is refreshing to hear in this day and age, especially in your industry." Peter was more than startled and a tad amazed by this coincidence. He'd always viewed Dave as a little too cut-throat, which was appealing in how he approached his work but often concerned Peter as to how Dave approached his people. Still, miraculously, Peter was left feeling a little confused about a situation that he'd clearly mis-read. He was normally so good at these. "Must be losing my touch" he joked to himself.

"Peter, as I often say to my clients, we're nothing without our people" delivered Dave, with a comfortable pat on Peter's arm. Peter was very reassured and even felt a little guilty for intending to complain.

"Thanks Dave. We'll be very glad to have Eric on board to close out the project."

By the time lunch was finished, Dave's urgent phone call from the bathroom to Laura had already been acted on, and Tom was on his way back to the office to face the eventual wrath of Dave, whilst Eric was in a taxi on the way to Barker Constructions, with very detailed notes. As Laura had insistently informed Eric before he left, "If anyone asks, you've been off work for family reasons. No more, no less. OK?"

"But I've been on holiday Laura. What you've said makes it sound like someone was ill or there was a funeral or something!"

"Yes, yes, yes. But you know what Dave says Eric. What you mean and how they interpret it are two completely different things."

Eric was still looking perplexed, standing with his compendium and freshly purchased suit.

"Look, think of it this way. Did you go away with your family?"

"Yes."

"OKAY, did Dave sign off your leave form?"

"Yes."

"Good, and did any of the family argue, disagree or bicker throughout the holiday?"

"Ha, yes, me and my old man had a bit of a fall out when we went diving on a day trip..."

"ERIC. I don't need the whole story, and Barkers need none of the story. If you look at the information, Dave didn't lie. The client has just misunderstood the message. Now go wow them, and you know Dave will look after you, especially with promotions coming up." Laura's wink was assertive and gave Eric no room for manoeuvre.

That was the dangling carrot that had Eric running for a taxi, and which extricated Dave from a potentially sticky situation.

Dave was feeling the momentum building and knew that he was in control. When he was on this kind of form, nothing could stop him. The biggest relief for him, as he jetted from meeting to workshop to presentation, was that when he was this busy and operating in businessman autopilot, he could safely ignore the monkey that was on his back.

The beep of Dave's blackberry was a frequent occurrence on any working day and most weekends, and so it came with a neutral emotion. Whether it brought good news or bad news, it normally signified a call to action.

The text message was good news, but it brought a blurry veil down on Dave's mind.

"Yeah mate, course I will HELP. Not sure what HELP you need, but I'll come around tonight and bring a few beers as I owe you some. 7pm@yours OK?Tony."

Dave's teeth ground together, whilst the back of his eyes sought peace and tranquillity from the fire in his mind. The two worst things in life had just happened in the same message.

He prided himself on not needing help, by outsourcing the things he couldn't do, and being bloody brilliant at the rest. Help was that horrible middle ground. Because he couldn't go down to the shops and pay someone to help him with this problem, he had had to ask for help, which horrified him.

Unfortunately, the flip side of asking for help was Dave's other pet peeve and something which he avoided like nothing else. Tony had inadvertently used the word and Dave clenched his blackberry to the point that it was close to implosion. Dave ran his life like one massive long set of continuous transactions. The beauty of the shirt ironing out-sourcing and all other transactions in life is that they represent a win win situation and a pleasant equilibrium. In conversations with friends, family and colleagues, Dave called it the economics of life.

The Vietnamese woman in the dry cleaners who ironed his shirts was glad of the business. She charged a fair price for her work, and Dave paid a fair price for the convenience. He didn't owe her any thanks, and she didn't owe him any gratitude. There were no Christmas cards required. It was a clean and crisp transaction which benefited both parties. Simple you see.

But help wasn't so clear and wasn't so simple. Help was in the category of events which leave you owing the other party. Permanently trying to repay a debt that has no value and that you never knew when you'd cleared. And help has no boundaries. Help doesn't stop when you pay the money and leave the store. The annoying part of help, which is why Dave avoided it, was that once you'd asked, you'd opened the floodgates permanently.

To receive help, you had to let someone closer to your deepest, darkest self, and then it was no longer deep or dark. It was real and open to daylight for all to see, and that made Dave feel decidedly uneasy.

Dave pulled in and found himself a coffee shop. He needed a shot quickly if he was going to get the day back on track. This opening up and stuff wasn't easy and didn't seem particularly productive, and the more he tried it, the more Dave was convinced that his previous course of action was the best. These distractions were causing all kinds of havoc in many facets of his life, and there were no signs of any real rewards. The payback was non-existent, the investment exponential and the chance of failure high. Supping a double shot, Dave concluded that if this was a business case, you'd never start the venture.

***

Chapter Bedroom Boardroom Beers

***

"Hmmm, maybe I'll set the scene and then run through some ideas and get his buy in first?" Dave muttered to himself, thinking out loud like you could do when you lived alone.

The continual pacing around the room was beginning to carve out tracks in Dave's carpet and he just couldn't settle. It was a matter of minutes before Tony arrived and Dave didn't have a clue how he was going to approach it.

"No, too cloak and dagger. Sod it, I'll just show him that and see what he thinks."

Dave was still pointing at the wardrobe doors when the buzzer went. His heart raced and he let Tony in. He knew he wasn't just letting him in through the door of that apartment. He was opening a door that had been closed for a long time, and it frightened him immensely.

"Are you OK buddy? You look like you've just lost a pound. Ha." Tony wasn't renowned for his humour.

"Mate, I feel like I've lost a tenner! Now crack those beers, come in here and let's get this show started before I change my mind." Dave strolled towards the bedroom and Tony was left dumfounded in the hallway. The request for help from Dave was pretty out of the blue, and Tony was aware of the gossip and rumours that some of their old class mates had conjured up about Dave's lack of girlfriends, but this invitation into the bedroom was unexpected and unwanted.

Tony followed his orders, cracking two beers and placing the remainder in the SMEG designer fridge. Looking around the kitchen, it did seem very metro sexual and really clean. On the back foot, he recalled an article he'd read in one of Anne's magazines about how clean gays were. Placing the beers on the sideboard, Tony took a quick look in the mirror and scruffed himself up. No gay would like that.

"Bloody hell mate, are you brewing that beer yourself or are you going to join me in here. This isn't easy for me you know, so the quicker we start the quicker we finish." The yelling from the bedroom froze Tony's body instantly. His legs ceased working and he stared at his petrified face in the mirror.

Regaining the use of his limbs, Tony stepped slowly into the bedroom like a guilty defendant entering the court room awaiting sentencing. His jaw wobbled as he dared himself to open his eyes, hoping that it didn't reveal a truth that he was imagining in his head.

Tony just about kept his grip on the two cold beers as the relief spasmed through his entire body on seeing Dave at the foot of the bed, fully clothed and tossing a marker pen in the air.

"You OK mate? Looks like you've just seen a ghost!"

Taking a very deep breath and leaning over to pass Dave a beer, Tony managed a "Cheers....here's to friendship and family."

Sharp Dave would normally have ploughed through a comment like that and dissected it for hours, but tonight he was focused and wanted to take full advantage of his current mood.

"The rules of tonight are simple Tony. Very simple. So simple, that there are only three of them. OK?"

Before Tony could respond, Dave continued.

"Rule 1. I'm going to be completely honest with you and so you must be completely open and honest with me."

In a space on the wardrobe, Dave wrote "Rule 1: Honesty"

"Rule 2. None of what we discuss tonight ever leaves these four walls. Not even Anne can know the inner details of this conversation. Don't lie, just be vague. OK?"

Again, there was no chance for Tony to respond in this one way conversation and Rule 2 made the wardrobe door.

"Rule 3. Last but not least Rule 3. This is one of the most important rules for me Tony. Rule 3 is this; by asking for help, I am at no point indebted to you and nor do I owe you. For clarity sake, nor do you owe me. To confirm this point, I have here £10 which will cover the cost of the beers. Quits! OK?"

The accuracy, power and presence of Dave's voice demonstrated enough to Tony, and he knew what to do in this scenario. Nod and agree, and let the show proceed.

Dave took a large swig of his beer, and would have taken more had the bottle not gasped for air. A quick non-religious glance up to the sky was enough to commence the presentation. He knew the only way to get through this, was to approach it like Tony was the client and Dave was the facilitator, presenting some information and seeking input. It was the reason he still had his suit on, and the reason he kept his relay race baton in his hand, which in this case was his marker pen. It meant he was in control, and control meant that he wasn't talking about emotions, secrets or feelings. He was in control, so he was merely presenting facts. Easy.

After 20 minutes of monologue, with an occasional break for air, Dave was done. He'd presented all his findings to the client and was awaiting a response.

Tony was stunned, not only from the honesty that Dave had clearly spoken with, but also with the nonchalant and almost cold manner in which he'd presented. It unnerved Tony.

"Are you for real? Like this is all true yeah? I'm not saying you are lying or anything, but I felt like I was in one of your workshops for the last 20 minutes, but that the topic was women instead of 'process efficiency'. This is genuine stuff yeah? You really want me to help?"

The 'help' word startled Dave and very nearly took him off track. "I'll go grab us a refill each and then you can _assist_ me, OK?"

Returning to the room, it was Tony's time. Dave had asked Tony to assist here, not only because he was an old friend and married to his sister, Anne, he'd asked Tony because he was astoundingly safe and overwhelmingly average, so wouldn't come out with any radical ideas. He'd been the perfect sidekick as a teenager, and was the ideal person to marry your sister. Socially, he'd never set a room on fire, even if he was armed with matches, kindling and some super dry wood. A man who'd excelled at being mediocre would be ideal for the challenges that Dave had just presented, because ultimately, these ideas had to work. They couldn't be extravagant. They daren't be too daring. They certainly couldn't be risky. They couldn't rely too much on looks. They had to be practical, workable and preferably have a chance of success. Tony could provide the practical and workable, and Dave's task was to make it a success.

Tony's message was impressive, and Dave listened as he would in a workshop, taking the key points and summarising them on the wardrobe in short bullet points.

Phrases now adorned the door, such as "be yourself", "put yourself out there", "compromise", "shared passions" and "compatibility".

In typical Tony fashion, he'd played it safe and stated the blatantly obvious, even to someone as inexperienced as Dave.

Dave paused. If he was able to provide Tony access to the only door that currently remained closed, then maybe it could provide him with the context to really help. Counting to three slowly in his head, the decision was made. That door HAD to remain closed.

"Tony, I agree completely. But where I really need your _assistance_ is what can I actually do to get these women. It's all well and good giving me characteristics to look for, but where do I look. Where do I start? And how do we do this quickly...the clock is ticking buddy!?!"

"Yeah, yeah, fair point. First up, I think you need to understand things from a woman's perspective."

"Tony!" Dave hadn't shouted, nor had he merely spoken, but that one word was delivered with such precision that it halted the entire conversation whilst their eyes met.

"Tony" continued Dave, in a calmer tone, "I haven't got time to understand. I know exactly where you are going, but with the time pressures, I have to treat this like a client challenge. I've learnt from my years at CEC Enterprises and dealing with my clients, that there is one thing more important that understanding and that is getting it right. This is one of those cases. We need to get this working and get it right, and then I've got the rest of my life to try and understand how it happened and why. We don't live in utopia mate, and this situation requires urgency. So can we agree for the sake of this discussion that understanding comes a close second to getting it right?"

"OK. It's gonna make it harder mate. I mean, real relationships are built on foundations of trust, respect, honesty, love, appreciation, admiration and shared values, which all take time to build. So assuming that we haven't got time, we need to work on something else?"

"Agreed. Let's start with a longer term strategy and then we can drop down into individual short term tactics?"

"Dave, you honestly have to just be yourself. The first principle here is that they must like YOU. Do you really talk, think and feel, in tactics and strategies?"

There was a milli second of reflection that Dave escaped from as it stank of depression. There was no time for emotion here, as it would slow down solutions.

"Sadly yes. I have a finely trained business brain that has evolved, possibly before it's time. My skills are honed and they are who I am. When you say 'trust, respect and honesty', I hear 'ambition, focus and determination'. We're poles apart, but we can figure out a middle ground where you ideas will work in my world."

"I think the answer might be more obvious than either of us could have imagined." Tony exuded a confidence that got Dave excited.

"What...tell me? Quickly. What is it?"

"Get your laptop. I have a plan that fits in perfectly with your Phase 2 and with everything on your white board. With some careful tweaking and cunning, this could really work. Get your laptop, and two more beers. It's time to be creative."

Dave ran off to collect the tools for the job, with a twinge of fear dripping into his bowl of excitement. Tony seemed assured, but with each failed endeavour, Dave knew that his confidence would take a knock. They had to get this right.

***

Chapter Putting Yourself Out There

***

It was past midnight, and there hadn't been a single bite. Tony's idea hadn't exactly resonated with Dave at first, but he sold it so well. In fact, what had impressed Dave the most was how similar to his own style Tony's idea had been. He'd clearly learnt a thing or two from their interactions which made Dave proud.

But there was no time for pride, when it was results that mattered. It had taken just over an hour and five more beers each for the profile to be created and tweaked into the optimum message. It combined large elements of the truth, but just as Dave liked the truth, it was presented in a manner which would lead the viewer onto something of grandeur. It perfectly hid his frailties without ever defending them. It was a work of art.

By the time the beers were finished, Tony had passed out on the couch with a relaxing snore that showed content at a busy nights work, and spoke little of the soreness his head would be entertaining when he awoke in the morning. For Dave, the adrenalin of the battle had overtaken the power of the many beers that they'd raced through on this exciting evening.

Impatiently, he hit F5 once more and refreshed the screen on his laptop. With no changes, he double checked his internet connection. Surely there was something technical that was holding back the progress.

Nervously, Dave went back to the first site that they'd added his profile too and re-read the words that they'd mustered up between themselves, to make him sound sufficiently appealing without being so brilliant that he seemed unobtainable.

In total they'd added Dave to three dating websites and invested the princely sum of £75 in registration fees. A small price to pay for what they both hoped would be handsome results. There had of course been a fourth site that Tony had found that showed promise, but Dave reminded Tony that some things come in three's!

F5...F5...F5...nothing.

Dave decided new tactics were required, so he pretended not to be bothered. It had always worked in the past.

"I'll just go and clean my teeth, then take out these empty bottles" he informed the computer, expecting the freedom from his constant glances to result in an abundance of messages to appear.

The return from his chores merely confirmed that the computer wasn't playing games, and hadn't delivered. With another busy day ahead of him, Dave conceded that instant gratification probably wasn't going to occur and that it would take a few days for the right lady to truly appreciate the fine words and inspirational comments that adorned his three profiles. Internet dating was now on the list of things that Dave had done, and he planned to be bloody good at it. He'd put the bait out there and was now just waiting for a bite.

"Ding" beeped the machine as Dave exited the kitchen.

"Tony, I've got a message, I've got a message. It says '1 message received'! This could be it. This could be her. Though I am a little concerned at what she is doing online at this time of night. First impressions are that she appears a little desperate if she is trawling the internet for men at 1am on a school night. Doesn't say much about her ambition. But maybe it does...maybe she has just put the finishing touches to a presentation or maybe even better, she has just signed off from an important international conference call. Oh I hope so. Oh, and I hope she isn't overweight. My experience of people who stay up late is that they eat far too much and don't digest properly before they sleep. Fingers crossed."

Tony stirred on the couch and groggily awoke to the drivel that was streaming from Dave's mouth. "Well how about you read the bloody message before you propose to her because of the conference call and then divorce her for the late night eating!"

Dave was momentarily embarrassed by his little performance, and reached instinctively to click on the message. Sods law dictated that at that exact moment, every other living waking soul on the planet was on the internet and his computer went painfully slow. Eagerly watching the screen with excitement that made kids at Christmas look neutral to the receipt of gifts, Dave could barely breathe with anticipation.

"Welcome to adultmatching.co.uk and thank-you for registering with us. Your profile has been approved. Good luck with your dating experience."

Dave's eyes angrily closed together as he turned to a weary looking Tony. "It's a friggin welcome message!" He slammed the lid on his laptop shut. "I texted Anne and said you were staying here. I'll wake you in the morning. Night."

Before Tony could encourage, empathise or console, the lights were out and Dave was gone. But the apparent failure of this venture wasn't bothering Tony, as he knew that the construction of Dave's profile would lead to some interest, and that one of the sites that they'd registered on also ran singles events, which was all part of the Phase 2 plan.

Dave had insisted on having a timeframe in which they could ascertain whether Phase II was providing any traction, and had muttered something about "Plan, Execute, Measure." Tony didn't always get Dave's corporate speak, but had agreed to the suggested structure.

Phase 2 had 7 days to deliver some results and Tony had his own plan to maybe help this on his way. Dave was still deep in slumber when Tony had made his exit from the Marsdon pad, and several text messages had been sent to friends that him and Anne knew who were single. There was at least 2 of them that he knew were on the sites Dave was on, so he was merely aligning their worlds a little. Not interfering and certainly not sharing anything of the emotional discussions that they'd shared that night. He was planning on keeping to his word, but he was also planning on doing whatever he could to make this a success.

***

Chapter Factual Flirting Foray

***

"Morning Nick."

The distractions of a busy morning of important business had been welcome for Dave, and provided him with a chance to get back on track. The unfamiliar circumstances of the night before bothered him slightly and he not only felt like he was heading into unchartered territory, but he definitely felt ill equipped to do so, like a canoeist heading for the waterfall.

Work was progressing, although little traction had been achieved with Food United Group that had a real potential to be a major hurdle in his push for promotion. It was essential that he didn't take his eye off the ball, and Big Nick had reminded him that morning about the importance of things.

"You know David; you need to make sure your house is in order at all times. The scatter gun approach can be very dangerous you know, especially as the devil is in the detail..."

Dave hated pet talks from Big Nick, not only because he was slimy and useless, but more so that they didn't really make any sense. Dave often silently admitted that he used his fair share of corporate lingo to stun and woo a few unsuspecting targets, but Big Nick just oozed the stuff. Like a homeless person acquires cardboard, Big Nick effortlessly collected useless one liners and combined them to a point where they made no sense and defied all logic. He'd famously claimed at a Leadership Function once, where Dave had been invited to intend, that "I've always said that I am the man who put the 'me' in team", which bamboozled even the most intellectual of brains in the room.

Sadly though, on this occasion, despite not intending to, Big Nick had got it right. Dave had to keep one eye on the challenges that the new Executive could give him at Food United Group. There was no point him getting a date for the ball, only to find that the ball had been cancelled. And if he didn't secure the work for CEC for next year at Food United Group, there would definitely not be a ball. In fact, there would more likely be a funeral and a wake, where people would reminisce about the time Dave Marsdon had a flourishing career and it had seemed so lively until its untimely death.

The lunchtime venue of choice was a new pick for Dave, not because of any desire to try somewhere different, but more for the anonymity that he wanted as he checked the updates on his dating profiles. Nowhere on any of the profiles was his name, occupation or any other information that could connect him to this alias. Dave had a reputation to maintain, and he couldn't risk being found using such tactics. The knock on effect would be horrendous and didn't bare thinking about. For now, his concentration needed to be on any messages that had come through in the last 12 hours.

With all 3 websites open and logged in, it was time to digest the results of the online venture, along with his toasted Panini and freshly squeezed mixed juice.

As a numbers and stats man, a grin instantly spread over Dave's face as he counted a total of 10 messages between the 3 sites. Good start, and great odds.

Dave was a man obsessed by process and planning, and he was approaching this challenge with the same mindset and rules. Step one was to look at each of the profiles before reading the messages. Just because the chosen medium was the internet, didn't mean that first impressions don't count.

Within a minute, the 10 profiles had been reviewed, and with the same unforgiving decisiveness that had helped him climb the corporate ladder so quickly, there were 7 messages left to read. For the 3 that didn't make the cut, Dave did not afford them any condolence or explanation. In his mind, they didn't fit the bill on first impressions, and so there was nothing that he could read in their messages that would rectify that initial impression. His reasoning was simple and honest from his perspective, but to a layman it resembled some serious racial, fiscal and physical profiling that would definitely rule him out of the running for a Nobel Peace Prize. One girl was a maybe, because Dave deep down didn't consider himself a racist and knew that he wasn't, but he also wasn't religious and wasn't prepared to have that be a big part of his life. 7 became 6.

6 quickly became 4 after the first read through of the messages. One girl had written her entire message in capitals with an offensive overuse of !!'s in places that really didn't need it. He was no punctuation Nazi, but the capitals made Dave feel like he was being yelled at. From Dave's perspective there was only one woman in his life who was allowed to shout at him, and that was his mother. And according to Derek, Jane's shouting had significantly decreased "since the change" whatever that meant. Dave hadn't enquired and was glad to be ignorant of the understanding as to why.

The other lady who missed the cut had what could only be described as comical spelling. It wasn't that Dave wasn't compassionate, and nor was he an educational snob. Well maybe a bit. One of the failures from the original 10 had listed 'secretarial' as her occupation and 'tertiary education' as her greatest achievement, so maybe he was a bit of a snob. His rationalisation here was that people who have similar levels of intellect socialise and interact better. Anyway, he needed someone who he could take to client events and who could survive an evening with the other Partners from his office, and in all honesty, he wasn't convinced at a high school dropout and glorified typist would quite cut the mustard on this one. Shame though, as she was quite cute.

The spelling on the message was hilarious, and cheered Dave up no end. It was like a cross between teen speak and text speak, and it took 4 readings before Dave had got the full gist of what she was trying to say.

"Hey, GR8 prof. If u wanna catch up for a coughie @ sumpoint and sea if we hit if of, tht wud be kewl. I am carear minded and is super keen to hang out'n'stuff. I also do hook-ups, if that is ur scene? Keen? (Ha, that rimes doesn't it) Catchya ;-)"

Having deciphered the message, there was only one section that didn't make sense, so Dave opened the trustworthy Google website where all answers lay, and did a search.

"Definition of hook-ups" and hit Enter on his keyboard. Dave's eyes were instantly the size of snooker balls and nearly departed his face. 17 million results and they were all suggesting the same thing. Did she really just offer me that? Tempting, but maybe a little too easy.

"Thank god I didn't click on images" he quietly thought to himself, taking a healthy swig of his fruit shake.

Having culled the obvious "No's", it was now a wholly new challenge and one that Dave wasn't quite ready for. He started with the one of the four that he liked the least, with the knowledge that you never perform best on your first attempt.

"Hello there,

I was extremely grateful to receive your message with regards to my profile. Having considered both your profile and your message, I am of the opinion that it would definitely be worth proceeding to the next stage. I was particularly impressed by your comments about education and your requirement for a high achiever with ambition. I am confident that I surpass all your requirements.

Should you be interested in discussing matters further, please get in contact and we can arrange a mutually agreeable time to meet.

Kind regards,

Mr M"

It hit Dave just like a boulder, at the exact same moment as he'd hit the send button on the message. He was looking for a companion, not a client. His face cringed as it pained him to do this for the second time in 24 hours, but it was that time again. Dave reached for his blackberry, and sent the message that would hopefully get him out of this mess.

"Laura, drop whatever you are doing and get a cab over to Guiseppe's Cafe now. I'm sat at the back. Bring your creativity with you. Dave."

"Hey, I've ordered us both a coffee Sir. Are you OK? You look very distracted?"

Laura was showing a whole new level of confidence around Dave, and he was really starting to appreciate it. He noticed new things about her. The contours of her face and the perfection with which her entire outfit and daily look was meticulously complete. In many ways, he could draw parallels between their lives which had taken such disparate routes. Laura excelled at looking amazing, always smiling and continually delivering. Dave felt momentarily relieved that he'd chosen to excel in areas that were far more profitable in life. Still, she was a good girl, and he was glad that he had her to assist.

"Yeah, great idea on the coffee. So to fill you in. My brother in law Tony came around the other day and I talked him through what you'd said over lunch, and explained that Phase 1 of my 3 pronged plan had failed. Over a few beers and some hardcore brainstorming, we came up with a plan for Phase 2 and well...here it is."

Dave span his laptop around, and had his hands free just in time to catch Laura's jaw and it dropped sharply.

"You? On there...for that? But...". To say confusion was all over Laura's face would be an understatement of epic proportions.

"But..."

"Laura look. It is simple. I have taken on board everything that you said, and I talk to you now as a friend, not as your boss. We both deserve this promotion and I'm going to do everything in my power to get it for us. Now whilst I wasn't exactly enthused by this particular path originally, it seems to be bearing fruit and it makes sense for me to go for the low hanging fruit. I've already dismissed those that didn't appear suitable and I was left with four, but there is a problem. Read this."

Dave showed Laura his reply to the first message. Her eyes didn't leave the screen and Dave could track her progress like watching the crowd at Wimbledon. Left to right, left to right, left to right. Pause. Laura covered her eyes with her hands.

After a few seconds, a crevice opened between her fingers and her eyes made contact with a slightly dejected Dave. She'd never seen him like this. His mellowing was in turn making her warm to him. She wasn't sure if this was one of his amazing acts where he spins a yarn to get what he wants, but if it was he should be an actor not a consultant.

"Did you actually send that? Please say NO? Please" muttered Laura quietly, trying her hardest to hold back the sniggers. Suddenly, as Dave casually nodded in acknowledgement, the snorting noise exuded from her nose and she couldn't hold back the laughter any more. The harder she tried, the higher pitched the noise became.

"Sorry", sniggered Laura. Her attempts to be calm were having the opposite effect. Luckily, the hideousness of the noise emanating from her face had set Dave off chuckling.

"That's not exactly what I'd call flirting Sir. In fact, it is more formal than most of our client communications. Do you mind if I copy, cut and paste that, as I might be able to use it in some of our legal documents?"

"Exactly. Now look, it's not that I can't do this. I am just out of practice. I assume it's like getting back on a bike. I just need you to be my stabilisers. Maybe a little assistance and advice. Some proof reading. A little word selection. Let's just say that in this case you've probably ridden more than me?"

Laura's face exploded, and she barely managed to keep her sip of hot coffee from being shot across the cafe.

"OH NO, I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT" yelled Dave, suddenly trying to back track. His face was glowing like a December fire in a country pub, and he had nowhere to go.

"Sir, it is fine. I know exactly what you meant." Laura reached over and touched his arm, using a tactic that Dave used so often to get someone's undivided attention. "We can fix this, so just do me a favour and relax, OK?"

A quick nod from Dave, and Laura took full control of the situation, spinning the laptop around and navigating with seamless technique. Dave didn't question, query or quiz. He sipped on his coffee and for a very brief moment, felt fortunate to have Laura in his life. His mind meandered through a few topics and he thought about Laura. Maybe he'd get her a new Dictaphone as a treat. Show his appreciation. Flowers are all well and good, but they don't last and you don't get good bang for your buck. A new Dictaphone however, would last, and would make her more efficient at her job, therefore making her happier. Job done.

"Job done!" Laura span the machine back around, with a massive and unmistakable smile of complete satisfaction on her face. Dave hadn't seen that look since...well since a long time.

"That is uncanny. I was just saying those exact words in my head. So, what do we need to do about replying to these messages? We need to get this right Laura."

"Well Sir, 'we' just did. 'We' just replied to the three remaining ladies, and 'we' flirted with the expertise of a seasoned veteran, but with the subtlety of a novice and the charm of a genuinely genuine man. I put your mobile number on each of them, and I'd put next week's spray tan money on your getting a date by the end of the day."

"But...I thought you could teach me? I mean remind me?"

"Sir, no offence, but if your need is as great as you make out, we need to cut through the red tape. To quote you, "I've been riding a lot longer", so we've just cut out of the middle man. All your need to do now is maintain it. If...I mean WHEN, they call, just be yourself and secure a date just like you'd secure a meeting with a client. I've lit the touch paper, just don't wet it and put it out."

Their eyes met with excited anticipation as Dave's phone started ringing and vibrating on the metal table in the coffee shop. In fact, their combined pause was such that the entire cafe was aware of the incoming call before any call to action was discussed.

"What should I do?" Like all men in unchartered waters, Dave had forgotten the basics in life. Laura was on side to help.

"What do you normally do when your phone rings Sir? It does ring about 100 times a day, so I'm sure you know this one? Do you want to go 50/50? Ask the audience maybe?"

Dave grabbed the phone and stared at it for a second, hoping for the inspiration that appeared to have departed his body for good. It was as if this was the very first time any living man had seen a mobile phone, and Dave's view of this alien form wasn't convincing. Then he saw it. Those two immortal words.

"PRIVATE NUMBER!" Dave thrust the phone into Laura's view to get a second opinion on this amazing discovery.

"Answer it then."

Dave cleared his throat like a tenor preparing for the arrival of the orchestra, and put the phone to his ear. He mustered up his most seductive voice and hit the button to reveal the first step in his new destiny.

"Hello....this is Dave...how can I help YOU?" The gravel in his voice and huskiness with which he spoke, was as disturbing as it was surprising to Laura. He sounded more like one of those anonymous prank callers who want to know if you are wearing any underwear, but this was early days on a steep learning curve, and she knew she couldn't dent Dave's now fragile confidence.

"Oh Peter. Yes hi, this is Dave. Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Obviously. I mean. Ermmm." Dave glared at Laura. There was no snigger this time, at least not from Laura or Dave.

"For a minute there, I thought you were going to ask me if I was wearing any underwear. Anyway look, just wanted to call to say that your chap Eric is going great guns, and the board have just given me the approval to extend the project for another 2 months. We might even need another few people, but I'll chat to you later about that. Is everything OK?"

The vital few seconds had given Dave a chance to change back into his super-hero outfit. The cape and the mask covered his shame and embarrassment, and he was a businessman again. "Peter, that is excellent news. Our staff love working with you and your team, and I'm ecstatic that your board believe in our product. I'll give you a call later to sort out the formalities, and thanks so much for the call. I'll let you get on. Thanks again."

The calm and precise placing of the phone back onto the table, shot a thousand volts of fear through Laura. Melting Dave had been replaced by ruthless Mr Marsdon.

"Have you made any progress with Food United Group?"

"Erm no Sir. Was that Peter from Barker Constructions?"

"Yes it was. I suggest you get back to the office ASAP as we need to get some traction with Food Group before our positions are no longer tenable. I'll be contactable on the phone if you need me, but won't be in the office for the rest of the day. Let's meet at 6.30am tomorrow to discuss our strategy for Food Group. I'll get the coffees."

"But..."

"Thank you Laura. That is all for now."

A contract extension like that with such a normally tough client was usually cause for celebration, but not on this occasion. Given the pressure Dave was under, Laura didn't say another word. By the time Dave had closed the internet screens down on his laptop, she was in a cab on the way back to the office.

***

Chapter Date versus Meeting

***

Within 24 hours of the coffee shop debacle, Dave realised that he owed Laura an apology he knew he could never deliver. Dave didn't like making mistakes, let alone admitting to them. In his rationalising mind, it was as likely that his profile did the ground work to achieve responses from these women and not the dulcet words that Laura constructed on his behalf. His blackberry was on overdrive and Dave was close to securing dates with each of the 3 finalists from the dating website.

Lady number one, Helen, was cautious. She wasn't exactly easy to extract information from, and Dave had already got a little frustrated with her brief answers. In a workshop, he would take on all comers and some stalwarts of the boardroom, and they would turn into putty. But so far after numerous text messages and e-mails, all he'd managed to work out was that they were a similar age and had similar interests. On reflection, he'd told her way more than he'd planned too to make up for her silence, but still little was forthcoming.

The more Dave read her profile, the more indifferent he got to her and interest was quickly diminishing. Her act of the dangling carrot had caught Dave's eye initially and intrigued him, but boredom was settling in. As his gourmet 2 hat microwave meal hit halfway, the phone rang and Dave answered it instinctively.

An hour later, his premium prepared microwave meal was shrivelled up like a dehydrated granny sunbathing on the beach, and his ear was warm and moist from the constant attention of the phone. Helen's background as a lawyer meant that they shared an instant topic of understanding, and much of their conversation centred on their varying corporate wrangles, and the challenges of meeting people in such circumstances. Taking Laura's advice, Dave was playing the role and assumed the persona of a bachelor who had put work before relationships over the last few years, but who was now looking for something else from life and some companionship. Tony had also agreed that this angle was safe, and Dave certainly wasn't going to put up any arguments for fear of having to reveal the truth.

The fact that at no point did the conversation seem like anything other than a casual conversation with a client, warmed Dave into a new level of confidence. Like any man with good cards, Dave decided to chance his hand and make the call.

"So whilst I love chatting to you on the phone, maybe we should catch up face to face. I mean, you can tell by this chat that I am not a monster, so what do you think?"

Dave would have patted himself on the back if he'd needed the re-assurance. It was a great line and served the ball firmly into Helen's court. Lawyers were good talkers, but as a consultant, he knew he had an edge over her.

With so much in common and with some seamless and easy conversation, Dave was sure that he'd planted his line at the most opportune moment, and was about to seal the deal. This was his forte. Who needed flirting, when there was a client and a deal to be closed. Business and relationships were no different, and in a matter of days, Dave would be able to prove that to everyone and finally remove his mask.

"I think that is a good idea, but do you mind if we chat some more before we confirm anything?"

"Not a problem. I'm all ears." Dave thought he'd done a good job of hiding his disappointment. He'd always performed better as a face-to-face man, where he could observe body language, critique reactions and go for the kill at the optimum moment. Chatting on the phone was a little too one dimensional for one as dynamic as he. Dave was falling behind on his nightly schedule and the grumble from his stomach was a timely reminder that he'd not eaten. He couldn't pull the plug on Helen as the first hurdle was nearly dealt with, but Dave made a mental note to work out a way to chat and perform other tasks, otherwise he'd run out of hours in the day.

"Are you OK to chat some more David?"

"Yeah, but there aren't many other things in life that I can outsource, so we'll have to get on with it." Bollocks! My bloody inner monologue could have just cost me a date!!

"Oh I love your dry sense of humour. It's so refreshing."

Dave breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself a smirk at how such a brain fart could be classed as banter. He really didn't have a clue about this courtship game. The rules seemed all wrong for starters. Time to close.

"Look Helen, in all honesty, I have a stupid amount of work to do before tomorrow with presentations, workshops and some sales meetings. I'd obviously love to chat some more, but I really should crack on. It's been really nice talking to you, so when did you say you wanted to catch up?"

It was an old trick. Presumption was a great way of getting what you wanted. When business flirting, if Dave saw someone in a room who he wanted to talk too, he'd merely sidle into their conversation and then when they least expect it, throw in a "sorry, what did you say your name was?" The fact that the person hadn't yet revealed their name was immaterial, and it usually got results. Dave certainly banked on it working on a lawyer. Technically amazing, and great earning potential, but not as good at lateral thinking as a consulting guru.

"Well, it might be a bit tricky. I am really keen. In fact I was a bit surprised by your message yesterday as it was quite forward compared to your profile, and I thought you were one of those fake people. You know, the ones who seem really nice and then they turn out to be workaholic emotional retards with no perspective on life apart from being wholeheartedly selfish. You know, the type that are governed by their pockets and impressed by their bank accounts."

Dave greeted Helen's words with a stunned silence. He looked around the room for ideas, but he was stuck. Was she joking? Was she being ironic? Did she mean that is what she knew he was and that was what she wanted? Too many thoughts and no clear conclusions.

"Anyway, now we've chatted my mind is at ease. So yes to catching up face to face, but unfortunately I am away with business in the US for the next 4 weeks working on a major client transaction, so it's a good job you are such a great communicator, as its going to be telephone and e-mail for the next month. Still, it gives us something to look forward to?"

More silence from Dave. This time, it wasn't confusion, but chronology. Flicking through his online calendar and doing this simple maths, the awful answer was staring right at him.

"David, are you still there? Is it something I said?"

Helen had seemed lovely for the last 2 hours, but the evidence was there for all to see and it couldn't be altered, tampered or fixed.

"Well that is 2 hours I'm never going to get back?" Shaking his head, and wanting to rewind the words, Dave was abundantly aware that his inner monologue had come out a little too loud again, and that this one couldn't be chalked down to a 'dry sense of humour'.

"What are you saying? If I won't sleep with you in the next month that you aren't interested? Are you one of those sex addicts? I've read about them you know. You are sick. I thought you were different. You seemed nice and interesting. Like minded. I can't believe that you have just lost interest in me because I won't put out in the next month. What do you normally do eh? Pay for it? I bet you do. I bet you take your hard earned cash and splash it down the red light district. You dirty little..."

"LOOK!" Dave yelled and it halted Helen just as her blood vessels were about to irreversibly explode. "I could explain, but you wouldn't believe me. I am not any of those things. There is just a situation, and you not being around for the next 4 weeks makes it a bit of a deal breaker. In fact a lot of a deal breaker. I am sorry Helen. Good luck."

Dave turned his phone off and slouched. He'd learnt several things from his elongated chat with Helen. Most importantly, he'd learnt that time wasn't on his side and the expected realisation that women were far more complex beasts than clients.

3 was 2, and now the odds were reducing. Dave opened his laptop and decided that the only way to catch a fish was to cast your rod. Opening up the site, he checked the latest two messages from the remaining ladies. One of them, Maria, was showing as online.

Treating himself to a large glass of port to wash down the disappointment of the wasted venture with Helen, Dave was determined to secure a woman, and to do so before his promotion opportunity had gone up in smoke. The new partners were being announced in just less than 4 weeks. He just needed a Helen who was in town so that he could parade her in front of Big Nick and the others.

Maria's profile certainly appealed and Dave was about to sit back and plan his attack, when he heard some pearls of wisdom from Laura 'over-thinking is a big enemy of flirting. Sometimes it's best just to say exactly what is on your mind.' She'd been right.

Dave hit the reply button and just typed.

"Hey there Maria,

Any lady who is still online at this time of night is either stupidly busy or stupidly desperate, so there is a 50% chance that we'll match!

Obviously I am looking for a lady, but my career will implode and my life will no longer be worth living if I don't secure one in the next month.

Good news is that you've passed all my initial criteria of being fiscally secure, ambitious and available. If you can pass the final test of being in the same country as me for the next 4 weeks, then we might as well meet up tomorrow night for dinner.

7.30pm @ Harvey's Restaurant. Table under the name of Dave Marsdon?"

Without giving himself a chance of second guessing, proof reading or changing his mind, Dave hit send. It was destined to fail. It was aloof, abrupt, rude, presumptuous, forward, condescending and not remotely flattering or flirty.

Sipping the last of his Port and topping up his glass for one final tipple, the noise was surprising in its speed. Knowing that Maria was online, Dave had expected a reply, but she couldn't have written much in that time.

"8pm.

I'll bring my annual accounts, career plan and diary for the next 4 weeks, just in case,

Maria, x"

Comforted by his Port, Dave sat partially bamboozled and partially impressed. He'd always lived by the fact that getting it right was more important that understanding, but the deeper he got into the world of women, relationships and companionship, the more fear and uncertainty entered his life. The living proof in front of him was the reply from Maria.

Strolling to bed, content with his nights work, Dave was amused at how his words and Maria's response appeared to defy logic, but then he was quickly learning that his business logic didn't always apply quite so readily to his new world. Still, in his mind he'd done all the ground work now, and just had to place this little project in maintenance mode. Maria was a sure fire thing.

***

Chapter Does Dessert Come After Dinner?

***

"That's odd. My trousers and shirt seem to have shrunk. I'll have to have words with Miss Vietnam."

Fastening his trousers that morning, Dave was temporarily concerned by the tightness of the fit and the snugness of his pastel shirt. He didn't mind things being a bit snug, as it gave that hand crafted look, but this was tight. Over analysis at this point would have pointed quickly to the increased consumption of coffee to stay alert through his longer and more stressful days, and the late night drinks required to help settle the coffee infused day into slumber. The double whammy for Dave was that all this flirting and internet use was at the sacrifice of any exercise.

None of that mattered. It was all mere circumstance that could be rectified with a weekend at the fitness centre and some hours invested with a personal trainer. It could be gone in a tenth of the time it took to acquire. His promotion though couldn't be retrieved in any fashion. It had to be achieved, and to do that Dave had to exceed all the challenges set. Prioritisation was the key here.

Dave spent much of the morning with Laura, treading through the quick sand trying to get some leads out at Food United Group. It was highly possible that Dave was worrying about nothing, but with so much of his work for the following year relying on them, he had to doubly make sure everything was OK.

Bereft of ideas, his desk phone started ringing, and the display indicated that it was his Dad calling.

"Laura, can you take that. I'm a bit snowed right now and can't really handle any family stuff. Unless it is urgent, I'll call him later."

Closing the office door behind him, Dave hoped that every cell of Oxygen in there could help provide some insight and break the ice on his plight. Of the streams of concerns that he was juggling, Dave felt quite on top of the lady situation. Maria had been a push over on e-mail, and once she realised how important and impressive Dave was, it was merely a matter of time until that project was resolved. Work was a different issue. The news out at Barker Constructions was good, and he'd fought a few fires there to come out with some glory, but it couldn't cover the gaps if things went south at Food Group.

Dave's peace was disturbed by a flapping Laura at his glass door. The anger displayed in his face should have been a sufficient deterrent, but she stood proud and continued to direct traffic with her arms.

"WHAT?"

"It's your Dad. He is on the phone."

"Laura, I might need to re-check your contract but I'm pretty sure your job description doesn't involve stating the bleeding obvious and informing me of things I clearly already know. Now this better be good?"

"I think YOU should speak to him, and then you can apologise later!" Laura closed the door with a stubbornness that Dave hadn't seen before and returned to her desk.

"Hey Dad, sorry about that, I am just a bit snowed right now. What's new?"

"Well son, I know you are snowed. It's the warmest summer in 25 years according to the met office, and yet you always seem to have snow in that office of yours. So much snow in fact, you missed your mother's birthday last week. And before you go swearing at that lovely assistant of yours, don't bother. She remembered and she sent the flowers she always sends, but just maybe one year your Mum would like to hear from you."

"Dad I am so sorry. Things have just got a bit...well, busy and frantic and I have a lot on. It will ease soon. I can come over this weekend and we can go out for lunch?"

"Well we're out with Anne, Tony and the kids on Saturday. They got your mum a pamper session at the local health spa. Very considerate I thought."

"Dad, your guilt trips are world renowned and masterful, but you know I am genuinely sorry. Sunday. Let's do something Sunday." Dave frantically examined his diary to check that he had no clashes. There was a client BBQ and a conference that he'd signed up, but they could be missed. "Please Dad. Don't tell Mum I'm coming up and I'll surprise her. I'll book somewhere nice so just have her ready for midday and I'll swing by to pick you up. Deal?"

"Deal. And I might have something for you too. Will you be able to stick around for a late afternoon tea on Sunday?"

"Ermmm. I'll see what I can do. Like I said, I've got a fair bit on and I'll need to get back, but..."

"David Arthur Marsdon! Stop it. You'll stay for afternoon tea. We'll see you on Sunday."

The use of Arthur and the speed with which the phone went down, told Dave all he needed to know. He'd rearrange things. Normally, such persistence and assertiveness weren't regular attributes of his Dad, but as the years wore on, Dave had gained a new appreciation of Derek. Yes, he was quiet and rarely said 'Boo' to a goose, but when he did, boy did that goose listen.

There was nervousness and curiosity that enveloped the room briefly as Dave replaced the phone. Looking up, Dave could see that Laura was seething outside, so he'd leave her to settle for a while. There was no time for emotion, and work was the order of the day. Work, and progress.

Approaching his large white board in his room, pen in hand, the words were written in big bold letters and the mission officially upgraded.

"MUST FIND RONNIE PATEL!"

The preparation for the dinner date was more convoluted than Dave had imagined. Completing his raft of conference calls and having reviewed a selection of reports from his mignons, Dave had safely left himself an hour to get ready and 15 minute to make it to the restaurant, with a built in contingency of 10 minutes for traffic or other such delays. 7 P's and all that jazz.

The problem was that he'd not really dressed for a date before. Gazing worriedly into his vast wardrobe, Dave soon became aware that his clothing fitted 3 distinct genres, which in hindsight was no surprise. He had the work genre well and truly nailed, and that covered the whole of one wardrobe and much of the second. The remainder of the centre wardrobe featured his 'business casual' attire, which was barely worthy of a genre. It was made up of 3 pairs of identical beige slacks from Gap, 3 identical Ralph Lauren light blue button down shirts and 3 identical Marks & Spencer's navy blue v-neck sweaters. These were ideal for conferences where Dave could be pure business in his suit during the day, and then drop down to business casual at night, whilst still retaining the air of formality and focus. Not ideal for a dinner date though.

The final selection was the riches to rags element, being Dave's 'at home' chill out gear, and the shelves which were adorned with a selection of jogging bottoms, t-shirts and thick sports jumpers.

Starring blindly into the abyss of clothing, Dave suddenly remembered a Christmas or birthday a few years previous where Anne had invested large amounts of the kid's inheritance in a pair of trendy jeans for him. He'd never worn the ghastly things, but maybe they'd work perfectly.

Trying them on, Dave was pleasantly surprised by how well they fitted. And they weren't nearly as uncomfortable as he'd feared. Grabbing a shirt, he was now on a mission to complement the new apparel, but failure was in sight. At the base of the wardrobe the selection of shiny black work shoes were only interjected by some trainers that Dave used for the gym.

"That's why I don't wear this blasted denim" Dave angrily remarked to himself, trying to rip the jeans off whilst learning that slow and steady wins the race.

Looking gingerly over to his bedside table and alarm clock, it appeared that Dave had inadvertently eaten into his allotted time and contingency time, so he had to get a wriggle on.

"Hang on" he muttered to himself, "Tony and Laura both said be yourself. Well instead of trying to dress up as someone else, I think I'll dress up as Dave Marsdon."

Dropping into auto pilot, Dave took his usual glance into the mirror, pretending to be shy but loving what he saw. The outfit made the perfect statement. It spoke volumes about him, yelling classy, affluent, focused, targeted, smart, suave, and successful. Oh, and sexy, of course. Most importantly, it would show Maria that Dave meant business. Checking in the mirror once more, Dave was more than happy with what he saw. After all, if he played to his strengths, this would be a stroll in the park. Maria was the one who'd be the passenger to his journey to partnership and the ultimate title of success. She'd be grateful to just go along for the ride.

Maria's punctual arrival was joined with a smile from Dave as she looked every bit as attractive as her profile picture had shown from the website. Dave met her with a firm handshake and a sneaky peak at his smile, which usually worked the trick.

"Bloody hell, this isn't an interview is it?" barked Maria in a jovial fashion. Her volume startled Dave slightly.

"You should have said if you were running late, and I could have given you time to go home and change."

This would be harder than Dave imagined. He hadn't got a word in yet. The temptation was to go on the offensive, like he did when he took on people in the boardrooms of his clients. But looking at Maria, he saw a softening in her eye and realised what he saw in many of his clients; she was nervous. It shouldn't have been a surprise, and explained the comment about getting changed. Dave had known his wardrobe selection was perfect, but his style, charisma and professionalism had clearly taken Maria's breath away. Bless her.

"Before I settle, I might just go and powder my nose." Maria collected her purse and strolled with heavy legs towards the bathroom, looking from side to side briskly trying to spot the sign. Dave watched in one of the many restaurant mirrors with a smug grin, acknowledging to himself that he was firmly in control.

"One-nil to me." Dave began adjusting his tie and rolling his eyes at the thought that he'd nearly entertained wearing anything else. "Why dress up as _somebody_ , when I look amazing as me?"

In the bathroom Maria had plenty of time to send the message on her blackberry.

"He's dressed like it's an interview and has already winked at me like I'm his PA. Fingers crossed it gets better from here. Chat soon & wish me luck! M,x"

The conversation flowed as the meal was enjoyed and the fine wine sipped on. Dave used one of his more recent tactics from work. Having spent a lot of time with manufacturing companies, he'd come across many a senior executive who was great at their job, but not necessarily that intelligent to the outside world. Dave therefore decided to dampen down his game slightly and play safer hands in the initial interactions with Maria.

Dave was trained however, and his mind was permanently switched onto the mission of analysis. But his clients paid him to identify problems and make solutions and in the back of his mind, despite all the wonderfulness of Maria, there was an obvious flaw. She was stunningly attractive, well dressed, spoke confidently and assuredly and seemed a very good all around package. The niggle in the back of Dave's mind was her avoidance of any topic around work. She'd mentioned her parents and a few things involving them, that he'd really not focused on. His brain was busy trying to decide. Was it that she didn't talk of her work because she wasn't that good at it, or did she just feel alienated by Dave's presence and corporate status? In true millionaire fashion, it was a real 50/50, with no audience to ask.

Dave had let the conversation flow and could feel the tide turn, but he couldn't leave his progress to the lap of the gods. There was too much at stake to leave anything to chance or to let things run their course. This required decisive action.

In his head he had a three stage plan that he'd thought up whilst she was in the loo, which he'd called the 'then, now, next' plan. Stage one, 'then' was to gently impress her with a few corporate stories of yester-year to demonstrate to her the pedigree that he held and how he'd come up through the ranks, as a boy from a good family, who'd worked hard for what he'd got. The stories would talk about success, ambition and the intelligence of swift decision making that had propelled Dave to these unheralded ranks for one so youthful. Stage two, was the now. Obviously the now couldn't be entirely truthful, but hey, as Dave often said, "never let the truth get in the way of a good story". Stage two covered the whole of the main meal, and contained vivid stories of Dave having epiphany moments and realising that there was more to life and wanting a 'richness from companionship, not just from my bank account'. He silently thanked Tony and Laura for all the clichés that had been included in his story of now.

Dave was ready to give himself a pat on the back as his stage two stories wrapped up with a gentle chuckle and the placing of his knife and fork on his clean plate. Having listened intently to his description of now, he struggled to think how anyone could resist. He even fancied himself a bit!

Just as the shoulders relaxed, and the vocal chords prepared themselves for the killer blow of stage three, Maria once again departed the table for another powdering.

"Hmmm, a little odd as she has only had just over a glass of wine since her last visit." Dave was thinking to himself and dropping into the over analysis mode that occasionally paralysed his brain. "What does that mean?"

His brain tumbled and rolled through an eclectic mix of reasons. "There are drugs. That wouldn't be good. Could be her job? Maybe she is working? Maybe this is her work. That would explain why she hasn't mentioned work. What did her profile say? Oh no...please no! It's not that I can't afford it, but I'm not at that stage. Maybe she has another appointment after me? Even worse, maybe she had one before me which is why she changed the time. Oh lord. What if my mum finds out. Profile, profile, profile."

Praying that his mobile could get signal Dave searched the dating website for Maria's profile.

"Occupation: Professional; entertainment."

Looking at his watch, Dave noticed that it was just approaching 9pm. His brain did the maths, and his decision was made. Assuming that they charged by the half hour, he had no way of getting through this before 9pm, so was aiming for 9.30pm. assuming that includes coffees, they had to order now. Job done.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Maria too had her phone out. There had been no reply to her first message, but she provided an update regardless.

"Well hard to say how it's going. The interview has turned into a sales pitch, and I feel as if I'm going to be asked to buy a time share in Dave Marsdon. Worst fear confirmed. I think I'm about to get stage three of his three stage plan. Had the past and the present, and think desert will come with the future. Hope he relaxes soon as he's kinda cute! M,x"

Before Maria's elegantly sequined dress had made contact with the seat, Dave was rubbing his belly and gesturing towards to waiter.

"I'm stuffed after all that food. Fancy a quick coffee?"

With the drinks ordered, Maria sat expectantly. Dave's barrage of words were sure to continue, and his pitch would obviously finish with a third phase. She'd heard all about his fetish for all things three. But there was nothing. A bit of silence and even some eye contact, but no words. Maybe she'd got it wrong. A sensation of guilt and pre-judgement hit Maria, and startled her into action.

"Well, I must say I've been really impressed by the food here. I was supposed to be working tonight, but managed to move a few things around to make dinner, and I'm glad I did." Maria's smile and words would have radiated through the darkest of rooms, but they hit Dave's stern face without affect.

As his eyes slowly closed and opened, his worst fear was unfolding in front of him. He'd said to Tony that those sites were about business and not pleasure, and the ease with which this date had been arranged should have set off the alarm bells. Dave was angry with Tony, but he was also angry with himself. In his world he was perceptive, but in this world of dating, emotions and courtship, he was an apprentice without a mentor. Dave's only hope now was that this mis-understanding wasn't going to cost him too dearly in the pocket. Career wise and reputation wise it could be deadly, but he'd safely keep it a secret.

"I've got a really big summer coming up actually. Pretty much fully booked up, which is great news! Although working nights can be a pain in the you know what. Most people shower before work. I have to shower afterwards."

Dave took a sip of his coffee, trying not to create a mental image and being eternally grateful for his lack of experience in that department. He shuddered to think what a busy summer would entail, or how much _work_ she'd have to do to get a sore you know what.

"In fact, the highlight of the summer is hopefully going to be a massive open air event at Hyde Park in late August. I can probably get you tickets if you're interested?"

Dave's coffee cup banged down abruptly on the table, and his silence was nothing compared to the horror and disgust which was written all over his face. A morbid fascination would have been the focus of most alpha males right now conjuring up images of a mass orgy, but this line of business was the only corporate endeavour that Dave had no time for.

"The sex industry is intriguing from its dominance in the online world, profitability and growth through use of alternative media, but it bears no interest for me personally!" Dave delivered the message very matter of factly. Minimal emotion was displayed and no signs of the despicable taste in his mouth that this topic provoked.

The response from Maria was swift and shocking for Dave.

"I agree completely. You don't think I work in the sex industry do you? I am an agent for some of the top artists on the Indie music scene. I take new up and coming bands and get them gigs supporting major artists. I did kinda tell you this before when we first sat down. You didn't think...well what did you think?"

Deafening. The lack of noise was simply deafening. It was as if the entire restaurant was watching and eagerly anticipating Dave's shovel ability as he tried to dig himself out of a massive hole.

"I thought absolutely nothing." Recovery was Dave's speciality, though he much preferred not getting himself in these situations. " It was just something I read today and thought that I'd share my views with you. You know, I've always said that the best way to find a woman or a companion, is to just be yourself and to put yourself out there, and that topic happens to be something I've very passionate about. Well not passionate in that way. You know what I mean?"

Dave's back tracking had distracted Maria, as she suddenly became aware of how cute he looked when he was in trouble. His veil had been lifted, and the emotions of embarrassment were written all over him with cowering body language and the tinge of red which adorned his cheeks. His volume dropped along with his eyes. Bless.

"Would you like to come back for a coffee Dave?"

"Ermm...well..."

"Look, here is my address. We're both in our cars, so just park outside and I'll see you there in 10mins. Just coffee though."

Dave's nod responded gently to Maria's nod as he took the piece of paper with the address on. He'd be glad of the 10 minute drive to get himself back together. He'd just nearly stolen defeat from the jaws of victory again.

***

Chapter You For Coffee

***

"I suppose I should check my phone", noted Anne. "I've had it on silent when we got the kids down, but I should have a report coming in anytime soon."

Both kids were asleep and both Tony and Anne were enjoying a rare night of peace and quiet. The TV was off as there was nothing but the usual repeats and a few reality TV shows. With the radio gently playing in the background and the couple just taking a few moments to catch up on themselves, the tranquillity and unity of the moment filled the room. Tony topped up Anne's glass with some wine and took the opportunity to grab his phone, as Anne peered curiously without her reading glasses.

"Oh, I've got 3 messages. Let's cut to the chase and read the last one."

BEEP BEEP. Dave's phone went off, just as Anne started reading. "This could be promising?"

"Good news. Invited him back for a coffee as he stopped talking about his work! Bad news; he just insinuated that he thought I was a prostitute. M,x". Anne gorped as her mouth gaped open and spun around to Tony.

"You are kidding? What did it really say?"

"That was it word for word. And these other messages are from her as well. Doesn't sound like it is going well. I knew it was a mistake to set him up with a friend." There was an element of sadness in Anne's voice, mixed in with the disappointment that her match making skills had failed and that her stupid brother had called one of her hottest mates a prostitute! Most annoying was the fact that to berate him for it, she'd also have to confess to setting him up. The tangled web.

"Yeah, my message is from Dave and pretty much reads the same way. He is currently parked outside her house giving himself a pep talk! What have we done!?"

Composure was the key here. Dave was looking firmly into his eyes through the rear view mirror and giving himself the mother of all talks. If these relationships were anything like business, then the near misses often turned into the best accounts, so he had to persevere with this. If she'd invited him back for coffee after being accused of being a whore, then there was hope. Dave felt like he was on a tight rope as he manoeuvred down the driveway. A normally alert Dave would have noticed the 3 cars on the driveway, but his focus right now was on deep breathing and not messing this up. Maria represented admission into the elite group of the Partnership at CEC and another accomplishment on his stepping stone to success and ultimately happiness.

Maria opened the door with a smile and pointed Dave towards the living room, in what appeared to be a rather spacious and well presented house.

Maria headed at a tangent to Dave towards the kitchen, as the noise of the coffee machine formed the sound track to Dave's entrance into the living area. First impressions were good, and Dave couldn't help but think about the cost of such a property and the network of the individual living in it. Her kudos was increasing.

"Very nice. Very nice indeed. Bet she's worth a few bob." Dave was muttering to himself, suddenly starting to feel more positive.

"Oh hello. You must be Dave. I am Arnold and this is Patsy. We're Maria's parents."

The man called Arnold was still approaching Dave as he leapt upwards and backwards in unison. A taller man in a smaller building would have hit the ceiling.

"It's OK, I don't bite". Arnold's hand was outstretched and barely made it out of the end of a knitted jumper, which had been made for a man with a different stature. A quick glance to Arnold's left suggested that any commentary about the jumper would be a dagger to Dave's chances, as the steely eyed Patsy sat, crocheting in her seat with the speed of a thousand worker bees.

"Oh. Yes. Erm, hello to you too. I'm Dave." The stumbling in his voice bore no correlation to the power and presence he displayed in the offices around London. Living rooms and restaurants were proving far scarier stomping ground then meeting rooms and offices.

"We know." There was a chill in their voices that defied the heat bulging from the open fire place.

Awkward and fearful, Dave decided to retreat back to the kitchen and find Maria.

"Coffee's nearly done. So you met the folks then?"

"Erm yeah, you never said you lived with your parents?"

"Well I did and I don't. They don't live here, but they come down to visit quite often and stay for a few weeks. Dad has a lot of old work buddies down this way and Mum prefers the shops down here. And yes, I did tell you. Over dinner in fact, just before you starting telling me about your favourite clients and well before you suggested I was a whore." Maria smiled.

Dave felt weak. He wasn't used to this scenario. Maria appeared to be in control of this situation and was clearly in the power position. Her mocking of him was jovial, and certainly beat her getting understandably angry about things, but Dave wasn't accustomed to dealing with this banter.

"Are you coming through?" Maria was leaving with the coffees on a tray and Dave followed. He hated following. He was a leader. It was time to get this evening back on track.

Maria was mesmerised by the boyish charm combined with precision that Dave appeared to soften her parents with, the stories he shared about his childhood growing up in Sheffield and the time he spent with his extended family. She was falling for him. His brave and nonchalant exterior hid a scared and cute young man, and Maria was confident that she had the arsenal to convert him into the perfect man. A few tweaks here and a few changes there, and he'd be the finished article. It was fair to say that he had a few edges that needed trimming, and some guidance in social situations, but he had potential, and she liked that. Certainly not the finished article, but coming from the same blood stock as one her friends, gave him extra promise.

Dave slipped effortlessly into an award winning rendition of the story about how he was planning to take his mother out for lunch on Sunday as a surprise for her birthday, and that he was driving all the way up north for the day just for her. He wasn't nearly as bad as Anne had made out. In fact, Anne had spoken so candidly about him, that Maria had only agreed to the date out of intrigue to see if a man that sold on corporate life really existed.

"Don't mind me. I'll be back in a second." Maria felt confident enough to leave Dave chatting like old friends with her parents, as she skipped happily upstairs. A quick check of the bedroom revealed that it was perfectly clean and there was no stray underwear on show. Her parents were sure to retire to their granny flat at the back of the house soon enough, and Maria was compelled to drag Dave up to her comfortable and seductively lit room for some fun. She was no longer doing a favour for Anne. Dave had real potential, but there was another test for him to pass before Maria could give him the seal of approval. Looking in the mirror, Maria decided to put the final touches to her outfit. Some perfume, some fresh underwear and some background music were all required, then she could go and collect her prey.

In the lounge, the quiet Patsy defied science by continuing to crochet an extremely complex pattern using 12 inch knitting needles, whilst maintaining unbroken eye contact with Dave.

"So Sunday you say?"

"Yes, driving up to Sheffield, and surprising Mum with lunch somewhere fancy before relaxing over afternoon tea and then the long drive back. All worth it mind!"

"So no church then?"

"God no. Ha! I mean, no. I'm not into all that."

"Oh. We'll be going for our weekly stroll early Sunday morning to Maria's local church. So what religion are you David? You're not Kosher are you?"

The smile on Dave's face defied the huge number of thought processes his brain was ploughing through. His first task was to resist the temptation to correct Patsy and explain that if she really was religious and educated, that she'd know that Kosher wasn't a religion. This was no time to mock. He'd got close and this was surely just a hurdle, but he had to be careful how he navigated it. He'd heard that mothers formed scary gate keepers for their daughters, but had hoped that dating women in their 30's would reduce the protectiveness. Arnold, who had seemed to be an ally, was now dozing. Luckily for Dave, his alertness had come back as the caffeine soaked in, and his mind was focused on the end goal. The prize. And the prize he wanted wasn't passion and frolicking in the bedroom, or the scalp of another woman, but the prize of having an office, a title, a parking space and a new level of credibility that made his dream a possibility. It was time for Dave Marsdon the super hero. Dave took a breath, and in that moment, his eyes played the trick on him which he'd requested. The living room was merely another corporate location in the city. The comfortable chairs were high back board room chairs. The oil painting of an unknown village was a motivational poster about leadership. The TV was the video conference for the international board members to dial in. The coffee table was the board room table. Patsy was the Chairman of the Board, and he had to sell her his pitch. He was on the 23rd floor of a high rise building and his stock was about to get higher.

"Excellent question Patsy." Always start with flattery and use their name. It makes them concentrate more. "You see, where I come from, religion isn't prevalent. It's not to say that it isn't important or to diminish its significance, but in its _formal_ sense, it wasn't a big part of my life." Pause for effect. Maintain eye contact. Dave was feeling good about this. If only he had a white board and marker pen.

"What we did have though, were our parents. They instilled a set of core values, beliefs, and understandings." Dave's own hands were weaving a pattern of perfect management speak that was supposed to hypnotise Patsy. "Just like in your church, the stories of days gone by were shared and became customs as we rejoiced at how this framework of beliefs were told in the events of our forefathers. How the good succeed and how the bad come to peril. As life went by and as I had my own experiences, I was taught to share these, and this enabled me to re-enforce my understanding of this way of living...of right from wrong, good from bad. Through living our lives we learnt about respect and honesty from the love of our family. We learnt that you are responsible for your own destiny and that hard work, in all forms of life, will eventually lead to reward."

The stare had been maintained, but Dave had met sterner people in the boardrooms of the city. People who got paid millions and had responsibility for thousands of employees. People who'd survived recessions and managed growth through booms. Real hard men and women.

"I think you misheard me young man. I asked if you went to church." The look intensified.

"Well as I was saying. This religion doesn't have a building in which we congregate. It doesn't have a name, and nor does it have holidays designated to celebrate its cause. But surely it's about what works for you, and this religion has certainly always worked for me. It got me where I am today, and I'm extremely happy with that."

Done deal. There was no coming back from a line like that. Dave was ready to pat himself on the back. Unequivocal and cut throat display of his talents for spin, for thinking on his feet and for interpreting the truth into a more compelling story of slight non-truths. A small sigh of satisfaction about his achievements in dealing with this cunning and protective was on its way out of Dave's mouth, when all of the free air in the room was stolen by Patsy.

"So you don't believe in God then?" The lean forward and closing of the eyes was accusational and powerful. Putting her needles down was petrifying.

Before Dave had a chance to respond, Patsy was sensing victory.

"You must feel blessed though, to have had the opportunities you've had. Your stories before were full of them. Your travels, your deals, your family, your finances, your property, car and your lavish lifestyle. You are very blessed to have all that aren't you?"

There was a roar in the pit of Dave's stomach. Patsy had just raised the red rag, and the bull in Dave was now firing. The blue touch paper had been lit and the adrenalin shot through every crevice of Dave's now angry body.

"Blessed is not the word I'd choose to use" Dave commented pertly, "as I am confident that I am responsible for my own actions and I take the chances I choose to take. When you take risks, you deserve the rewards of those risks. I work bloody hard for everything that I have and don't feel any guilt or shame for what I have achieved through hard work and dedication. I am not blessed. I am not lucky. I am bloody good at what I do."

With each sentence and with each breath, Dave's voice got louder and more directive, to the point where his words were being shot right at Patsy's eyes. Just as Dave caught the whiff of perfume, he saw the immediate mellowing of Patsy's face, which went from the look of the prosecutor to the look of the prosecuted.

"Oh, I'm sorry for asking young man. I didn't mean to pry or to get you riled. I'm just an old lady who was interested in what you thought. Sorry for making you angry." Her voice was now meek and frail.

Confusion was about to transcend Dave at this rather strange change of tact, until he connected the dots. Looking up and relaxing his angry stance, the fresh scented perfume was emanating from the gorgeous Maria, who's beauty was hidden by a distinct look of feisty.

"I'll be leaving."

As he left the room, he gently touched Maria's arm and looked into her eyes. He spoke truthfully for the first time that night.

"I am genuinely sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I actually quite like you. Sorry, but looks like this won't work", shaking Maria's hand like he was leaving any other business meeting in the city.

Before the heater in Dave's car had got up to temperature, Anne already had the conclusion from the night.

"Another one bites the dust. Note to self: Don't date men when you have your parents staying over. I think she convinced him that I was the daughter of Mary and Joseph! Sorry mate, nearly but not quite, M,x"

***

Chapter Desperate Measures and The Numbers Game

***

"SMART stands for specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and timely. It is essential that all your counselee's targets fit this criteria."

Other than the potential dramas at Food United Group, Dave's portfolio was completely on track. He'd checked in with Laura in the morning, and whilst quieter than normal, he was happy that at least one part of his life was working.

It was formal appraisal time at the office, and a time of year that Dave dreaded. He had three people who reported into him who he was a counsellor for. With the title of counsellor came the responsibility to coach, guide and mentor. Dave's school of thought really didn't tolerate this human resources people management mumbo jumbo, but he'd been pulled up on it enough in the past, and didn't want anything else to get in the way of his promotion. To him, he was a natural role model for those around him and it made more sense to allow each of them to find their own personal reasons to aspire to be more like him. Anything more formal than that was trivial.

Laura had heeded Dave's instruction to "get the blasted things out of the way with one hit", so had booked Dave in for back-to-back meetings during the morning with each of his counselees. The first two were easy. He'd started the day with his rising stars. They didn't need this tripe either as far as he was concerned, but they paid lip service to the manual that the HR Chick had thrust upon Dave during the launch of "People before Profit". It was in that session that Big Nick had spoken with Dave about his comment that "the only time People should come before Profit is in the dictionary."

Karina and Ben were a breeze to deal with. They knew the game and how to play it, and whilst it wasn't discussed, Dave was proud to be their role model. Their drive, panache and desire to improve were infectious and Dave was confident about their success at the promotion meeting. Even better, their success indirectly confirmed Dave's excellent ability as a coach, mentor and guide, and he could 'prove' that his techniques reared brilliant people.

"Loose connection maybe, but I reckon I can pitch that one OK" thought Dave to himself. The final meeting was with Kipto. Dave certainly didn't feel racist, but he really did struggle to empathise in any way with Kipto, who was originally from Zimbabwe. He'd not wasted much time trying, however Dave was bamboozled as to why Kipto hadn't made more effort to fit in. He'd even mentioned to Laura that "if you chose to change countries to ply your trade, you need to do everything in your power to acclimatise, and he doesn't. He's not come to one of the social events, doesn't drink and doesn't really say much. And he doesn't seem particularly driven."

Laura's response had confused Dave further. "Sir, he is from a very different culture than the one you are used to, and therefore has very different views and perspectives on the world. Not everyone wants to get drunk and network every night of the week to improve their chances of a promotion by sucking up to the boss."

"That is why she is a PA.". All that touchy feely, culture stuff was something that poor performers hide behind. A smoke screen for not being good at your job.

The session with Kipto wasn't as straight forward as his previous two, and Dave struggled to keep him on track. An early part of the conversation had led to Kipto explaining that he was struggling to settle into life in London, didn't have many friends and missed his family.

"Kipto, we all have challenges at home, but a true worker and a dedicated professional leaves his baggage at the bottom of the lift and walks into the office as a clear headed consultant," Dave commented, pointing jestfully over to the lift well. "So, let's not get sidetracked and get back onto the matter at hand and talk about some of your clients? What is their feedback like?"

The work chat wasn't much better. It was clear to Dave that Kipto excelled at being ordinary and was like a stealth bomber without any bombs. He'd flown well under the radar for a long time, but hadn't done or achieved anything worth reporting. It wasn't that his appraisal form was bad...it was just empty.

"I've got an idea for you Kitpo" as Dave rejoiced with his quick thinking.

"It's Kipto Sir."

"Whoever. I've got a client that has very strong corporate values and stuff, and they have a cultural diversity month. Maybe we could get you working out there and kill a few birds with one stone?"

"I am confused sir. Why are we killing birds? I thought we were consultants? In Africa, we don't kill birds."

"Haa! Very dry sense of humour we have hidden under the surface there. No, the killing birds is a euphemism. A saying. We don't actually kill any birds. What I mean is that if we can get you out there for a few weeks, not only will it improve your perception around the office as you will be out working, but if they are having a cultural diversity month, you could well meet some of your own people and make some friends! How's that for thinking eh?"

Dave was so happy with himself, he gave Kipto a jovial whack on the arm. On reflection, he didn't mind this counselling stuff. He had two great performers and had just helped someone who was genuinely struggling, which made Dave feel very good about himself.

"Now off you go Kitpoo, go get in that lift and I want to see you leave that baggage at the bottom. Good lad."

"But I have no bags Sir" Kipto replied, fighting the confusion with the thought that Dave was really not helping him at all.

"You crack me up. Now GO! Go earn me some money to pay for these coffees."

A perplexed Kipto slipped nimbly out of his chair and strolled with the perfect ordinary pace to the door, neither rushing nor taking his time. Just walking. He knew where he was going, but after the chat with Dave, he was very lost.

Dave treated himself to an early mark from work as reward for his spot on counselling, and headed home via the library. This was far from a regular haunt for Dave. In fact, he'd not been in a library since his school days, and prided himself on being able to buy a new, clean book if he really wanted to read it. Free reading was for a different class to the aspiring businessmen, so he felt safe frequenting the local library. Minimal chance of bumping into any clients here.

Dave could almost smell the germs and grime that surely coated every single book in such a place, as he entered through the turnstile. Membership was free and easy, and even the lady at the desk seemed chirpy. Despite clearly being a few pounds overweight and benefiting from a few hours spent walking rather than sat on her arse reading, she did chortle at Dave's quip that "It's not really _free_ is it. I pay considerable amounts in taxes for such services. Whilst the charge might not correlate to the service, I certainly don't consider this to be _free_. If anything, I am in credit and the library owes me. Now, can you point me towards any books you have on dating and self help books of that nature...you know relationships and stuff?"

"She was laughing at the free and taxes comment wasn't she?" pondered Dave as he passed 5 rows of students, the unemployed, the elderly and the literary obsessed. This definitely wasn't his demographic, so he was planning a smash and grab.

Back with the portly woman at the counter, Dave was reminded that it was a maximum of 10 books at a time, so left "The 12 month plan of Dating" and "A-Z; Action to Zzzzz". He needed something that would work in less than 12 months and something that preferably didn't end in sleeping.

Turning the pages of the books, Dave was concerned at the tangents with which his life was changing. He was spending less time in his natural environment where he performed best, and was dedicating ridiculous amounts of time into a venture which he frankly didn't understand and wasn't convinced he even wanted to succeed in. At least success in the office was tangible. But all these emotions and feelings were very subjective. When he thought about his sales target he smiled. It had been set in stone for a year. It was a fact. It didn't move. He knew what it was and knew how to get it. He could do what he loved the most. Plan, Execute and Measure. And the paradise that he enjoyed the most was that the measurement was a number. And it was the same number, however you looked at it. All of his colleagues, peer group and bosses knew the same thing, regardless of what they thought of Dave. He was at 109% of his target with a few weeks of the year left. He took solace in the facts that made his life and business a comfortable place to operate.

The whole dating and relationships though. Different game, confusing rules and bizarre outcomes. Dave was reviewing his initial three stage plan from the new horizons when the door bell rang. He wasn't expecting anything. No CD's had been ordered that would need to be signed for.

"Anne. I didn't know we had plans. Come in. Are you OK?"

"Yeah my dearest brother, I am here with an olive branch in the form of wine, and an idea."

"OK. Come up, I'll get the glasses and you can explain why you are so dolled up on a school night, without your husband and my best mate in tow!"

"Pour me a full glass bro! I think I'll need it tonight!"

Dave was concerned. This wasn't normal behaviour for Anne. Something had to be afoot, and he really didn't have the capacity for any more personal problems after the days counselling sessions.

"Dare I ask?"

"Yes, you dare. But I ask that you let me finish before you say ANYTHING and I mean ANYTHING. Just let me say what I need to say. Oh, and top me up!" Anne wasn't a big drinker but had already taken a healthy swig of the red wine, such that she had a Shiraz moustache adorning her top lip. Dave said nothing as instructed, but giggled at the red wine smile from the glass which eloquently complimented the moustache.

"So Maria. She is a friend of mine from the gym and from yoga. We do coffee and stuff every now and then. Don't look blank Dave. Maria from last night!"

Luckily Dave was stunned into silence. How on earth did she know about last night?

"Well after your little pow-wow session with Tony the other day, I got him to fill me in on a few of the, should we say, 'high level details' of your problem and your plan. I knew Maria was on some dating websites and it turned out she was on the same one as you, so I convinced her...I mean, suggested to her, that you might be a good match. Hence last night..."

"But..." attempted Dave, only to be foiled. His face was blotchy with embarrassment and was a similar hue to the red wine that he too was now guzzling.

"Shush. You promised you'd let me finish. Well you always taught me that if you try and venture and it fails, always have a plan B ready, so I have. You need to forget about last night's attempts, and so as a joint apology and memory destroyer, I brought 2 bottles of wine" as Anne whisked a second bottle of red from her bag. "And don't worry, you taught me well. It was on two-for-one!"

Dave grinned. He knew Tony would tell Anne. They were all too close from back in the day for him to not share this opportunity with her. However, he hadn't expected that she'd try and set him up.

"But I was texting Tony with updates, and..."

"Yes, she was texting me too."

"Oh Lord!"

"Anyway, I've not finished yet. The first bottle of wine is the olive branch and my way of saying sorry for interfering. The second bottle is the Plan B, and the reason I am dressed up and the reason you are going to go and change out of those tatty jogging bottoms and put something a bit snazzier on. Oh, and we need music. Music to get ready by. And lose those books. You shouldn't be reading about business strategy with your predicament. Now music and change please?"

"Anne. What is Plan B?" requested Dave, moving the attention away from his relationship and dating self help books.

"We're going Speed Dating. Tonight! Me, you and 24 single ladies. You always talk about economics, supply and demand, and statistics. Well you are in the market for a woman, and the women there tonight are in the market for a man. And statistically, you'll have a higher chance of getting a woman than sitting here reading about outsourcing, performance management and efficiency in business. So get ready and get drinking. We'll need it!"

Dave took Anne's instructions on board, and necked the first glass of wine. He'd need every ounce of alcohol to survive this night.

***

Chapter Networking For Love

***

"But what if they are all ugly?"

"Bro, the reason we are doing this is your fascination with statistics. Assuming there is a representative cross section of women there, we have a good chance that there is a female equivalent of you there."

The taxi drive to the pub gave Dave way too much time to think. Though Anne was excitedly chatting away at him on the back-seat, Dave was considering the consequences of such a night. Tactically, he was more than happy in a room of over 25 women as long as they were all in suits and as long as they'd be impressed by his corporate achievements. Dave thought through the ramifications of whether this was the only chat he had, and then settled on a fact. Business and women both have something in common, and Dave knew that he profited very well from managing excellent business relationships. Replace the word business with the word woman, and the equation is simple.

The Fox & Duck didn't look remotely intimidating. In fact it looked much like every other venue in the neighbourhood; with its mock Tudor finish outside and selection of pool tables and flashing quiz machines inside.

Entering the door and passing the point of no return, Dave managed a whisper to Anne. "I hope she isn't one of them, otherwise the odds are drastically reduced."

The host, Margaret, was in many ways the ideal host for such an event, as she certainly wouldn't be distracting the eye of any of the men. As she illustrated their names on a white sticker to be adorned just above the nipple, Dave couldn't help but think that she'd make a perfect call centre manager. Her voice was welcoming and calming, her tone relaxing and her inflections gave you precise instructions that were clearer than a blue sky. Dave resisted the temptation to let her know that her calling in life was on the other side of a phone, where her lady beard could be permanently disguised behind her sweet voice.

"So let's see what you can do in 3 minutes." Margaret left Anne and Dave to mull over the information.

"I'm not convinced by this Anne. I'm really not sure what one can achieve in 3 minutes."

"I won't tell you what Tony can achieve in 3 minutes. Sometimes three times in three minutes." The wink from Anne confirmed Dave's worst suspicions.

"I don't know what you mean, I don't want to know what you mean and I think you are mean for even telling me what you've not just told me."

"I'm merely suggesting that looks can be deceiving. Don't discount tonight before you've even started.

The rules seemed simple, and like all networking events, Dave took his time to stake out the competition before making any moves. Anne went to get the drinks as Dave confidently, but slowly, strided around the perimeter of the event. 25 tables were laid out, all with a number from 1-25. He knew where he was starting and where he'd finish.

By the time Anne had arrived with a pint of Stella and a Sambuca chaser, Dave had already decided that his income, future potential earnings and career management, made him the number one pick for the night. At networking events, Dave was used to men dressed as he did, but just not as sharp. These guys had all kinds of carry up on, and the siblings enjoyed the first drink with a quick game of ripping into the opposition.

"Look at him. He looks like a cowboy crossed with the singer of Status Quo, crossed with a drag queen."

Anne sniggered into her vodka, lime and lemonade, wondering what 3 minutes would be like with a man like that. "Looks like I'll be returning home drunk and eternally grateful to have my husband" as they charged glasses.

"Time for another before we start Sis?"

"Yeah, why not. You aren't nervous are you?"

"Bog off. Me nervous? This is merely 25 potential clients in a room with 24 people who perform the same job as me. The only difference is that I am dressed for the job and the best experienced for the job!'

"Experienced eh? Is that true..."

"OK, maybe not experienced, but my CV reads well!!" Dave laughed properly for the first time in a long time, and had a quick glance at his sister as he bought the next round of nerve killers. He really didn't appreciate his sister enough. She was a caring and amazing woman, who'd just chosen a different path.

"Ding, Ding, Ding..."

The first four interactions were just that. Dave was not on fire. The setting of the pub and the one-on-one nature of the seating didn't fit his style. Three minutes during a working day would fly by without a second notice, but three minutes of speed dating was feeling like an eternity. The good news was that none of these candidates, as Dave thought of them, had really hit the mark anyway, so it was good to get the practice in with the second tier girls. To be fair, it was probably their fault that he wasn't on top of his game.

Dave's virgin experience with Speed Dating got off to a shaky start. His silence as he sat down with Kandi, girl no.1, led her to open the conversation which did nothing for his confidence until he heard the question.

"So what do you make of speed dating then Dave?"

"Well that is an excellent question Kandi. It's clearly a volume play with high margins given the obvious lack of overheads. You've got a well defined but finite target market, and the location and setting look like a win-win situation for both parties, also providing superb working capital. Naturally, I have concerns about the low barriers to entry, especially with the low investment required to start, but you could manage against that risk using strong branding."

"Oh. Fascinating. Erm, I suppose I could have phrased that question differently, but you've kind of answered it anyway. What I meant was why are you speed dating?"

Kandi reached down for a long and slow sip of her gin and tonic, as silence descended, not for the last time this evening.

Girl number 3 had seemed relatively alright, and Dave had defaulted into work mode. He'd asked her the staple complimentary question of "So how come you are speed dating?" as if to suggest that she was too attractive for such a forum, when in fact he was just copying the questions from Kandi.

With his consulting head on, Dave listened intently as she rattled off a series of past male failures. The man who'd not called, the man who called too much, the one she liked but then she didn't, the one who was too nice, the one who was too mean. Using the back of his notes sheet, Dave started feverishly writing as he listened to her stories. She quickly morphed into detailing what she wanted from a man and why, and what she was like as a person.

"Excuse me Dave, but can I ask what you're doing?" Number 3 was bemused as to why she was opening up to a man who responded by squiggling everything down on the back of a piece of card.

Dave span the card around and revealed it. Looking up, he took his first glimpse at her sticker.

"Wendy, this is what I call a SWOT analysis." Dave pointed at the card, which had been split into four squares. He continued with his de-brief to Wendy. "We have Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats. Taking what you've just said, I've analysed the challenges that you've discussed and identified facets of your dating which fit into each of the categories. For example, you can see I have listed 'confidence' and 'chatty' in strengths. Now the unique feature about this model is that I have also listed 'chatty' as a weakness. What this means is that you could alienate some men by being too chatty. Do you get it?"

"Erm, I think so, but I didn't ask you to do that?"

"Don't worry darling. My clients normally pay hundreds of pounds an hour for my consulting brain, but I'm not on the clock tonight, so you can have it for free. Here look. Under threats, I've put 'analysis paralysis'. A threat to you finally getting a date is that you've had so many and over-analysed them, then you don't know what you want anymore. It happens with lots of my clients who are looking to enter new markets. They collect so much data on them that they spend all their time analysing and not enough time deciding. It's like buying a car that has had a lot of owners."

"Oh. I really don't know what to say." Wendy was beyond perplexed. His actions were border line oppressive, but she was so shocked, that words had escaped her mouth.

"Don't worry Wendy; you don't have to thank me. Look, I can't give you this as I need to write my notes on it. But if you ask the girl at the bar if they have a photocopier or fax machine in their office, I can get them to copy it for you."

"I really don't think my friends will believe me when I tell them about you" Wendy replied, trying to get Dave to realise quite how far off the mark he was.

"Weakness; lacks self confidence." Dave pointed right at Wendy and smiled.

DING DING.

As Dave rose with the ringing of the bell, he was chuffed that he'd helped someone in need, but had a thought. Whilst it's enjoyable occasionally helping people out, it really was time to get selfish and find himself a lady. "No more pro-bono consulting" he thought to himself.

Approaching girl number 5, Dave was ready for new tactics. In board rooms, he never sat down, preferring the power position of the white board and standing. He couldn't do that here, but he had to find a power position. It was time for a new gear. His hand was outstretched for the normal handshake, when Dave thought back through some of the cheesy movies he'd seen where Richard Gere or Tom Cruise always got the woman.

Semi instinctively, Dave grabbed her hand, but instead of shaking, he reached down to kiss it. On his downward route, he afforded himself a glance just above her left breast, and in one motion kissed her hand and smoothly delivered the words "It is a pleasure to meet you Janet."

Happy with this start, and buoyed by the smile on her face, Dave opted to sit next to her rather than opposite. This was the power position and his differentiator for the night.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit next to you. I just find it so impersonal and almost like an interview when we sit opposite each other. And I'm not looking to employ you."

"Oh, errr, no problem at all." She was either flushed from the heat in the pub, drink in her glass, or she was blushing. Either way, they were all positive signs.

"But it's Janice. You called me Janet, but it's Janice" she informed him, thrusting her sticker and left breast into Dave's eye sight.

"I can see that now. Definitely says Janice. I must have got distracted." Dave's attempt at an excuse just slipped out, aided by the spirits which were now kicking in and loosening his vocal chords.

"Oh, aren't you a bit forward Dave." She was smiling and glancing at his badge. He really didn't get this flirting lark, but it seemed to work the more inappropriate or accidental he was. Easy...

"Well we're not getting any younger and the clock is ticking. Just look at Margaret.". Dave knew what he'd meant. What he'd meant was funny and witty, and related more to the three minutes which they had together in which time they were supposed to decide whether to tick each other or not. What he'd inadvertently done was to infuriate Janice.

"I don't think it is ever funny to remark on how a woman's body clock is ticking, as you should be aware that is an extremely sensitive issue. Yes, I want kids one day, and maybe time isn't on my side, but I've had a fulfilling and exciting life to date and haven't had the opportunity or desire to bring a child into the world yet. Now that doesn't make me selfish, and nor does it imply any future desire to have children. And as a dear friend of mine, I am sure Margaret would be deeply offended by your inferences about her."

"Sorry Janet, that wasn't what I meant. What I meant was..."

"JANICE. My name is Janice. Maybe you are struggling to remember it because of the loud noise that my body clock makes as the hands tick around?"

"Sorry Janet. It was lovely meeting you." There was no bell. The three minutes wasn't up.

As they sat in silence, Dave sneaked a peak at Anne, who was on fire. Giggling and rolling in fits of laugher, he could see the guy's eyes simply light up. What a sad truth that would be, if the only tick he got was from his sister.

Without a word, and before the bell had sounded, Dave escaped for a toilet visit and splashed his face with cold water in an attempt to freshen up his game. The sitting next to a girl thing seemed to work, and relaxed them as much as him, but the flirting idea just wasn't working. Dave knew he had to revert to his comfort zone and focus on business chat. Not only was this his best tactic, but he knew it would sort the wheat from the chaff and enable him to find a suitable candidate. He didn't just want anyone. He wanted someone who appreciated him.

A few more dates passed, with mixed results. There was a tax accountant who showed promise with her qualifications and career goals, but ultimately she wasn't for Dave. Her hobbies were playing the violin and reading science fiction. Whilst she had potential as a companion, he really didn't score her well for the "wow factor" that he'd require when it came to introducing her to colleagues. He played the scenario out in his head, and it meant there was no tick for Lucy. He went through it again in his head.

"Nick, this is my partner Lucy. She's a tax accountant..." No real excitement, impact or much else to say. Telling his boss that his lady friend can knock out a few tunes on a violin isn't going to seal a promotion to the big time. But Dave was pleased by the progress. He'd gone 5 dates without offending anyone.

Dave decided to use the women who he immediately knew wouldn't get a tick from as practise ground. As he'd said to Anne during the drinks break when they'd discussed progress and problems, "you never see a golfer hitting the course without a few practise swings around the back."

Kelly, number 8, smiled like a fish that had just been hooked, and had a set of teeth that resembled Stonehenge. In fact there were more gaps than there were teeth, and on sitting down, the bright yellow stains on her fingers suggested she was a little more than a sociable smoker. So as a definite no, she made the perfect practice swing.

In three minutes, Kelly proved a theory that Dave had read online as part of his extensive dating research, that all women add up to a hundred. The theory stated that all women score differently in varying categories, but once netted off, they all add up to the same score, being 100. The trick of dating, per this theory, was that you had to find the woman that scored well on the things that were most important for you. For looks, sense of humour, smile, and spending lots of time with, Kelly would score 350. For introducing to anyone that Dave ever worked with or knew professionally, she would score minus 250! Net score of 100, but not a good match.

But the banter had flowed, and not only had Dave enjoyed himself, but he had got his eye in. "I'm number 13, which is lucky for you. Just tick Dave, you know you want to." He felt like a politician on an election campaign trail.

Passing Anne as he turned the corner to his next date, Dave asked her "Why is it so much easier with the ugly ones? Is it because they try harder because they need to?"

His question had been genuine, but the whack that he got from Anne suggested that it was inappropriate. Dave's judgement was slurring as the drinks kicked in, and his memory was blurring with it. He looked at his note card that Margaret had provided him with, which is where he was supposed to jot down thoughts about the women that would refresh his memory. In true Dave style, each lady got 3 words written as part of their summary. It's the magic number.

Five more dates to go. He was on the home straight. He hadn't ticked any girls yet, but was positive he'd got at least 5 ticks so far. Five dates left, one of which was his sister, so four potential women.

Luckily for Dave, the next date was a lovely lady by the name of Anne. Sitting down with their final drinks, Dave provided a post mortem of the night so far and bombarded Anne with his thoughts, challenges and quandaries.

"So come on date number 21. What can I do?"

"Dave, I think Tony probably told you this, and I am going to say the same. You just have to be yourself. You are who you are, and you need someone who appreciates that. I think we all know by now that you can't change! So whatever comes naturally and however you feel most comfortable, just be like that."

"Well Sis, thanks for great advice and a hilarious night. And if I haven't learnt anything else, I've learnt what I don't want" pointing to the words that he had written.

Date 22 had promise and seemed like a very level headed lady, with an excellent education, positive career planning and enough ambition to understand a man of Dave's seniority. However, the open question of "What would your perfect weekend be made up of?" had revealed a few sticking points.

"Oh, I love collecting old dolls and I have lots of dolls houses, so I'd probably either work on my collection or scour a few vintage collectors' shops looking for additions to my collection."

Deal breaker for Dave.

Date 23 was another good chit chat, but her love for recycled clothes and desire to donate to charity at all possibilities erked Dave. A man who spent £1000 on a suit couldn't really empathise with a woman who enthused at spending £10 on an entire outfit. The test would be her reaction to his views on charity.

"You know, charity is an intriguing topic with many different views. I give to charity by supporting the economy, through working and paying taxes, through shopping and spending my money and therefore through encouraging business and the macro and micro level. In theory, if you give too much to charity, you actually create a market and encourage poverty and begging, and instead of providing a solution for it, you make it worse."

Deal breaker for her!

Date 24 came and went, with minor difficulties. Chi, was of Malaysian origin, but had lived most her life in the UK. She'd spent several years studying in France. Whilst educated and well travelled, the combination of languages and accents, mixed in with the increasing background noise of 50 people on their penultimate dates, meant that Dave got very little of what she said. Before the 3 minutes were up, he'd already filled in his note card, and afforded Chi 4 words rather than the customary 3. "Mey no spik Ingwish"

Date 25 was Dave's final attempt of the night. He'd not sobered up, but the euphoria of the event was draining as the tiredness from meeting, and trying to impress 24 single women took its toll. It was no surprise to Dave that he was feeling weary, as by his own private admission, he was certainly lacking match practice. In fact, as a fan of statistics, it was fair to say that he was still an apprentice. But only Dave knew his closely guarded secret.

As well as a smile, Dave managed a nod of acknowledgement as he got close to Diane. She appeared to be unassuming, which Dave saw as a quality. He wanted someone who was subtly impressive. Someone who would wow on introduction, and not wow for the wrong reasons such as being garish, having no teeth, not speaking Ingwish or for being startlingly dull. Her aesthetics were simple, yet appealing, and the opening dialogue seemed positive. She was a junior in a finance firm in the city. Young and ambitious, but focused. Dave was particularly warmed by the fact that she was the same age as him but a few rungs lower on the corporate ladder. Someone who could understand him without ever competing with him...perfect.

Dave naturally slipped into work chat and they seemed to hit it off quite well, to the point where the 3 minute bell came and went, but to them it didn't signify the end of the nights dating. The conversation flowed and they exchanged stories of funny clients, higher level education, troublesome clients, annoying bosses and the general challenges of being a young up and coming professional in the city.

As Dave checked to see where his sister was, Anne was being entertained by a middle aged balding man, with a tweed jacket sporting leather elbow patches, he knew things were safe for a while. The conversation with Diane blossomed and they soon moved on to topics significantly more personal.

Diane began by speaking at length about her hobbies, going to the gym and her family. Dave retaliated with stories of his passion for business and for learning more, his commendations from the University where he'd secured his double degree and the press coverage that he'd got with his record MBA scores.

With a brief toilet break, Dave saved Anne from the 'rare book collector' in tweed, and filled her in on progress with Diane.

"So it seems to be going well. It started off brilliantly, but she is pressing me about all this personal stuff, and I'm not entirely comfortable with it. What shall I do?"

"Bro, just take it slowly. You are on your 25th date of the night and first date with her. No rush to cover your entire backgrounds just yet."

With Diane returning from the toilets with a smile, Dave headed back to their seat and continued the conversation. He chatted a bit about his family and enthusiastically told stories about his business ventures as a teenager. His perfume empire that never quite made it past start up phase, when he used to stew rose petals in water. He even shared with her one of the biggest insights into his psyche as he explained his love for the rule of three and how everything was in threes. This was a brave step for Dave, and a major part of him was opening up to the idea of companionship.

"Can I get you a drink? I was just going to have one more and I'd love to get you one?" Diane didn't know the truth, that, other than his sister Anne or a client, this was probably the first time Dave had ever offered to buy a woman a drink as part of a date. His confidence and smile suggested that he was a veteran, not a novice.

"I could get you a vodka, lime and lemonade. Rule of three you see!" Dave encouraged, seeing definite progress in this situation.

Looking down at her watch, Diane's face screwed up slightly around the lips as she deliberated on Dave's offer.

"Honestly, I'd love to, but I can't right now."

"Yeah, I've got an early start tomorrow and some killer meetings too. Probably got a few e-mails to deal with before bed too. I know what you mean."

"No it's not that. I have my son tomorrow, so I need to pick him up from his Dad's in the morning."

"Your who? What? A who from where?"

"Sorry, I should have mentioned it early. There just never seems to be a good time. 'Hello, I'm Diane, I'm divorced and I have a 4 year old son, would you like me to leave?'

Dave didn't speak. He was using every bit of energy and trying to locate the sober cells in his body to evaluate the situation. Diane certainly ticked all the boxes from a corporate and companion perspective. She'd be a natural at work social events and would definitely convince Big Nick that Dave was ready for that promotion. As a companion, she seemed to have shared interest, in that she was ambitious, career minded, and driven. But there was a dagger prodding into Dave's back, and he couldn't help but think that things had just ended before they had started. Assessing what to do next, Dave reached his conclusion. The risks were too great. Not only would his kudos be irrecoverably damaged by introducing his partner as having a child from a previous relationship, but he wasn't ready to be a father. Dave was at the bottom of a steep learning curve, and he knew, without discussing it with Diane, that he wasn't ready to fill those kinds of shoes. Shoes that he hadn't even been asked to fill.

"Before you get too worried Dave, I'm not looking for a surrogate father for him. I'm looking for a man for me. You know, just because I have a kid, doesn't mean that I don't have needs."

Dave had an answer ready, but his words weren't required for once. Diane had seen that face before. The slump in excitement. The eyes that dart around the room looking for an escape. The steam coming out of the ears as the brain computes a nice way to let you down. She knew.

As she brushed passed him, Diane leaned down. At first, it seemed that she was leaning to give him a kiss, so Dave relaxed and offered his cheek casually. Then he heard the words whispered in his ear.

"Rule of three yeah? Ignorant, selfish, prick!"

In the taxi on the way home, Dave learnt that Diane had let him off lightly, as Anne tore into him.

Sitting at home recovering, listening to "Best of the 90's", dejected but driven still, Dave realised that Phase 2 of the plan wasn't working. One of the major successes of his meteoric rise in the corporate world was based on knowing when to change tact. "Fail Fast" Dave had often taught the people around him. "If you are going to fail, then don't waste any time worrying about it or trying to retrieve it. Fail, learn from it and move on."

Reaching onto the coffee table, he picked up the document that was supposed to sort out this problem and reviewed Phase 3.

"New product in a new market. Reinvent and innovate."

Dave's eyes rolled as he realised that all his powers of innovation from working with blue chip clients would be called on. The first two iterations of Dating Dave Marsdon hadn't worked, but the rule of three always paid off for Dave, and surely would this time.

Thinking through ways to drastically reinvent the product and find a new market in which to sell it was preying on Dave's mind as he settled in bed. Deep in the back of his head, that recurring thought hit him. He was alone, but he was used to it. Reaching for the remote to turn the music off a wry smile was smattered across Dave's tired and lonely face, as an old favourite played from the bedroom speakers.

"I don't want, anybody else, when I think about you I..." Dave hit the power button.

***

Chapter Diminishing Options and Barrel Scratching

***

"I hope the management meeting went well Sir. Just to let you know that your sister has been on the phone twice already this morning asking if you got any bites from last night's networking event." Laura was a lot fresher than Dave this morning.

The morning had started early for Dave, and he'd wowed the senior guys at CEC with some quick thinking and sharp talking about his clients, his portfolio and his team. He'd made some pretty punchy promises about possible progress at Food United Group, but Dave knew that he had to keep his stock up and talking a good game was all part of that.

"But I am confused sir" continued Laura "because I've got nothing in your diary about any network event last night. I'm sorry if I messed up or anything sir."

"Oh, erm...no, it wasn't something I'd put in the calendar. Don't worry about it."

"OK sir. Do you have the business cards?"

"What business cards?"

"From last night's event sir? From your networking? Any contact details you want me to add into the database?"

"Ha! Absolutely not. No-one there that we'd want to do business with. Now can you get my sister on the line and patch her through? Thanks Laura."

"So, how many matches did you get?" Anne was very excited.

"We'll never know. I didn't hand my card in. There was no point."

"Well that is where you are wrong my favourite brother! I grabbed your completed card off you before we left and gave it to that Margaret lady. So check your e-mail!" Anne waited nervously.

"Oh dear lord!"

"What? Tell me? How many? Who? Any good ones?"

"There must have been a mistake, because I didn't think I ticked that many, but..."

"Ermmm. Is it confession time? I thought you were being a little too harsh, so I ticked a few for you to give you a second chance. Well I say a few. Maybe a lot. Maybe all of them?"

"Are you online now? I've just sent through the confirmation of my matches, and also the two e-mails I've already received from some of my matches. Have a good chuckle at those."

Dave and Anne chatted briefly as they laughed at the emails Dave had received. Chi wanted to say "very thank you very much and welcome meeting you" but little else, and the other email was a mystery. It showed as being from Wendy, who Dave had done the free SWOT analysis for, but for some reason the CEC email firewall had blocked the message for "foul and abusive language".

"She did seem a bit full on. Maybe she was being all seductive and stuff in the mail and it got blocked. I'd ring IT and get them to release it, but they'd have to read it first, so might skip that. Look thanks Sis. It was an... _interesting_ night should we say, but that isn't the scene for me. Have no fear though. Phase 3 is being planned as we speak. Catch you soon."

Dave hung up and was concerned. Phase 3 was in its infancy and looking as his desk calendar, time was not on his side. He forced his pen hard onto his pad and etched the words. Plan, Measure, Execute. He'd excelled at everything he'd put his mind to before and he wasn't planning on learning about second best now.

The evening was spent planning and brain storming on phase 3. Innovation was an idea close to Dave's heart, and something that he'd pioneered amongst the old school at CEC. Not everyone in the upper echelons of CEC appreciated Dave's style, brashness or desire to prove to them that his way and these new management techniques could be effective, but his results had won some of them over. Now it was time for a result and for him to win over a lucky lady.

Still wearing his suit for effect, Dave was up once again at his home white board. Pen in hand, the scrawling had been uneventful. He started thinking about some of his clients and how he helped them.

"Barker Constructions". Dave was trying to source inspiration from his workplace, and Barker had been a great client for them. He scoured his memory searching for a time when he'd helped them with a particularly tough challenge.

"There was the takeover, but that doesn't fit. There was the downsizing of one division, and then the operation excellence model that we did at head office. None of that really works. I've got it!"

Dave was getting more and more used to talking to himself. He'd never admit it to anyone else, but it was proving quite revealing and resulted in significantly less stupid answers to when he involved others.

"They were looking at some growth opportunities and we work-shopped with the senior executives to ask them which other companies they aspired to be like and we teamed with those companies in innovation think tanks. Using the other company as an alliance they ended up changing their construction to suit a different market and did really well."

Dave drew up some indiscriminate words, arrows and question marks on the white board, which correlated neatly with the other two doors that were already filled in. On them, he'd earlier completed the "lessons learnt" from Phase 1 and Phase 2 so that he could incorporate them in the plan for Phase 3. With the culmination of arrows, crosses and ticks, the magic words became very apparent at the base of the centre wardrobe.

Women were still the target and Dave Marsdon was still the product, but a catalyst was required to give Phase 3 every chance of delivering what Dave needed so much. A woman to prove that he could, and to give him the final nod in the push for success and his ultimate prize. He could almost smell the bigger office and new desk. He could see the parking space and smiled as he clicked the central locking on the new car with personalised plates that he'd get as a reward for his efforts.

Like all of Dave's best plans, it was simple and consisted of just three bullet points.

  * New Market; Women, but new venues required

  * New Product; update, re-engineer, polish, make over.

  * Alliance; Wing-Man required. Apply within.

The long drive up to Sheffield on a bright, but brisk Sunday morning gave Dave some excellent and much needed down time with which to think things through. Thinking hadn't been a forte or a skill that Dave had been required to excel at in his career to date, as with his exceptional educational background and outstanding qualifications, he'd preferred to rely on his business instinct to get by. Like a predatory striker on the football field, history had shown him that thinking and having too much time to think, often led to the goal being missed. Dave's honed reactions though, had been chiselled and perfected for the business arena, and as he took the turn off for Sheffield and approached home, he was ready to concede that this approach hadn't worked so far.

It didn't quite make sense, but then it didn't need too. The parallels between being a successful businessman and a successful companion, seemed to exceed the differences, but there was a coefficient. Something that existed that wasn't measurable, sellable or free for purchase. Tony called it "pizzazz". Anne called it 'electricity and spark' and Laura called it 'butterflies'. The fact that they'd all come out with such drivel had convinced Dave that whatever it was, couldn't be described, which made it much harder to locate and lock down. Driving down the road to his parents place, he saw a student, probably returning from a night out, wearing only a t-shirt. The writing on the t-shirt caught Dave's attention more than the well travelled dreadlocks, international tattoos and diverse piercings that were all on display. It read "Same Same...but different".

"If only he knew!" muttered Dave, not realising that in one regard at least, the student was vastly more experienced than Dave. A good few years younger and a damn site poorer financially, but with a wealth of experience under his belt completing the student walk of shame.

Punctuality was an essential asset of any businessman, so Dave was glad to arrive at the exact time promised for his 'surprise'.

"Oh, what are you doing here?" exclaimed Jane, feigning some well planned surprised tones. Derek had briefed her about Dave's arrival, as he'd known from 35 years of marriage that surprising your wife can be a dangerous game. Luckily, the week's notice about the surprise had provided her with ample time to invest in a new hairdo, new frock, new shoes and even new earrings. Derek merely hoped that some of the items had retained their tags, as there was nowhere on the current radar of restaurants or dinner parties where such attire would be required.

"Mum, you look wonderful. Happy Birthday. And guess what? I'm taking you out for a spot of lunch, and I've booked you somewhere extra special."

"Oh, I had no idea duck. There is no need to spoil your old mother like that. We can just have a snack here if you prefer?"

Derek should have been confused by the complete lies that were idling out of Jane's mouth, but he knew better. She'd spent a good hour the night before bending Derek's ear about how little they saw of Dave, how he preferred his work, how they should work on building a normal father son relationship and how it was about time he took them out somewhere nice after all they'd done for him. Of course, such words of whingeing were confined to the bedroom, and the Sunday decorum was for happy families.

"You alright Dad? Well done on keeping it a secret!"

"Yes son. Anything for an easy life. Anything for an easy life."

"Right, well grab your coats. We've got a reservation. Leave your keys Dad, I'll drive. There is more room in mine and heated seats too."

Dave's ulterior motive for driving was one of timing. He knew that Derek was meticulous with his driving and parking, believing that there was more money to be had out of insurance companies for his exemplary 35 years no claims bonus that he'd accrued. The fact the he drove a car that was barely worth insuring, didn't phase Derek.

The superficial chit chat which accompanied the expensive lunch suited all parties just fine.

For Dave, it gave him a chance to talk at a very high level about work and life in general. His parents certainly couldn't assist with his current troubles, so there was no point bothering them.

For Derek, the chat was perfect as he could switch off and enjoy a relaxing Sunday, gazing out of the floor to ceiling windows that adorned the restaurant. His only complaint was the pitiful portions and silly names that all the food had. "What is a Jew doing on the menu?" he asked at one point, before the waiter explained that a 'jus' was another name for a sauce.

"Well why not call it sauce then? Bloody confusing if you ask me."

For Jane, it was a rare chance to see her son in the flesh. For all his flowers, towel sets and lavish gifts, she only really craved more time to see him. She knew she couldn't compete, and whilst there was a fortune of real topics that needed to be discussed, they all knew the taboos by now and they wouldn't be broached.

Dave had purposely sat without a view, but within full line of sight of the massive clock on the wall. There were reports that he needed to read, proposals to review and presentations to inspire, so the pleasantries couldn't last forever.

Dave was surprised to see his Dad continually checking his watch. Maybe he was craving his afternoon nap.

"We've probably got time for a quick coffee before I drop you off if you want?"

"Don't worry son. Save your money. We've got some nice cake it back at home and your mum has some decent coffee in the cupboard that we only drink when you're up." Looking sternly into Dave's eyes, Derek made himself clear. "So there will be no dropping off. You'll be coming in for a cuppa and a slice, won't you son."

Dave didn't answer, as he knew from his Dad's tone that it wasn't a question. Paying the bill, a jolt of nerves hit Dave. His dad wasn't normally the assertive type, and this wasn't the first time he'd insisted on afternoon tea. His shoulders suddenly sank as the possibility hit him. "Anne! If she has bloody told them about this, I'll kill her!"

"Sorry Sir. Was everything OK wiv your meal?" remarked the restaurant manager in a mock French accent.

"Yeah, fine. Sorry, I wasn't talking to you then. It was perfect. Brilliant. Thank you."

The cake being slightly stale and overly tasteless wasn't a shock and there was no surprise in the severe lack of colour or flavour in the 'fancy' instant coffee that Dave had been presented. The real surprise was the knock on the door, the chuckle of his father as he opened the door and the sound of another person joining then.

Dave's mind raced, and it reached the obvious conclusion. It all made sense. His dad checking his watch, their insistence on afternoon tea and his mum being so glammed up. Anne had clearly told them about his predicament, and they were setting him up. Every inch of Dave's body was cringed as he sat awaiting his fate and the blind date that would be carried out with guest appearances by his parents.

"Ah, you must be David? I expected a giant of a man given the way your father speaks so proudly of your work."

The voice was gallant and regal, yet oddly local. Certainly not the tone of a woman, and the glimpse of the hand that was out-stretched as part of the introduction, wasn't that of someone that he'd date.

Looking up, Dave saw a man of similar age to his father. A slightly larger build and definite stress lines on his face, he was beaming from ear to ear.

"Oh Jane, is that some of your famous cake I can smell?" he charmed, now with more of a Sheffield accent and less of the formality in his first words.

Dave sat motionless and confused. Definitely not a date.

"Dave, this is an old friend of mine, and a true gentleman who frequently lets me beat him at squash. David meet Arthur, Arthur meet Dave."

Dave was unamused at the attendance of a random guest. He had a lot to do and pleasantries with his Dad's squash buddy would only delay the inevitable workload that awaited him.

Then the halo appeared above Arthurs head, as Dave connected the dots, chewing on a piece of his mothers cake like a cement mixer.

"Arthur as in...I have your business card but we never actually met."

"Yeah, I think you guys started your work and I was the sacrificial lamb or something like that. Apparently the old timers were dragging the place backwards so we were let go. You know Derek, the guy who took my position was young enough to still be learning to drive, let alone be head of bloody finance. Anyway, turned out they did me a favour, as this retirement lark isn't all too bad is it buddy." He gave Derek a jovial nudge and the pair giggled.

"Jane, do you want to grab Arthur a piece of cake and I'll put the kettle back on. Arthur, please sit down and make yourself at home." Dave's parents exited the room and he was sat alone and silent, with **the** Arthur Clarke, the man who'd been with Food United for 40 years, through many mergers, transactions and buy-outs, not only surviving but prospering through all of them, only to be chopped at the hand of some consultants. His keen eye for detail and personable manner were folk law around the corporate dinner tables of networking lunches, and he was renowned as being the smiling assassin. Brilliant to work for, but awful to cross. "If only he was still there now" thought Dave.

"So do you still do much of your consulting and advising and strategising at Food United then?"

"Well, yes and no. We've been doing a fair bit there over the last few years and the relationship has been building well, but it looks as if there is another change of management coming in from overseas, and we're a bit behind the eight ball. It could all be speculation, but new faces tend to like to create some competitive tension by working with people they've used before, and given that we don't know who the new guy is, we're struggling to find any angles or alliances. Don't suppose you've heard anything?"

"Look Dave, I'll be honest with you. There were a lot of people in that place who worked blood, sweat and plenty of tears to take home their monthly pay packet, and they were loyal too. Those people were the first to be culled and the stigma of consultants is still prevalent today."

Dave was immediately subdued. The helper who couldn't help. The wizard without the wand.

"Now I told your Dad I'd do some fishing around for you when he called me. I've got good news for you and bad news. Let's get the bad news out of the way. I haven't got a bloody clue who this Patel chap is. I've checked with all the old boys, and none of them have heard of him. I've even got contacts in the US, and no bites so far."

Dave was silent. He hadn't expected much from meeting his Dad's squash partner, but hope springs eternal. And he was due some good news.

"But to put a smile on that sullen face of yours, there is some good news. Do you know Tim Parkin? He's head of operations for the new division in Food Group, and he looks after all beverage products. It's a big earner for them, and he's making some good head way, but he has got a major project on the way, and he is short of people. Now he needs good people, with industry knowledge and he knows what market rate is. He's been around the block a few times, and he loves a deal, but he is a great guy to work with and might just get a foot in the door for you. Now this isn't a promise or a guarantee young man." The elder statesman and parental side of Arthur was now coming through. "You have to work for this, so it's no gift. I've told Tim you'll give him a call tomorrow morning to get the ball rolling."

"Thank you so much Arthur!"

"You can call me Mr Clarke."

"Sorry, yes. I mean no. Erm, thank you so much Mr Clarke."

Arthur leaned over, grabbed Dave in a lose head lock and ruffled his hair. "Don't call me Mr Clarke you daft sod. I was pullin' ya leg son. Now don't let us down on this one. I play golf with Tim's old man, and he's a whinging sod at the best of times, so I wouldn't mind you doing a good job on this one, for my sanity and golf handicap if nothing else."

Arthur winked, and Dave had just met his first real life role model. There was an admiration and debt in his heart that he couldn't convey in words. Like the 13 year old boy that they so sadly missed, Dave skipped into the kitchen, excited and almost lost for words. Inaudible noises came from his mouth, along with flapping signs from his hand.

Before Dave could finish telling them the story, Jane leaned forward and gave him the berating all sons dread as she immediately went to task on him.

"Now young David, do please remember. You are still young and you have your whole life ahead of you, so please don't wish it away and please don't work too hard. You can't buy happiness you know!"

Just as Dave was about to start his protest, Jane softened and leaned forward again, this time opting to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"But we all know you don't listen to your old mother, coz what does she know eh?" Her eyebrows were raised, but there was a smile hiding on her face. "So here are some sandwiches for the way home, a bit of cake and some crisps in case there is traffic. And I've put you some of that coffee you like in a flask for you. I know you've got hot seats to warm your arse, but this will warm your insides son. The good old fashioned way. Now go. You've got a lot of work to do."

It was Jane's birthday, yet it was Dave who felt that he'd just got the present. Not only the priceless advice from Arthur, but the blessing of his parents to fight for his promotion and to pursue his dream.

The gracious packed meal lasted as far as the first motorway service station, where Dave committed his first charitable act in untold years, giving the sandwich, cake and flask of coffee to a homeless man. There was no way he could risk any more of his mum's food in his digestive system. Pulling out of the service station with a Mocha, Brie & Jamon Sandwich and Florentine, Dave was a tad bemused as to how a homeless person had made it to a motorway service station.

But his focus resumed the whole way home. He had a way into Food United Group, and he was going to make this work.

***

Chapter Working on Working

***

After the appraisal conversation, Dave had managed to get Kipto into Barker Constructions working for Eric who seemed to be going great guns.

Dave had weekly coffee catch ups with Peter from Barker Constructions, and Kipto had been going well, thus making Monday morning's call a little frustrating for Dave.

"Hey Dave, its Pete. Look the board want to delay the next phase of the project for a few weeks, so whilst we're keen to keep Eric, we've got no need for Kipto right now. "

"Oh, really? That is a shame. Is there anything I can do to sweeten the deal?"

"No Dave. In all seriousness, it's just a delay whilst we sort out another few internal priorities. I reckon in about 4 weeks, we'd be in a position to take him back and maybe for longer."

"No worries Peter. Thanks for the call. I'll make the arrangements. Talk soon."

This was a minor thorn in Dave's side. Kipto wouldn't be writing news headlines whether he did great work or awful work, but Dave did prefer having strong performers to talk about in the appraisal meetings, as it reflected much better on him. No-one wants to own the problem child.

Thinking about strong performers, Dave sat back in his office and noticed a few of the managers standing around Jason, one of the more boisterous members of the CEC team. There had always been a small part of Dave that admired Jason, assuming the folk law about him was half true. For a man who wasn't particularly endowed in height, good lucks or anything striking at all, he seemed to do remarkably well with the ladies. In fact, his conquests were frequently joked about by the other managers, and whilst not ever being told directly, Dave had listened into enough conversations to know that the tip of Jason's iceberg was the culmination of a whole life's experiences for anyone else.

Dave hurriedly approached the group. "Hey guys, how's it going today?" Silence descended on the group as they all looked at each other for support.

"Sorry, we'll get straight back to work." One muttered from the back as they began to disperse as quickly as they'd fallen silent.

"No, don't stop on my behalf. I'm as up for a laugh as anyone." The confusion on the face of the young men was that of discomfort at such words coming from someone so work orientated as Dave. "So what is all the laughter about?"

Awkwardly, one of the guys responded. "Oh, just looking at some pictures of the birds that Jason pulled over the weekend."

"Plural? Big weekend then?" drilled Dave.

"Actually, these are just from Friday!" the laughter returned and with it came some volume. Dave just couldn't compute. Looking down at Jason in his office chair, he was the same age as him, but had nothing over him. Well, seemingly nothing, but the pictures and reports suggested different.

"My office now please Jason. The rest of you, back to work."

Jason sheepishly trudged to Dave's office. Surely he couldn't get into trouble for this at work? Could he? Jason opted to go on the defensive. "Look Dave, I didn't know they were sisters, and I don't have the pictures on my computer or work email. My mate sent them to me on my personal email address and I was only on there for a few minutes."

"Sisters?"

"Yeah, they were..."

"STOP! Look, I need you to answer a question. OK?"

"Errr, yeah, whatever. As long as it's not too graphic. I don't mind kissing and telling, but not detail. That is kinda gross."

"Not about Friday night's sisters! It's a work related question and then maybe a personal request. So tell me Jason, how are you lined up for your appraisal?"

"Yeah, not too well actually. Apparently the jobs I've been doing are OK and my clients are happy and stuff, but I haven't been involved in any proposals or helped win any work, so it looks like I won't get a bonus, which is a bummer."

"Interesting. Well if I could offer you a piece of work that could help you achieve those things, would you be willing to help me in return? "

"Absolutely. I could really do with that bonus. What do I have to do though?"

Dave grabbed a piece of paper and handed it to Jason. "This is my address. Come around tonight at 8pm and I'll explain more. And keep this to yourself. 100% discretion, otherwise your career will be going backwards, not forwards. Understood?"

Leaving the office with the bit of paper tucked in his pocket, Jason didn't know what Dave had in store, but was intrigued to learn more about the man his peers knew little about and to see what on earth the guy who had everything could want from Jason.

Jason's arrival had been a short lived thing. Dave was frustrated when he met Jason at the door. He didn't look trendy, or fashionable or appealing in any way. Dave had half expected him to arrive looking all 'Hugh Grant' or even a bit 'Colin Farrell' but he was just Jason. What appeared to be some very well worn jeans, and t-shirt that had been hand picked off his bedroom floor, and some socks that were truly cultured? Luckily for Dave, he'd put on enough after shave for both of them.

"Errr, where are we going?" enquired a confused Jason.

"Dressed like you are, there are limited options!" Dave was clearly terse.

"Oh shit, I didn't realise it was a work function. Sorry."

Dave didn't bother with a reply, as they jumped in his car and cruised the back streets. Dave broke the silence with some furious pointing. "How about that place. Ever had any success in there?"

"The Crown. Yeah, picked up once or twice in there. There was this older bird once...oh my god, she..."

"STOP!" Dave's bark was confusing Jason even more.

"I only do birds you know...I mean, I don't...you know." Jason was staring into the foot well of the luxury car, and quietly praying for the first time since Sunday school.

"And you really think that even if I was that way inclined, that someone as prestigious and successful as me would stoop so low as someone like you? Jason, let's go get a drink and I'll fill you in."

Dave was brief and edited large portions of his story, as one thing was essential. As much as he was in need of Jason's advice, he couldn't let his secret into the four walls of the office. Like all of Dave's stories, whilst containing truths, they sounded like constructions of elegant lies so he could keep the disguise of his mask.

By the second pint, Jason had learnt that Dave was 'between women', 'had gone through his fair share in the last few weeks' and 'looking for someone a bit different'. All technically true, whilst leading Jason down a path of complete fiction.

"So I've got a deal for you. I'm heading out to Food United Group tomorrow and there is a chance of a big pitch there that if I get you in, could do you wonders in your promotion. What I want in exchange from you is for you to share some thoughts and explain your tactics, maybe even with a demonstration sometime. What do you reckon?"

"Yeah, easily done. The old back scratching eh. Like it. So how do you want to do it?"

"Well how about you start by sharing some of your tactics? And I don't need any of the bedroom detail either!" Another lie unfolded from Dave's mouth.

Jason went and got a couple of more beers in. By this stage, Dave was a few jars behind, but he was also eagerly listening to what appeared to be complete drivel. For all the stories he'd heard about Jason, a man who was as successful with women as Dave was with business, he expected an equally well planned strategy that had been superbly executed.

"So in summary, you get pissed, you smile, chat to women, usually a bit cheeky, and then take one home? But HOW?"

"Usually a cab if it's not too far."

"NO! How do you get them to go home with you?"

"Oh yeah, right. Well my mate Terry has a theory that you go big early to beat the rush, but I don't like big girls. That is his niche. Kev likes the 5-to-2 girls. You know, when the smoke comes on the dance floor at 1.55am, he likes to sneak on, stretch his arms out and find himself a lucky lady in the dark."

"Are they nice?"

"Kev says that he always takes home a good looking lady, but he's woken up next to a few munters!"

"Oh dear lord...this isn't helping."

"Dave, what I'm saying is that you need your own niche. My niche is bar girls. Either girls behind the bar or girls at the bar. I like to lean on the bar, have a bit of casual banter and chat, and then take them home. It's why I do to so many pubs, and it's why I'm barred from several."

"Oh. So there is some method to your madness. You have a target market...nice. Dare I ask, have you ever entertained any of the ladies at the bar here before?"

Jason span and did a quick 360 of the bar. "Nope, all fresh talent tonight.

The other thing you gotta do once you've got your niche, is look the part for your niche. This is seriously the best clobber I've got outside of work gear, so there is no point me going for pretty pink girls and stuff. I need girls who like a pint of lager and a kebab, as they are less likely to be bothered by the stains on my pants. Get it?"

"Yeah, it's so incredibly simple. Right, I'll think on about my target market, and then personalise my collateral to match. I mean, I'll sort out my outfit to match, and then how about we give it a go on Friday?"

Finishing his beer, Dave sped off to the toilet, pleased with what he'd learnt. But he wasn't really expecting what he'd see on his return.

Jason was missing from their table in the corner, and was giggling away with a good sized auburn girl at the bar. In full view of the whole pub, he gave her a cheeky slap on the ass as she wrote some details down on a beer mat.

Jason strolled nonchalantly back over to the returning Dave. "Charlie. Lovely girl. I'll text her when I get home and I reckon she'll be over just after closing. Dead good at that you see."

Dave was quiet for the rest of the journey back. He thought he'd understood it, and what Jason had said, however simple, appeared to make sense. But surely it couldn't be that easy?! Then again, if someone who lacks ambition, a razor, clean clothes or hygiene products can do it, then Dave should be fine.

More importantly, Dave had an 8am conference call with Tim Parkin, and he guessed Tim didn't care whether he could hold down a relationship with a girl or not, or who his niche lady was.

***

Chapter Chance

***

"Can I speak to Tim Parkin please? It's Dave Marsdon. I believe he's expecting the call."

Like most of the senior executives that Dave dealt with on a regular basis, Tim Parkin was time poor and verging on the impatient. He knew exactly what he needed, but detested admitting to any consultant in town that they might know better than him. In other walks of life, people like Tim are called control freaks, but in this environment he was a man who ran a tight ship. And it was a ship that Dave needed to be a part of if he was going to maintain the excellent trajectory of his blossoming career.

Before the meeting, Dave had diligently planned a series of ice breakers, some general chat and some industry related gossip that he'd Googled that morning. All were wasted. In fact, on reflection, Dave wasn't sure if he'd really got to say all that much in the conversation. Having picked up the phone hoping to impress, he'd hung up the phone with no doubt whatsoever about what was required.

"I'd love to do all the nice to meet you shit, but I've got way too much on. Now Arthur tells me you're a good sort, which is something given the species of consultants that you descend from. To save any confusion, I'll make this as clear as I can. 1pm this afternoon, my office. My PA will send you details through. I want you and 2 of your best people. My PA will also send a brief spec around so you know who to bring. I don't want rising stars or maybe men. I want the real deal. No wannabes. If you try and sell me anything, or at any point suggest that you have solutions for my operations that you know nothing about, then we won't be doing business. See you then Dave."

Replaying the conversation in his head, Dave was glad that at least there was no doubt what Tim wanted. Confusion and ambiguity could be a killer in proposals, and this one seemed clear and unopposed, which definitely had its advantages.

Before he had a chance to bark orders at Laura and instil the kind of nervous tension that he liked to accompany bidding for work with, Laura was in the door armed with the vital information. "These just came through from Tim's PA. You've got a clash at 1pm as you are supposed to be meeting Nick for an appraisal update, but I've already moved that and made sure he 'accidentally' found out that it was because of Food United Group. Hope you don't mind?" Laura winked, as she knew Dave better than almost anyone else.

"You are the best. Tactically at least, you are very clever!"

Laura was sure there was a compliment hidden in there somewhere. Maybe not.

"So I need my dream team Laura. The money is tight with what he has to spend, so I reckon we go with our normal trick. Let's put the big guns in front of him this afternoon and then we'll backfill with cheaper people once he's signed off on the work. So who've we got free?"

"Well Mr Marsdon, resourcing is very tight now. Kipto is just back from Barker and you've got a note on his file to get him out at clients. Maybe you could..."

"Laura, no offence, but I need Dream Team, not Dreamers! Kitty-boy has a place, but I'm just not convinced it is here in this cut throat world of business. I'll take Jason from whatever he is doing, and can we free Eric up for a few hours. He'd be perfect for this, and I think his old man went to school with old Tim Parkin. Never did any harm."

1pm came and went, and Dave did as he needed to do. One of his peers had a motivational poster on the wall that depicted "Survival of the fittest" which Dave despised. Going into big meetings, he liked to jeer up his team with "Survival is for losers. Success of the smartest is for winners!" Jason wasn't buoyed by Dave's words or anyone else's. Luckily for Dave, Jason's CV read very well and he presented well too. All this was aided by how relaxed he was meeting someone as important and powerful as Tim, but that was probably aided by the personal success that he'd had the night before with the barmaid from The Crown.

Eric was one of Dave's protégés and he needed minimal guidance or tuition. As a naturally gifted bullshitter, Eric had an uncanny ability to time his comments to make both himself and the client sound particularly intelligent. A skill that Dave credited himself with, without ever actually being praised for it.

Tim's attempt to rattle the threesome came and went. Dave wanted it too much and had spent months and months researching Food United Group, so was ready for all the client specific questions. Eric had never done a project of this nature before, but cleverly came back to Tim with questions and vague answers, that were beautifully accompanied by his reassuring smile. Jason was...well Jason was too busy day dreaming about the angles and positions that he'd enjoyed with Mrs Crown, so nothing was going to rattle him. Fortunately, he did know a fair bit about the technical side of the project, so Tim was suitably impressed by the composition of the team.

"Right, well that's that then. I didn't think you could pull together people of this calibre and experience in the time I gave you or for the money I've told you I am willing to pay, so you've passed the first test. I'll sign the contract this afternoon and get it over to you. Your team starts on Monday."

Dave reached for the handshake to seal the deal, but on collecting his papers and his mobile, Tim had escaped the room and was already in his next meeting chastising one of his team before Dave and the others had mustered a smile.

Dave's preferred technique of relationship building had been scuppered by a man who didn't care for that, but in Tim, Dave had other possibilities. How things went at Food United and how Dave presented it back at the office needn't be the same thing. All they need to know about is the facts and stats, and those alone would give Dave the kudos he needed.

Gathering back at the office, Dave decided it was debrief time. He needed one of Eric or Jason to stay on the project for continuity, but his plan of actually making some money off this deal, meant that he needed to swap one of them out and replace them with a cheaper resource.

"Right, my gut is telling me that Eric, given the importance of keeping Tim happy and massaging that ego of his, you should front it, and we can drop someone in to actually do the bulk of the work. Jason, I assume you have templates and methodologies for this kind of project that we can pass on to the lucky person to do the work?"

"Yes boss, but didn't you say that..."

"Jason, don't fret. You've got your credit. You might not have shot the bullet, but you were at the scene of the crime, so Laura will add this as a sale against mine, yours and Eric's database. I can also nominate you for an award or something retarded like that to boost your profile. That bit is covered. Winning is very different than delivering young man."

Jason didn't like being called young man, as he was 2 years older than Dave. You wouldn't have known without looking at birth certificates. Dave's stress wrinkles, finances, career and outlook on life made him look 20 years older. But if it could get Jason the bonus he wanted, then he could bite his lip.

"All agreed." Neither Eric nor Jason had responded, but Dave took that as an OK! "Good, so let's go with that. Eric, pick who you want from the pool of resource, but let's keep them cheap and maybe get someone who is keen to learn and stuff...that way we can get them to charge their hours to development and make even more money."

As the two men went to leave the room, Dave was leaning back and running his hands through his hair sensing the sweet smell of success. But this was only part of the puzzle. There is no point having a tail to pin if you haven't got a donkey.

"Jason, can you stay behind please?"

Once the door was closed, and Jason seated, Dave changed his tact from Mr Success to Mr In Need.

"OK mate, judging by the smirk on your face this morning, I think it's safe to assume that you did alright last night, so that pretty much proves your theory. I've had a think on and I reckon I have an idea about my niche and what I need to do to possibly update my appearance to impress such a target market. Now my research suggests that the probability of success increases in these situations if you have a wingman, so how's about it. I don't need help you understand. I am perfectly capable of doing this myself. But it's more fun yeah. A lad's night out? If you are free I mean. Obviously, erm..."

"Dave no worries. I had a think this morning and I reckon there is a night on at my local on Thursday. Seriously mate, Thursday is the new Friday, and this place is perfect. You'd be pretty much dead cert. I'd put a mortgage on it if anyone would lend me money. This place is a veritable feast and a meat market extravaganza. Promise."

"Well that's a date then...I mean not a date date. Thursday. A confirmed appointment! And please Jason, when I have your career close to my heart, I'd appreciate if you had discretion close to yours. If you know what I mean."

Jason was relaxed. It wasn't that Dave's threats didn't scare him, but his Thursday venue of choice was a shoe in.

***

Chapter Good Luck Comes in 3's

***

"Luck doesn't favour the brave. It favours those that rely on it through lack of ability."

Ironically for a man who believes so staunchly in the Rule Of 3, Dave had a deep hatred for any thought of 'luck' being involved in life. When he had engaged in lengthy debates on such topics, he'd been happy to talk about the work of fate and the elements of opportunity, but he hated luck. Luck was something that other people needed to make up for their short comings. Relying on luck was like admitting defeat. It was in his vocabulary, but only to describe others.

Dave was much happier putting his faith in ability, skills and the odd bit of hard work. It was with this thought process that Dave had meticulously planned for Thursday night. One thing that he did strongly believe in was riding the crest of a wave, and this current bank of water that he was on was pretty impressive wave. Whilst things with Tim hadn't transpired as he'd prefer, the outcome wasn't up for debate and Dave had a foot in the door at Food United Group and therefore considered himself in pole position for the arrival of the much anticipated Ronnie Patel.

What Dave had learnt over his years ascending the corporate ladder was that instinct was an essential tool in getting through the days, weeks, months and years of endless meetings, targets, challenges and pitfalls. What Dave knew even more, was that his instinct was at its finest when it was joined by its best friend; confidence. With things progressing at Food United Group, Dave's confidence was brimming like a cauldron at Halloween.

With a firm tick in the box of the CEC requirements for promotion, it was now time to take some of that confidence and transfer it to the other element of his challenge. That evening Dave spent hours at his home white board, scrawling again. This time, he had a selection of magazines that he'd got from the newsagent on his way home. The frown and curious look from the store owner was deserved. Despite being decked out in an awful smorgasbord of paisley and beige, the Indian man behind the counter had every right be to slightly thrown by the 3 months worth of FHM, GQ and Men Style that Dave approached the counter with. He knew Dave and he knew that he had a business paper and series of business periodicals delivered on a frequent basis, so this twist in taste was a little strange.

"That is coming to 22 pounds and 33 pence of your very hard earned money Mr Marsdon" muttered the man, smiling and rolling his head from side to side as Indians do. The fact that this particular Indian had never left South London wasn't important to the character that he played so perfectly.

"Here you go Rasheed. That is 25."

"I am thanking you very much Mr Marsdon Sir. Enjoy your...reading Sir" rolling his head to the point of near dizziness.

Using blue tak, Dave started his evening on the PLAN phase of PLAN, EXECUTE, MEASURE. He had to get this right, as it was nearly his last plan. Not that he was doubting his ability. More just cutting it fine.

The array of outfits and fashion identities had been too much initially, but Dave had focused on appearances that met the criteria on the board.

Must suit me

Must attract my target market

A challenge Dave had was that he didn't really know what his target market was. The disappointments and unwelcome surprises of his dating experience so far, had shown him that there was possibly a dimension to this lark that he hadn't yet understood. As a reminder Dave wrote in bold across the board. "Understanding is not essential."

There were some themes coming through and Dave quickly realised that his wardrobe was sadly lacking the required clothing to pull off his new look. New Dave for Phase 3 of this plan had to be different from the Dave that didn't quite make it in Phase 1 and 2.

New Dave had to have a different look, a different feel and a different approach. In addition to sticking some sample outfits from the magazines on the wall, Dave was also using his highlighter to select words and phrases that he felt would help him assume his new role. Sitting there alone, he practiced them.

"Alright love, that dress is lovely. It'd look better on my bedroom floor though."

"Hey, yeah I love extreme sports. Do you want to go tandem tonight?"

Despite being the only person in the room, he was cringing at his lack of ability. He knew he must remain upbeat. With Jason as a wingman, Dave had the assistance to develop a new approach. He just had to get his look right. Reading further, he noticed a familiar pattern and a word that came up a few times that he'd not heard before. Reaching for his laptop, it was time to learn what this new word was and what it meant.

The results from his internet search hit him with horror.

" _Manscapping; A mans grooming of his body hair. Like landscaping, but for the body. Usually includes all intimate hairy parts of the body."_

Dave contemplated in silence for a while. The evidence was pretty conclusive from the magazines. And maybe his lack of manscaping could have been a contributing factor in the less than successful forees into ladies in Phase 1 and 2. "Doubtful" he thought to himself. "None of them got as far as seeing me without my shirt on, let alone anything else. Still, nothing ventured nothing gained."

Riding the wave of confidence Dave realised that tonight was his opportunity and he liked to seize opportunity. With the following night already dedicated to clothes shopping for his new outfit, and the night after that being D-Day Thursday, it was essential that he kept up the momentum. Removing his t-shirt, he grabbed the pen off the bed and wrote on the door.

"Seize the moment. Re-invention step 1. Manscape."

For a man who liked to plan before executing, Dave had no idea quite how unprepared he was for this task. But his novice status wasn't going to deter a man who was on a run. Things were going his way, and any nerves he had about manscaping could easily be attributed as he did with his clients. "It's the fear of change, rather than the change itself, which is worrying you." Dave wasn't scared.

Removing the rest of his clothes, he was happy with the progress so far. In his pristine and polished bathroom, he began assembling what he thought he thought were the vital tools and apparatus for the job at hand. Dave had opted for blind faith over any more detailed research into 'manscaping' on the internet. He knew that if he read a self help guide on how to do it, then it would be a classic case of a little information doing a lot of damage, so he was relying once again on his instinct.

The problem was, his instinct did amazingly well in the playground of business, and wasn't used to challenges such as this in the bathroom of the inexperienced.

A quick check around from the list he had in his head confirmed that they were nearly ready for lift off.

"Razor, shaving foam, towels, sink full of hot water. Easy. Just like shaving my face every day. Seriously, how hard can it be?"

Suddenly Dave paused as the memory of his first nick from a razor and the seemingly endless sting of the aftershave lotion on his youthful skin. It might be a memory that was 13 years old, but it still stung inside.

"Fresh blade, just in case." Dave gave himself a wink as he treated himself to a fresh blade. He was reassured by the packaging which reminded him of the guards on the blade that limited the chance of cuts. Technology advancements were a good thing.

The first obstacle that Dave hadn't quite expected was the logistical challenge. He was accustomed to leaning forward over the sink to get close to the mirror when shaving his face, but the angles, reach and view of the manscape region was proving to be a little trickier.

Attempt one involved the foot up on the toilet seat, to get some leverage. There was a semi decent view, but to get a full view required some minor acrobatics and squishing stretching of the crown jewels to get any kind of reflection in the mirror.

Attempt two was treacherous, and involved Dave trying to stand on the toilet, and bend forwards sticking his head between his legs, using his normal shaving mirror for guidance. "Oh dear lord! Not a pretty sight". Dave clambered down and looked around. "Aha! Mirrors. Yes!!" Dave was excited again.

Returning from his bedroom, the lounge and his study area, Dave was now carrying a selection of 4 different mirrors of various shapes, sizes and intentions. But their use on this night was unified. Having hastily arranged them using the toilet, shower cubicle, vanity and bath as balancing posts, Dave had his creation. Standing on the bath matt, he had a 360 degree 3 dimensional view of his essentials, and was ready to go.

Before starting for real, Dave opted to play a bit safe with a dry run, which proved very useful. Starring into one mirror, he was reminded of his first driving lesson which would prove extremely valuable at this point. When looking behind yourself in a mirror to park a car, left is right and right is left! "Phew...that could have hurt!"

Dave splashed himself with the warm water, and froffed the shaving cream up in his hands, applying liberal amounts to his nether regions. He could feel the doubt creeping in with each application of the cream. "Evolution had made us hairy there, so maybe we should leave it? But then the magazines were pretty clear. Women like it, and I need a woman. But shouldn't a woman see me naturally first?" The thoughts allowed some of the foam to drop into the mirror, so Dave reached down to clear it off. A clear view was essential here.

Looking down it was time. "Sorry chaps. Looks like a woman might never see you in your current state." It was a sad truth, but one that no-one else cared about.

"Here goes nothing!"

Dave almost wanted to close his eyes in nervous excitement, but quickly realised that they'd be particularly handy in the current circumstances. Seconds later, after a few well placed slides with the razor and splashes with water, it was done.

Dave had never been one to find his dongle to be something that would go under the category of aesthetically pleasing. Quite the opposite, the main function of those organs had purely been practical, and not in the way that most guys think. But looking down, surrounded by mirrors and a total of 5 different views of the same part of his body, Dave was overcome with anti climax.

"Really? This is really what women like?" Dave's face squirmed at the new appearance. He was satisfied that there was a very good reason why he'd never manscaped before. What was never an attractive part of the body now looked altogether awkward? Like a tree with branches but no leaves.

"Mind you, on the positive, it looks a lot bigger."

Now happy with his nights work, Dave decided that with a busy rest of the week ahead of him, an early night was in order. He was unsure as to whether it was wise or not, but following on from his face shaving analogy, Dave reached for his favourite after shave, and lying back in bed, slapped a healthy amount from his hands onto his freshly shaved region.

It was the first tear to fall down Dave's face for 14 years.

***

Chapter Dressing for Beginners

***

"Can you pass me the coffee please?"

The morning management meeting with the senior partners from CEC had gone pretty well for Dave from a professional stand point. His work had got a mention, as one of the more respected bosses had talked warmly about "David's penetration into one of the toughest and most sought after clients on our radar. Let's just hope that the early promise turns into something of a fruitful relationship."

But instead of smiling and milking the room for all it was worth, Dave missed this particular public relations opening, concentrating all of his efforts on not scratching. The discomfort hadn't been immediately obvious, although showering that morning had required an extra deft touch of caution around the area in question. He looked spottier than a 13 year old teenager.

Sat in the meeting, Dave was struggling to stomach the day old muffin that had been served for breakfast or the filter coffee that normally would fuel him through the meeting. 34 men in suits with a combined income of several million pounds, was normally enough to excite Dave, but on this particular morning, none of the men in the room were equipped to assist with Dave's line of enquiry. At least he hoped not.

Reaching for his mobile, there were only two people he could possibly ask for help. Ideally he'd go to Anne, but he was a tad uncomfortable with the thought of asking his sister how to deal with the one day itch from some freshly shaved balls. He also doubted that she'd have specifics to assist, as given that she was happily married with two children, Dave sincerely doubted that either Anne or Tony engaged in any kind of scaping. Laura was the other option, and she was significantly more likely to know about the perils of such work, but could she be trusted.

The pain was too much, and Dave sent her the message. Suddenly a billowing voice shook him. "I do hope that was Food Group you were messaging. Unless I am boring young David?" The voice was that of Bill Hennessey, the head partner at CEC. Dave had befriended him years ago, and it was through Bill that Dave had got access to these meetings. He was the only Director allowed to attend, and he would feel honoured if he didn't think it was so deserved.

"Just tying up a few loose ends on the contract sir. They like quick responses, so I keep this with me 24/7 just in case. You can't beat prompt customer service."

"Good lad. I was just pulling your leg anyway."

Bill was one of the few people that Dave actually respected, but more than that, he was scared of him. Bill was only an inch or two taller, but his stature was massive, and his frame dominated many a room. His voice echoed with volume and girth. He was a living Goliath. Dave breathed a sigh of temporary relief that Bill, the man who stood at the very top of the CEC enterprise, hadn't afforded himself the luxury of reading the message.

"Shaved my testicles lst nte. Itching badly. HELP. Down in 10mins, Dave. PS: ask no q's!"

Laura was ready for Dave's arrival, and had even invested a few moments in perfecting her poker face. She knew Dave wasn't famed for his sense of humour and certainly wasn't one to engage in self deprecation, so she was on her best behaviour. That was until she saw his John Wayne impression as he waddled uncomfortably down the corridor towards his small office, swinging his legs outwardly to avoid as much contact as possible. The pain on his face was evident, and his bubbling anger wasn't helped by Laura's mini snigger.

Instead of the usual outburst as he eased himself into his chair, Dave just looked relieved to be still.

"Tell me you can fix this."

"Well, I need to ask a few questions. So..."

"Laura, I said don't ask!"

"I know, but it's important. I need to know when you did it, what you used, and what you did afterwards...I mean in terms of maintenance, not anything sexual." Laura blushed.

"LAURA! Right, I did it last night, I used my razor blade and shaving foam, and then I used my after shave on them afterwards. And yes, it stung like a thousand bees attacking me in unison. Now help for god's sake."

"OK. I've got some sensitive skin hand cream that you can use. Well you can have. Not sure I want it back after you've...anyway, I have that, and that should soothe them. I've also got some Vitamin E cream that might help. Do you need any pain killers?"

"Yes to all of that. Stick the receipts through expenses and I'll sign it off."

Collecting the hand full of products from Laura, Dave took a huge deep breath and raised himself from his chair. "I'll be back shortly" he squirmed as he waddled off to the toilets.

The knock-on effect of the scaping was starting to frustrate Dave. Not only was it taking him longer to get around to meetings, but his lunch time shopping expedition to pick out a new outfit and super-hero outfit for the night's events, was also looking in jeopardy. Lubed up and wincing with every move, Dave made it through gritted teeth to the shops with his scrap book of images borrowed from GQ, FHM and Men's Health.

"Oh, you are going for the metro-sexual look then? Very noooice" said one assistant, winking unconvincingly at Dave. Firstly, he had no idea what a metro thing was, and certainly wasn't going to ask this particular shop assistant. With the voice of a lady, face of a man and body of a teenager, there was a lot of uncertainty, so in his head Dave labelled it 'gender unknown."

"Yeah, just updating the wardrobe, you know."

"Yeah, I certainly do" confirmed the assistant, winking again. Dave was far from certain as to whether these winks were a good or a bad sign. Was he attracting lesbians? Was it a boy? Did this metro malarkey mean something? Dave knew of the newspaper called The Metro, but wasn't aware of the 'look' of a metro. "I'll pop these over here so you can try them on. Sizes can be tricky these days."

"No no...I won't be trying anything on. People to see and all that." Dave was normally comfortable buying sizes, but then he'd only really ever bought suits and he always bought them from the same tailor.

Dave rebuffed the assistant's suggestions as he knew there was no chance his body could survive the pain threshold required to disrobe, dress and redress right now.

With an ample selection of creams, ointments and instructions from Laura, Dave packed his laptop and collected his days shopping to head home. According to his diary, he was working on some client files, but Dave knew he needed some time to mentally and physically prepare.

Entering the lift alone, he was suddenly shocked to see Jason sprint towards the closing doors. "We still on for tonight yeah" he yelped excitedly, worryingly out of breath after a 19 yard sprint.

"Yeah, I just have a few things to attend to."

"I bet you do! Now then, there are 3 rules or guidelines for tonight. Rule 1 and Rule 2 are simple. I'll give you Rule 3 later. Rule 1; as the scouts say, 'Always Be Prepared'. Rule 2; not one from the scouts...never leave for a night out with a loaded weapon. Ayyyeeeeeee". The wink from Jason was sufficient to cause a light breeze in the lift and temporarily confuse Dave.

The doors shut. Dave was happy that things were turning and definitely on the up. Rules of 3 always cheered him and gave him positive thoughts. No time for confusion...If only he knew what the hell Jason had been talking about. It took him until the exit to the work car park to decode Jason's cryptic clues, and Dave made the necessary and highly uncomfortable detour on the way home to make a purchase of an item for the first time. The lady in the shop needn't have laughed so much when he asked "do these come with instructions?"

***

Chapter Mirror, Signal, Manoeuvre

***

Dave was far from comfortable, and it was time to take action. The first task was simple for most people, but a struggle for Dave. He stared for a few minutes at his mobile device before finally getting up the courage to press the button. He'd turned his phone off for the first time since he could remember having it, and he felt vulnerable and slightly disorientated.

Task two involved Dave's impression of Mother Theresa. The creams that Laura had provided had been supplemented by some stronger stuff purchased from the pharmacy on the way home. Admiring his naked body in the full length mirror, Dave couldn't help but think that his nether regions looked more like the remnants of a freshly plucked turkey, rather than a set of tools that would be working magic tonight.

Swishing from left to right and back again like a skier navigating a black run, there was no angle that made the view any better. Dave was confident that the selection of ointments was sure to start working soon enough, but his primary concern now was the pain he was in. When naked, with the fresh breeze of his clean bachelor pad in which to swing around, things were fine. But that scientific invention called friction was giving him a few issues.

He hadn't even dared to try on his new outfit yet, but the consensus review of the magazines and fashion advice from the sales assistant that afternoon, had provided Dave with the confidence that he'd look cool and calm on the outside. His worry was the sparks that were freshly igniting around his manscaped region, whenever he wore clothes. The only option was to numb the pain, so Dave mixed up a double dose of the pain killers he'd got from the pharmacy and shot them back.

Sat on the edge of the bed, it was now time for the rule of 3 to commence. Starting a night on such great footing was a sure sign that things were going well. Strategically, you couldn't ask for a better combination in Dave's head. It was time for the 'chat'. Dave often had the 'chat' before major meetings, but his recent confidence and success had reduced the need. Tonight's experiment was a situation that required the chat.

"Now you know you can do this and you know why. You are great at everything you put your mind to. Ambiguity doesn't scare you, unchartered territory is where you do your best work and challenges are your dreams. You can, you will and you must conquer the hurdles. Do not let fear bring you down. It's like driving a car. The theory seems scary, but once you get behind the wheel, it will all be OK."

Unlike the usual chats, Dave wasn't looking at himself in the mirror. This time his chat was directed south, and he was now pointing as he continued his speech.

"Now like driving, there are precautions you need to take. I remember the first time I wore a seat belt, thinking it was uncomfortable and unnecessary. Then you have your first near miss and you thank your seat belt. So whilst this might feel a bit strange, we have to do it."

The pointing stopped and Dave reached over for the box. He'd already removed the wrapping, and was now bemused to see that there were instructions in the packet. That silly women in the pharmacy and her giggling! Dave was finally admiring the pictures and accompanying words that would help him with the personal seat belt.

"Right, here we go. Step one, OK? Which end is which? Oh I see. Nope, that is inside out. Ah-ha, got it. So I squeeze here and roll here. Then Step 3. Oh no. Now come on, don't do that."

The inevitable was happening and the associated frustration and nerves of the event had meant that the star performer had made a temporary disappearance. No need for a seat belt if you haven't got a driver. Attributing some of the shame to the cold in the room, Dave upped the thermostat on the heating to increase the ambient temperature.

Pondering his next approach, Dave had an idea. When he had his pre-meeting chats, he made his room as much like the real event as possible to recreate the mood. This is what he had to do now.

Hurriedly moving around the room, Sade was quietly lightening the mood from the music system, and the lights were dimmed to match the lowered nature of the blinds. Grabbing some candles from the living room and lighting them in the bedroom, the scene was nearly set. There was an obvious fear that with the heating and candles, Dave could actually shrivel into a prune in these sauna like conditions.

Returning to the mirror, Dave's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his member looking like a snake about to shed its skin. The horrific view startled him in the dimly lit room, but closer inspection led to relief. He'd not removed the evidence of his last attempt, and the first seat belt was still dangling unattractively.

Dave took several deep breaths and convinced himself he could do this. The room looked perfect. She'd be here with him. They'd be giggling. They'd kiss. They'd take their clothes off. "Actually, maybe I'd want to take my clothes off before they got creased so I could hang them up? Hmm, I'll see how that goes." And then they'd do the business.

As Dave's analytical brain assessed the situation, he realised a missing element from his near faultless process.

"How do I naturally and subtly access my seat belt...it needs to be quick so that I don't get flustered and stall the engine, but it needs to be precise so that I don't startle the passenger." Dave's brain was built for crunching through scenarios, and within seconds he had it. He'd empathised with himself and re-enacted the situation. Mathematical certainty and probability suggested that he'd be most likely lay on the bed next to her when he needed his seat belt, so wherever he concealed them, they had to be in reaching distance of him lay in that position.

The obvious candidate was on the bed side table, as that made it easily accessible, but what it gave in convenience it lacked in subtlety. Spreading his arms like a snow angel, the idea hit him as easily as all of his other amazing brain waves.

Returning from a quick jaunt to the kitchen, Dave was armed with the resources required to pull this off. 3 strips of sellotape later, the plan was hatched. Now with all good plans, it was time for a road test.

'Smooth Operator' came on the music system and the candles were flickering. Dave lay back on the bed, and began feverishly kissing the pillow, rolling and gyrating. Dave was trying to think of the words to cement the moment, but they weren't coming just yet. It didn't matter. This was only a dry run. Rolling onto his back at the strategic side of the bed, he leaned below the bed and reached the wooden slat where he'd taped his seat belts.

"Ouch!" Reeling back, Dave immediately took his finger to his mouth, before admiring it close up. It seemed the wooden slats on the bad were about as smooth as his manscaping and he'd got a splinter.

"Well, if at first you don't succeed!" Dave wasn't going to be deterred by these minor setbacks. 45 minutes later, and after some detailed persistence, he'd achieved both of the first 2 Rules. Luckily, he'd invested in a bumper pack of seat belts for tonight's drive, and after the experiment, there was still a few left. The generous side affect of his practice was that he'd inadvertently achieved Rule 2 whilst only intending to fulfil Rule 1. It wasn't such a dry run after all. Mission accomplished, it was time for another dose of pain killers to keep the chaffing at bay, and then Dave's new super hero outfit could finally be adorned.

***

Chapter 7 P's

***

"Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. "

His grandad had taught him well. Dave had chanted this several times to his underlings at work, and now it was his time to demonstrate how this mantra worked. The pain from the manscaping was subsiding thanks to the slight overdose of pain killers and keen application of creams.

Still feeling a little tense, Dave knew that a quick drink would help settle any remaining nerves.

Back in his room, armed with an ice cold vodka and lemonade, Dave studied his new outfit and the super hero look which was sure to bring him success on this fateful night. He could feel a warmth in his body that gave him real hope, which turned to sadness as he looked in the mirror and saw the sweat pouring from his body.

The adorning of the new look would require the thermostat to be returned to room temperature, the blowing out of a myriad of candles and the selective opening of a few windows. It was time for Bruce Wayne to become Batman, and with a few healthy swigs of drink swilling around his now confident body, Dave grabbed his new trousers.

"Come on!!!" The waist was a little way off its target, as Dave grappled intently with the new and only pair of jeans that he owned. A quick think through his scientific brain took him immediately to a few theories on friction. Grabbing a towel and some talcum powder from his bathroom, Dave dried himself off before making his legs iceberg white. Standing near the window to cool down, Dave resembled more of a hairy Casper than a senior executive. But now was no time for vanity.

With a gentle heave and some well placed tugging, the jeans eventually made it all the way up to Dave's waist, though he'd yet to button them up or breathe out. Using every bit of strength in his arms and some curious cycling movements on the bed, the legs were all the way in and the button was secure. Dave thought to himself "Luckily, the dehydration that I'm sure to be suffering after 45 minutes of self gratification in a make shift sauna, will surely limit my need to urinate tonight, so there was minimal risk in having to get out of these and back in them again"

Strolling across the room to collect his shirt, something caught Dave's eye and then went again. He repeated his steps, this time looking in the mirror for confirmation.

"Oh shit!" With each step, a cloud of smoke enveloped the local area, as Dave's legs looked like they'd snorted a lifetime's supply of cocaine. Whacking his legs, Dave was able to get rid of the worst of the talc.

The sparks that should have been flying and pain thresholds that should have been breached by the new jeans chaffing constantly on the sore manscaped grow back, wasn't eventuating as Dave was effectively numb from the neck down having taken 24hrs worth of pain killers and rubbed in 4 applications of antiseptic anaesthetic cream in the last 2 hours. All pleasantly washed down with some vodka.

Approaching the agreed meeting place, Dave's pulse raced like the first time he graced a board room. His confidence was high tonight. Yes, he was entering the unknown, but he'd done that many times before and conquered all those who stepped in his way.

With Jason as a wingman, and such a colourful list of references on the lady front, Dave was in safe hands. "Jason's ability and experience, coupled with my skills, ability to pick up new tactics and appetite for success, should be a warning signal for all ladies out there tonight."

Dave caught Jason's eye at a table, and approached trying to display a confidence that was foreign to him in this environment. "Are you OK boss? You look a bit uncomfortable?"

Jason wasn't wearing new clothes. In fact, it was hard to decipher which decade much of his outfit had been last washed in, let alone purchased in. On first glance his rough face stubble and light shaving rash had a startling resemblance to something he'd seen in his own mirror a few hours earlier, but that was for him to know and no-one else to find out about.

"It would seem that I didn't pull that off then. These jeans are a lot tighter than my work trousers."

"Too right mate. They look like they've been painted on! Let's hope you don't get a hard-on, coz the entire place will be able to see it. Poor thing packed in there. At least I can see that you've not brought your phone with you...good lad."

Dave would have blushed, but the plethora of pain killers had cut off most physiological reactions in his body. Distraction usually worked though. "What are those?"

"Ah well, I gave you two rules before you left the office. The third rule is something that I think a man of your background and intelligence will appreciate."

"Go on". Dave was secretly very pleased at how every part of the puzzle was falling into place tonight. The rule of 3 really was going to deliver. This was his third strategy on finding a woman, Jason was using the rule of 3 and there looked to be 3 drinks each on the table.

"Well, the third rule is an equation and I know how you like those. Don't think about women as something different to any other challenge you've had in life or problem you've needed to solve. Like all scenarios, there are constants and variables, but we're going to ignore the constants coz we can't change them. With me so far?"

"100% Jason. But where on earth is this going?"

"OK, so the variables are things we can influence. Two of these are very important, being your perception of yourself and your perception of the women you talk to, OK. We can influence these variables in the equation to proportionally increase your chance of securing a lady. The equation is simple. The more of this that you drink, the better chance we have tonight. The concoction though has been trialled, tweaked and tested over a number of years and this recipe is important to follow, OK?"

"Yes Jason. Out of interest, what are they?"

"The first drink here is a turbo shandy. It's half super strong Belgian lager and half vodka lemonade. It tastes like a shandy, but kicks like a mule. It makes you happy drunk and very quickly. This will improve your ability with the women and their perception of you."

Dave took a swig. "Oh that is actually very refreshing. Quenches the thirst. Hmmm." He took another massive swig, probably still dehydrated from his sauna experience.

"The next two drinks combine, and these are what assists your perception of the women you are talking to. This is Jagermeister and this is Red Bull. Alone they are dangerous, and when consumed as one, they are lethally effective. Have you ever tried someone else's prescription glasses on? Well this is like wearing Stevie Wonders contact lenses."

Before Jason had finished his chat, Dave had mixed the drinks in together; thrown them down his throat and was already doing the shudder as the various chemicals had their early impact.

"Like with any equation, timing and in this case, pace is very important."

"Yeah, yeah. My round isn't it. Same again?"

Dave was already feeling better, and miraculously enough, the drinks concoction had had another secondary effect. His jeans suddenly felt comfortable, his new mask natural and he walked with a swagger that he'd never used before.

By the fourth round, Dave's swagger had adapted a touch of stumble as the magnitude of the drinks and the speed of consumption really kicked in. Jason detected this and made his announcement.

"Right, we are now at the optimum equation level. The danger here is that if we drink too much, the variables work against each other. We need to stay at this level. Call it maintenance mode yeah. So from now on, we need to set a steady pace that keeps us this drunk." As Jason went to gesture to demonstrate a fictitious level, both men giggled as an empty glass went one way and Jason's stool went from beneath him.

Both men pointed in musketeer fashion and announced the mission. "To the club".

A sober Dave would have invested some time analysing the scene and deciding on appropriate tactics. But as the drinks mixed in with the assortment of pain killers that Dave had settled his stomach with, his mind became blurry, and his sole focus was on the bar. One thing he knew about momentum was that you didn't want to interrupt it and he was very happy with progress so far tonight.

Deciding to try some flirting out at the bar, Dave approached the scantily clad barmaid with a cheeky grin and level of confidence that defied his lack of experience. He had Jason with him and was watching the master at work. Before Dave could muster up the courage for a "hello", Jason was already firing.

"I was going to ask for sex on the beach, but we're 87.6 miles from sand, so do you do a slow, comfortable screw?"

Dave's jaw dropped the 2 feet to the bar and his head span, not knowing whether to admire the wonder of Jason's cheek or whether to run the 87.6 miles and bury himself in some sand.

"You cheeky git. What do you want to drink you old dog." The barmaid leaned over and kissed Jason affectionately on the cheek and moved towards Dave before his coping mechanism had a chance to react.

"You must be Jason's boss. He told me you were coming down. We've got a good crowd in here tonight. You'd have to be pretty low on your game to walk out of here alone tonight boys."

"Dave, stop staring at her tits. They aren't real. Look, you can touch them if you want." Jason reached over and grabbed more than a handful. How far away was that beach?

"Erm, sorry. I didn't mean to. Well I did, but..."

"Don't fret, don't sweat. I'm flattered that you like them enough to stare. At 3 grand a pair, they should be admired. I'm Chelsea anyway, a mate of Jasons. Now then boys, drinks?"

Dave didn't like the feeling of playing second fiddle. His confidence was higher than previous in these uncharted waters and he knew that he needed to take control of the night and the situation if his goal was to be achieved.

"Two white sambucas, two black sambucas and one for yourself. Thank you."

Jason took his hypnotic glance away from Chelsea and observed the monster that he'd created. "Mate, we need to keep a pace remember. You don't want to ruin the equation."

"Jason, having seen the talent in here on the way in, I think these are exactly what we need to balance this formula. I'm still trying to work out how the one behind you got through the double doors. I'm assuming she came in through the back entrance."

Both men turned to look at the heavy set woman, who hadn't been deterred by her figure or lack of, and had done a tremendous job of squeezing parts of herself into an outfit that would look revealing on a child.

"Jesus H. I reckon you'd need a forklift to get her into bed and some scissors to get her undressed."

Chelsea returned to the raucous laughter of two school boys who'd just seen their first dirty magazine.

With the shots down, and the round returned by Jason, the men were fully loaded, armed and ready for combat. Their prey was spread around the dark and badly lit dance floor and adjoining bars.

"Right, now we need to talk tactics OK. First thing we need to do is a reci yeah. For you, it will help you get a feel for the place. Check out the ladies, know your bars, your dark areas, your light areas, loo's etc. Once we've got our eye in, you wanna decide whether you want fresh produce or reduced to clear. It is honestly gonna be like a meat market in here tonight. Some people have probably been and gone with some 2 minute ready meals. If you look carefully you can probably find some organic, high omega 3 low GI meat in here, but be warned...it costs a lot more, there isn't much of it, and it doesn't always taste any nicer."

Once again the men were in fits of laughter.

"What if I'm a vegetarian?" Dave didn't quite realise the honesty and significance of the question that had just come from nowhere. Luckily Jason didn't either.

"Ha. Well you can go for a leek over there" pointing to the rather pungent area that seemed to be the toilets.

The recognisance mission was simple. Two laps of the club, surveying the potential targets, having a mini dance when the mood took and making minimal eye contact with the occasional smile. For Jason it was all part of the planning. For Dave it felt like seeing the Lions before being put in the den.

The nerves were such that by the end of the lap, Dave had already drunk his vodka mixer, and knew he needed another. With each drink, his confidence levels seemed to be rising and his fears of failure dissipating.

With each percentage of alcohol mixing nicely with the night's earlier medicinal intake, Dave felt a glow of relaxation and sedation drift through his entire body. The booze was really kicking in, and his time of reckoning was approaching. The lights were perfect. Pretty and flashing all different colours and their sequencing was mesmerising. The bass from the speakers was immense and Dave could feel the beat of the music in his rib cage as he stood near the dance floor. Dave had no care in the world for the official time; what was paramount right now was the words that echoed indescribably from the aging DJ in the booth.

"Boys and girls, get those arms loose and those legs even looser. It's time to booooogey on down to 80's hour"

Dave was about to reveal his joy to Jason, but he was a lost cause. The first sniff of an available lady and he'd gone. Dave could just about to make him out at the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling ladies. "That's cool. I can do this. I built my entire career by myself. No-one helped me with that. I can do this too. Just maybe wait 'til the next song." Dave chatted to himself through two songs and was in the midst of tapping his feet and banging his empty bottle on the table, as an attempt to get into the rhythm.

The turning point came as the early riff of Jackson 5's ABC came belting out of the speaker. Dave had two instincts. The first one was to go and correct the DJ and inform him that this song was actually from the 70's, so shouldn't really being played in 80's hour. Luckily the second instinct was more powerful, as Dave smiled to himself. "It's as easy as A-B-C, 1-2-3...3! It's a sign! Rule of 3, ABC, 123" and with the grace of a drunk Bambi on ice, Dave entered the dance floor and did his own interpretation of Michael Jackson. A tribute it was not, but it turned out to be a crowd favourite for all the wrong reasons.

Buoyed on by the claps, smiles and buzz of the moment, Dave whipped himself into a frenzy of biblical proportions, performing some exotic Dad Dancing with arms flailing, knees seeming to occasionally and randomly give way and some interesting takes on established classics. Feeling the mood and the encouragement, the songs just kept coming for Dave. Next off the decks was Soft Cell 'Tainted Love', which was an inspirational choice by the DJ, as Dave knew the official and original dance. In his mind and through his blurred vision, his performance was near faultless, and was so good that a couple of other punters had joined in. They appeared to be sisters as there was a definite similarity, but who cared. Who needed words when you could communicate everything through dance and the lyrics of Marc Almond?

At the bar, Jason and his gaggle were still giggling, but no longer were they telling jokes or sharing stories. They were admiring the man with the turned up collar, strutting his funky stuff with a couple of ladies on the dance floor. Jason leaned over to his favourite of the gaggle. "You think that is funny. He's got a good few drinks to kick in yet. Just you wait."

***

Chapter Post Mortem

***

On the spectrum of life and death, Dave was feeling like a badly trained doctor was performing a post mortem on his head and his guts. The pain was everywhere and a brief attempt to open his eyes was quickly stopped. The light was deafening and the noise was too bright.

Assuming the foetal position, it wasn't immediately obvious what the situation was. Dave felt very unaware of his surroundings and a sixth sense suggested to him that all was not well. In fairness, the not well could have been attributed to the hangover that he was certain was due to hit him very soon.

As his mind slowly and sheepishly caught up with the rest of his body, instinct kicked in and using every ounce of energy in his body, Dave reached for the bedside table for his phone.

"Thank god for that." The nerves hadn't revealed themselves, but the small mercy Dave had just enjoyed had been experienced by thousands of men before him. It was his bedside table and so that meant he was in his bed and his home. Normally nothing worth celebrating, but the ensuing pain through Dave's body had suggested that much worse could have eventuated on this dusty Friday morning. Turning his phone on caused instant pain and in his head the weather was cloudy with rain, but was annoying bursts on sunlight that blinded him.

"BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP" the noise went on to the point where Dave's favourite toy was about to be thrown out of the window. Before he could even look at his phone to establish what was going on, it was vital that Dave achieved some focus, which was a tall effort right now. The only way to start the wheels in motion was to get the mouth working. Opening it was like separating a pre-sealed envelope as the remnants of the night before had glued him shut. Dave took several chews on his tongue, replicating a cow churning through some grass, but with the feeling that it was cement in his mouth, not greens. Dave momentarily caught a whiff of his own breath, which was enough to deliver the results of the post mortem. The over-riding smell was of stale spirits, but there was a lingering after odour that wasn't immediately identifiable, until Dave looked over the side of the bed.

There in all its glory was the best half of a part eaten donor kebab, carefully laced with mounds of chilli sauce and other stomach wrenching ingredients, all designed to perform perfect harmonious heart burn. It was working.

Dave moved the phone closer and then further away, trying to get the ideal angle and distance to actually make sense of the screen as his drunken eyes played tricks on his focus.

"Oh shit. 16 messages."

Dave scrolled down to the earliest message.

"Laura, 8pm last night. Oh god no." There were 10 more messages from Laura explaining that Tim Parkin had been on the phone and wanted the team to start this morning. What deflated Dave was the last message.

"Looks like you aren't going to make it. Sent Jason with Kipto as no-one else was free. Hope that is OK? Call me and let me know you are alright. Laura."

If the message wasn't bad enough, the final piece of information hit Dave like a bolt of lightning. "Message sent at 10.15am? Oh SHIT."

The remainder of the messages were all irrelevant spam, until Dave saw that the final message that he hadn't read was from Jason. Dave closed one eye, not wanting the full impact of what could be a scary message if they were already out at Food United Group. Dave knew this could spell the end of his career.

A deep breath was required but not available, so Dave just marched on and read the message.

"Sweet Dreams!! Ha. Looks like the rule of 3 paid off BIG TIME last night. At FUG and all cool. See you later, Jason."

"Sweet Dreams? Sweet Dreams? He's not wishing me sweet dreams, because he sent that this morning. Sweet Dreams. "

The flashback came to him firstly in the form of a pale and red haired Annie Lennox, singing the words to one of Dave's all time 80's favourites. As the sight of Annie transcended, it was replaced by a vision. There were the two sisters, similar looking and smiling. Their makeup was bright and sporadic. Dave was dancing and Annie Lennox was in his head, controlling his moves. There were the lights and they were flashing, quite brightly. And there was the after effects of one too many presses of the smoke machine as the dance floor became a haze. Like the stroll to the pearly gates or the Garden of Eden, just less peaceful. Then a sudden darkness and wet sensation. A scrambling for breath. Someone was trying to kill him.

"Oh my god, what happened?"Dave's head wasn't playing tricks on him, but it couldn't connect all the parts of the puzzle. The latent powers of the Sambuca and Jager were jumbling up the clues and the jigsaw wouldn't go together.

"SPLASHHHHH."The noise of a flush isn't startling in its own right. In fact, it's a pretty mundane and run of the mill sound. What made the flush startling on this particular occasion, whilst Dave's head very slowly crept towards deciphering the noise, was the fact the he lived alone. The thud on the floor board of the bare feet approaching his room, were in complete unison to the hefty beats of his now petrified heart. Maybe his killer was still here.

As she waddled in, the sight was more than a shock. The face resembled one of the unidentifiable sisters that Dave recalled dancing with, but the rest of her figure was that of an imposter. Whilst on looks alone, Dave was certain that she wasn't nearly as clever as him, she would definitely win out if they were to go toe-to-toe in a physical sense.

His Sweet Dreams killer was a kisser, and the memory to date wasn't pleasant.

"Morning handsome." She snorted like a trained drug addict and super star. She was neither. "You're out of toilet paper in their love. I had a look through the cupboards, but couldn't see any." She rubbed the entire length of her arm along her nose to catch any dregs from her drizzle.

"Thanks. Erm. Yeah, thanks"

It was the first time he'd seen the live naked form of a woman since a cool summer's night in 1987, on a Sunday night before heading back to school on the Monday. The woman on that occasion had been his mother, and it was the last time he'd taken a bath, back in the day when sharing bath water and sharing baths was a family tradition rather than something that you could get arrested for.

Trepidation stung every part of Dave's body, as the colossus approached the bed, looking firmly intent in taking up a position next to him. His fear wasn't for himself, but more for his imported Egyptian Cotton 400 Thread hang woven bed sheets. Logistically speaking, he was in a conundrum. He wanted to know whether she'd learnt of the lack of toilet roll before or after she'd completed the task, but at the same time, he really didn't want to know.

As she backed up to dump herself on the bed, Dave was just surprised that she didn't beep as she reversed.

Instinct and adrenalin started to kick in, and Dave knew there were a few things he'd have to clarify before he could comfortably continue the day without needing to sanitise himself. Rolling around to his side of the bed, he casually reached under the bed to the bed slat, whilst preying to every god every mentioned, that the condoms would be there. The combination of emotions was profound. In that instant he realised that the full complement of condoms were still taped to the underside of the bed, which should have meant instant relief, but that finding brought with it much starker consequences. Maybe he'd driven without a seatbelt.

Dave felt an immediate need to wash himself and to investigate further. He was certain that with some alone time, he'd be able to piece together the memories and test various parts of his body for evidence of intercourse. The desire to wash was instantly joined by the sensation that he'd not used the men's room at the club and had been in a drink induced coma for much of the night, and that his bladder was ready to explode. Rising from the 400 Thread Egyptian Cotton Sheets a few inches ahead of him though, was the evidence of the lack of toilet visit and the physiological reaction that happens to many men in the morning.

Dave hadn't had a chance to hide his embarrassment, when the headline from his guest gave him a feeling he'd never experienced before. Utter horror and shame that was delivered in such a way that actually made him feel a huge sense of relief. It was in itself the prime example of "good news/bad news" all wrapped in the same bundle of words.

"It's 7 hours late, but you must be glad that it's still working. A bloody snake charmer couldn't have done anything with that last night. Anyway, what is the go down there? It looks like a hedgehog that's been plucked for Christmas."

Dave would have held his head in shame, but for the first time in his life, he was so glad that he hadn't been able to perform. It wouldn't have made for a memorable premiere.

The confusion and shock of the last few minutes were such that Dave now felt immune to surprises, which explained the delayed reaction as he stood in the bathroom. He was glad that he hadn't done the business with Miss Sweet Dreams, and he was particularly happy that he didn't have to examine his body and use his various senses to establish whether anything untoward had happened. But all these thoughts had dominated his lacklustre head as he'd entered the bathroom which is why he only really took stock of things as he exited.

Lying on the couch, naked and probably sticking irreversibly to the pristine leather was Miss Sweet Dreams II. She hadn't been as thrifty with her kebab, and stuck to her face was the remainder of supper. The napkin was stuck to her face with chilli sauce, and you could just make out the rivers of grease that had spilled from the meat handbag along her undulating face. Whilst not as attractive, Mark II was a good bit bigger, which was impressive given her horizontal state.

It was literally like London buses. He'd waited 14 years for one to come along, and two came along at the same time. Sadly, they were the size of buses too.

This scene wasn't something Dave had looked for, expected or wanted, but with his brain getting back in gear; it was one he knew he'd have to deal with.

In context to the heifer salivating and snoring on the couch, he'd certainly landed the better of two evils, and should have been glad at breaking a barren spell that Mother Theresa would have been proud of, but he knew he had bigger fish to fry right now. Not that fish got any bigger than these girls.

Grabbing his mobile, the mask slipped on and Dave became a businessman again.

"Laura hi. Look I'll explain later. Right now can you get me a cab for two people from my place to..." he looked over at lady who was not sheepishly holding the bed sheet. "Putney please Laura. ASAP. Put it on my account. "

"No problems Dave. Dare I ask why you are going to Putney? Assuming you got my messages, I think we need to get you into the office and then out to Food United Group immediately."

"I couldn't agree more Laura. Which is why I'd like a second cab from mine to the office. As I said, I'll explain later."

Laura's blush could be heard loud and clear.

There was a twinge of guilt in Dave's body. His night had been geared towards one outcome, and in that experiment, things in theory couldn't have gone better, but this was not what he wanted. He was sure Sweet Dreams was a lovely girl, but the night had become a nightmare. The conclusion creeping into his mind was that there was no such thing as a perfect companion.

"Right, there is a cab on its way for you and your sister. I need to jump in the shower and freshen up. I hope you'll be OK to show yourselves out."

"Sorry. Did you want me to write my number down?"

"Not unless you know any intelligent and ambitious women who wouldn't feel threatened by my level of success."

"You what?"

"Nothing. Look, I'm going for a shower. I had a fun night last night, but that wasn't me. I was doing it for someone else. You and your sister should get ready. The cab will be here soon. And don't worry, it's all paid for."

As Dave rushed towards the bathroom, Miss Sweet Dreams gave him a parting shot that guaranteed that he'd clean himself that little bit more in the shower.

"She isn't my sister. That is my daughter."

***

Chapter Recovery Position

***

Laura had everything ready for Dave's arrival in the office. The information pack on his desk was cumbersome and contained all the background and current literature on Food United Group. Knowing her boss as she did, Laura had taken out the specific information for the engagement with Tim Parkin and his team. Next to the information pack were the essential ingredients to get the day off to a belated start.

"Morning Laura." Dave rushed into his office, concerned by the gossip that might be zipping around the office courtesy of Jason's mouth and Dave's uncharacteristic late arrival into work. Laura joined him in the office.

"What are they saying out there? Do I need to go into damage limitation?"

"Luckily sir, Jason hasn't spoken a word about whatever you chaps got up to last night. Even I'm in the dark." Laura didn't have the heart to tell Dave that no-one actually cared either, and that even if Jason had said anything, no-one would have believed it. Dave was one of the few people whose perception was stronger than reality and couldn't be broken.

"Good. What are these?"

"Well sir. That is a vitamin performance drink. It is supposed to fizz like that and whilst it doesn't taste nice, it should work wonders. That is a double extra strong espresso. And that is your Food United Group Info pack. I suggest you digest them in that order Sir."

"Thank you Laura."

"No problems sir. Have you been eating cough sweets sir? I am sure I can smell aniseed"

Dave cringed as the luminous orange drink fizzed down his throat and into his acidic stomach. It was the first thing he remembered passing his lips since his last drink of the night, a drink which was now sweating itself out of his body and taking its odour with it. Thankfully anything else he might remember was being pushed to the back of his mind into the 'please forget' section. The cringe was replaced by a spine straightening shudder as the coffee hit home and Dave felt alive again. Alive, but very tender.

"Is there any way of turning the lights down in here and the air conditioning up?"

"Ha. No sir. The lights for the whole office are centrally controlled. I could try covering them with something if that helps?"

Taking a moment to look up, Dave was temporarily blinded by what felt like the sun bearing down on him. "Yeah, that might be an idea."

By the time he'd read the information pack, Laura had broken all health and safety workplace rules, and clambered up on his desk to cover the lights with coloured plastic covers that she'd acquired from the stationery cupboard. Dave giggled to himself at the irony, but his office was now the same variety of colours as the dance floor from the night before. Just a lot quieter and safer.

"Right, when can I get out to see Tim? And why on earth did we send Kipto out there. He is friggin useless at the best of times?"

"Well sir. We weren't available last night or this morning when I was calling you, so I could only send someone who was free. He was the only person free, and he is your counselee. I thought you'd be happy. Anyway, onto Tim. I've liaised with his PA, and he is pretty chocker today. I also wouldn't suggest he see you today looking like that, so maybe schedule something for Tuesday. Would you like me to do that?"

"Do we not work Mondays any more Laura? I have a few too many drinks one night and we turn to 4 day weeks huh?"

"No sir. Have you listened to your voicemail? Bill Hennessey came down yesterday afternoon looking for you. He wants you to do a presentation to him on Monday about your push for promotion. I assumed you'd want the morning free to prepare?"

Dave's reactions had been sub-optimum up until that stage, and the words rang through his ears quicker than his head could measure the magnitude of what was being said.

"You what? Why didn't you say something? This is my career you are talking about. Idiot."

"Sorry Sir. I tried calling last night but your phone was off, and I left voicemails and sent you texts. I didn't want to interrupt your night as you'd blocked it out in your diary to 'Personal Research'."

"No, that is fine. Right, move all my meetings for the rest of today to next week. Lock me in for breakfast with Tim Parkin on Tuesday. E-mail Jason and Kipto, and then call them, and inform them using your most persuasive tone possible, that they are under no circumstances whatsoever to do anything remotely risky whilst at Food United Group. They should talk to nobody, engage in zero conversation and just remain looking busy at all times. They should be the first to arrive and the last to leave, but shouldn't engage with anyone whilst there. I'll go out on Tuesday and then we'll have to get someone intelligent in there next week to play catch up."

"No problems Sir. Anything else?"

"Yeah, I am not sure if I want to know, but how are the performance stats looking?"

"Actually sir, I can show you now." Laura dropped the report in front of Dave. To anyone other than him, it would be a mirage of colours, words and numbers with no meaning, but even his hungover brain was more analytical than the next best.

"As I feared. Lag indicators are fine, current position is as expected with continued trajectory. Feedback is fine, and supported by client numbers. Margin is on track, and volume is above where we should be. The only problem is that forward order book. We just have to make this work."

"Is there anything you need me to prepare for your presentation on Monday?"

"No thanks Laura. One of the things I'm learning to rely on is my own instincts, so thanks for the offer but I'll be OK. Could you print off the two outstanding reports from Barker Construction and the CEC 2012 strategy that Bill sent out the other week? I think my recovery will be better served in the peace of my own home, so I'll be working from there this afternoon. I'd prefer no calls, so can you filter anything other than the urgent ones. I'll see you Monday."

Dave had only been in the office for an hour, but his achievements had been impressive by even his own high standards. Without knowing it, he'd offended Laura, belittled Jason and Kipto, and disrupted a number of PA's by cancelling the meetings he had locked in for that afternoon.

It was at times like this that Dave wondered about having a mentor. It had been suggested to him on more than one occasion, but to him, it just smelt of admitting defeat. What could he possibly learn from someone else that he couldn't learn himself with a little time, application and the right opportunity? What had really kept him away from mentors was that horrible thought of having to share the glory with someone else.

Getting into a taxi on the way home, he was about to rationalise away any doubts by convincing himself that the rule of 3, and his rule of 3 around Plan, Execute and Measure, was far more powerful than any advice he'd get from some random. Just as that thought passed through his head, the full magnitude of his hangover replaced it. For the journey home, Dave took deeper breaths than your average marathon runner, holding back the body's instinct to repel whatever was causing the pain. The reports could wait and the strategy document could go on hold.

Dave lay in his bed, alone but for the stale smell of leftover kebab and a subtle undertone of smoke machine. Lying back on his bed, he felt lost, dazed and confused.

The distraction of trying to find a woman was having frustrating side effects, and Dave was losing confidence in himself as well as his actions. For a man who traded on confidence, this was a dangerous combination. He quickly looked around the room at the mixture of post it notes that still adorned his apartment and it lead his brain down a train of thought. As he relaxed into slumber, he had a plan for the weekend that might just make things better.

***

Chapter Iterations of Reassurance

***

"Kids, can you please put your clothes on. Just this once?"

Anne had invested a lot of her Saturday mornings in various past times, but this was her least favourite. Today she had 3 kids on her hands and it felt like torture. The plan was simple. A family day at the local park, with a picnic a few toys and each other's company.

The two youngest kids were being their usual errant selves. They didn't want to get ready, they wanted to watch cartoons. They didn't want to be dressed in clean clothes, preferring heavily stained night wear. They didn't want to comply with Mummy's demands, they wanted to be kids and just run around in circles seeing who could scream the loudest.

This made the third child particularly grumpy. At nearly 30, Tony shouldn't have been categorised as a child, but after a busy week at work and an especially busy Friday night in the pub with his colleagues, he was now as useful as your average 4 year old. Anne normally giggled at Tony in his post drink stupor, but the combination of drink with not enough sleep made this one seem much worse.

Phase 1 had been navigated without argument, which was Tony's grumbling, groaning and moaning selection. It usually started with his fish out of water impression, where he'd angrily flip from lying on his front, to lying on his back, adding a moan or groan with each flip, looking like a freshly caught fish trying to escape the net. His customary cup of coffee on the bed side table had softened his mood slightly, but not much.

As Anne battled the kids, Tony slouched into the living room, looking like Neanderthal man. His arms were outstretched and loose, wobbling at the side of his body like an ape. His facial hair had been joined with expressionless features like a zombie. His mood had regressed 26 years to that of a 4 year old.

"It's not fair. Why did you have to wake me up? Not fair." The flapping of his arms was having no effect on Anne whatsoever, who'd learnt to give him just long enough for his coffee to settle in.

Tony continued his inaudible whinge, breaking only occasionally to scratch his crown jewels. Getting dressed was too much for him in this state, so he preferred to collapse on the sofa and flop. Anne knew he'd eventually get bored of whinging, and all she was waiting for was the sign.

The sign came, and with it she acted with the predatory instinct of a well seasoned mother. The sign had been 30 seconds of continued silence from Tony. To Anne, this was the optimum time; he'd recovered enough to stop complaining, but not enough to get his excuses in for not helping out. So sensing this lull and opportunity, Anne plucked each child from the circling motion, and dropped them onto Tony.

"Right. I need to shower. They've been fed and dressed. All you need to do is keep them entertained and keep them clean. Back in 10 love of my life." Before the wink had rounded off the sentence, she was out of the room, up the stairs and revelling in the scent of her conditioner. "Maybe 10 mins was a little under cooked, but who is counting" she thought to herself.

Returning refreshed, Anne was intrigued to hear Tony in what sounded like deep conversation with the kids. Not only that, but the lack of accompanying racket and pandemonium suggested that they were listening.

Sadly, reality wasn't quite as good as the image in her head, but Anne was still happy. The kids were quiet, albeit bribed with a combination of sweets and a cartoon. But Anne couldn't fault Tony for his actions, as they weren't entirely selfish.

"Bloody hell. To what do we owe this pleasure? It's nobody's birthday, and I've already spoken to mum and dad this morning, so I know no-one's dead."

"Ah, you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't. Is it really so bad that your brother wants to come and see you and spend some quality time with you, his best friend and his favourite nieces and nephews?"

"Not bad at all dearest brother. A first by all accounts, but not a bad idea. We're off to the park for a picnic if you are keen?"

"Now then, is there anything I can do to help?"

Anne stood. She stood and stared. This person looked like a good 9.5/10 lookalike of her brother, but sounded very different. He looked like he'd had a good sleep, which was a rare commodity for Dave. That though, could be explained. What couldn't be explained was his apparent desire to spend time with them, and the icing on the cake was the offer of help. Anne wasn't even sure that the word help was in Dave's dictionary.

"Erm, no, I think we've got it all covered. You can come and get a cuppa in the kitchen with me while Tony goes and gets ready. Tony, go and get ready." Tony hadn't required words. The burning look with the eyes had provided all the information he required. He'd undressed, showered and dressed again by the time the kettle had boiled. Fear had an amazing place in relationships.

"So what's wrong then?"

"Nothing is wrong. Look, I know I am not great at all this stuff and I've been a bit pre-occupied, but I'm taking some time out and doing a few new things. Can we just roll with it for now and get on with having a fun day. No need to over analyse."

Those words coming from a man who analysed analysis, was enough to quell that line of questioning.

The rest of the afternoon continued in the same unfashionable manner. Dave had joined them at the park, helped entertain the kids and had even taken a back seat in the conversation. What Anne and Tony had found most disconcerting were his questions. It was traditional and an expectation for them, that when they had Dave over, he ruled the conversation and most of the time it was merely a chance for him to brag and rave about his latest deal.

But the picnic at the park had been different. It was almost as if he was quizzing them on life, and trying to really understand the sacrifices that they had to make. Dave had controlled the conversation, but the vast majority of the talking was left to Anne and Tony. The conversation flowed seamlessly and it was a pleasant surprise for the sister and husband to feel that their life story could contribute so much to someone so close, who also often seemed so alien.

Dave carefully navigated around the key topics, being careful not to pry, and throwing in the occasional chuckle to chill the mood. He was a master at controlling like this, and he was in auto pilot. They'd covered marriage, relationships, the kids, working, compromise, lifestyle and even finances, although Dave had kept that particular topic high level so as not to come across as prying.

His techniques were such that no-one around the picnic rug felt grilled, and yet at no point were his motivations or reasons for asking such questions raised. The interest seemed genuine and with each passing sentence, Anne felt that she was growing closer to her brother as they bridged the understanding gap between their very different lives. They were chats that they'd wanted to share with Dave for considerable years, but his guard was normally up and it was wasted breath preaching to the superior. Anne was engrossed in the conversation. Tony sat, motionless and without comment. Sometimes he looked like a passenger in his own life. A man who'd had his soul stolen from him and had it replaced with a bossy wife and two demanding kids.

As the snacks and nibbles came to a natural conclusion, the parents were joined by the out of breath and slightly dirty children. With the Frisbee well and truly thrown and the ball utterly kicked, they were out of puff and rosy in the cheek from their exertion. The site of healthy and fresh remains on the picnic rug did nothing for their appetites.

"Daddy, Daddy" they tugged on Tony's arm. It seemed to stretch to suggest this wasn't the first time he'd been pulled over. Dave watched, as Tony instinctively looked over to Anne for clues. "Can we ice cream daddy, can we?" Tony clearly hadn't been empowered to make such strategic decisions and was happy to play dumb on this occasion.

"Mummy has the money so you'll have to ask her?" It seemed looking after children was one long game of hot potato. Anne was well equipped and ready to take on all comers. "Now you know the rules. You have been good, but ice creams are expensive and a treat, and you had some earlier in the week when we went to feed the ducks didn't you."

Unaware of the rules of this particular game, Dave gazumped his sister and rose from the rug. Reaching for his pocket, even the children were shocked as he playfully rustled their bobble hats and encouraged them along. "Come on then, Uncle Dave will shout you an ice cream...but you owe me and I charge interest at market rates. OK?"

The kids didn't understand either the humour or ironic truth in Uncle Dave's words, but had merely heard the trigger to jump up and down excitedly shouting "ice cream ice cream, now I SCREAM" before yelling uncontrollably. Thankfully for the kids, they also didn't overhear Uncle Dave call the ice cream man a "daylight robber" for what he claimed were "extortionate prices for some frozen cordial".

As they packed up the trinkets from the afternoon's fun get together, Dave declined the kind offer of a coffee back at theirs. Sadly, they only had instant and it played havoc with Dave's digestion. He'd offered to buy them a coffee machine a few years back, but Tony had discouraged him based on "the ongoing maintenance and supply costs of proper coffee. "

"Thanks for a fun day. I can't begin to tell you how much it's helped me."

"Anytime bro. That's what family are for. Glad we could be of assistance."

In true Dave fashion, he'd not lied to Anne or Tony, but they hadn't exactly provided the help they thought they had.

It was a fitting end to the day for Dave. He sat in his car staring into the rear view mirror, watching Anne and Tony pack the kids and accompaniments into the aging vehicle, finished with scratches and dents and equipped internally with a constant smell of rotting food and child sick. In the comfort of his sparkling clean European designed and manufactured luxury vehicle, it was mission accomplished for Dave. His plan had been relatively simple, he'd executed it with ease and the measurement was displayed on his face in the form of a massive smile and a look of confidence.

Dave's fix for the day was a need for clarity. The diversion of trying to find a woman and prove things that he really didn't care about had taken their toll on him and he'd started to lose his way. Similarly, he often found that in the lonely life of a successful career man, it was easy to spend too long peering up and naval gazing at the things you've not got. He'd corrected that today.

Dave reached for his phone as it rang, surprised to see that it was Laura calling. "Is everything OK Laura?"

"Yes boss. Just calling to see if there is anything you need me to do for your presentation?"

"Ah yes that. Erm, there isn't you know. I think I've pretty much got it covered all the same."

"OK sir. You sound a lot better. Chirpier. Happier. You must share your secret."

"Sometimes Laura you need to spend a day with those less fortunate than you who are bereft with unwanted distractions. It can help focus the mind and reassure you that your path is the right one and only you control your destiny."

"Wow, I didn't know you did charity work sir. Good on you." Dave chose not to correct Laura, the same way he hadn't corrected Anne. There was a fine line between the truth, people's interpretation of the truth, and a lie. Now wasn't the time to bridge that gap.

"There are lots of things you don't know about me Laura. See you Monday."

***

Chapter Plan, Execute, Measure

***

Dave's all encompassing rule of 3 had survived him well and served him even better. He didn't care whether it actually worked or not; it was beyond that. The fact remained that he loved the structure of his rule of 3, and moreover he loved the fact that its success could be directly attributed to him.

Dave wasn't one for fate or luck. He didn't believe in failure as an option. Taking part was for losers. He'd even had an interesting battle on a CEC sponsored training course where the participants had been asked to listen to some French inspired chillout music and think about their goals, and to draw on these boards, how their approach was going to be different. They were called dream boards or something equally fashionable.

When it had come to Dave's turn to present, the other small group of participants were beyond taken aback. They'd all followed the unofficial script of talking about building teams and trust, throwing around words like 'empowerment' without care for its meaning, and words like 'advocates'. They'd also all committed the cardinal sin to a corporate junky like Dave, by listing their top 3 weaknesses and how they were going to work to manage those. Generally, the crap followed that they were going to enlist the help of others and "blah blah blah".

Dave was relieved that their time had been and gone, and it was his time to educate them. It was clear to him that whilst he'd been drinking strong Egyptian coffee during the breaks, that they'd all consumed the cliché filled self help book.

Setting the tone was important. "So I think you are all wrong." Nothing like getting people onside to warm them around to your way of thinking. "I put my goal at the top, not at the bottom. I'm not working down, I'm working up. You see, you all put your goals at the bottom of the board."

The other 5 participants hurriedly looked around at each other and then their boards which were inelegantly up on the training room wall like a Van Gogh or Picasso.

"Anyway, the focus here is simple. My goal as you can see is SUCCESS. Along this side I've put the things that people think I need, which I don't. You'll notice they are all things that you think you need too. So we've got life coaches, mentors and counselling." The facilitator was stunned. His words were ready in his head but they couldn't make their way out to stop Dave.

"People without direction need a life coach. I have direction, and I need direction to be successful. People who are indecisive and don't believe in themselves need mentors. Mentors are there to share the ideas that you have no commitment for and to drain innovation from you. Counselling? Not sure why people think that because we have high stress positions of responsibility that we might want to chat about how we were potty trained and spanked as children. I chose my path, and therefore I can have no complaints about the things I see along that path. If I do, then I have regrets and I shouldn't be there. People who need counselling have regrets, and regrets make people weak. All with me so far?"

"Erm, your presentation was supposed to be 60 seconds only David. Can you wrap it up?"

"Trust me, the next bit is worth more than the rest of the course put together. So, it's all well and good me telling you this, but information is useless unless you have the tools, techniques and equipment with which to deliver."

The facilitator sat back. He'd lost his audience and his presence in the room was inconsequential. His years of psychology training and human resources experience were being humbled by a brash young man who spoke with such confidence that he was actually believable; even though he was wrong.

Dave pointed empathically at the other side of his dream board, to announce the arrival of the "rule of 3". With the panache, charisma and honesty of a door-to-door salesman, Dave went on to give the audience the huge punch line.

"Plan, Execute, Measure is my rule of 3, and it's not only got me where I am today, it will get me where I am going. And it will do so without life coaches, mentors, counselling or hours of self reflection." Dave now turned his pointing towards the other attendees, in a way which made it look like more of a cult worship group rather than a business presentation of dreams and goals. With fear rather than admiration, they stared and focused on Dave's words.

"I plan what I want to do to take a step closer to my goal. I execute on that plan. And then I measure how much closer it got me to my goal of success."

Applause was close to following when Dave let them know that he wasn't finished with a modest outstretched hand.

"But there is one key criteria that has to be acknowledged in those tools and techniques. Me, myself and I. I am responsible for achieving my goals, and I will reap the rewards."

Dave took an unnecessary bow and returned to his seat, smugger than a multi-millionaire who'd just won the lottery again.

Ever since, the rule of 3 had worked for Dave, and replaced the need for fortune, or landing on his feet. If he did land on his feet these days, it was because he'd planned too. And in preparing for his presentation to Bill Hennessey, Dave wasn't going to deviate from the structure that worked and that differentiated him from the pack.

Sat in his living room, less than a day before the big performance, Dave knew that these were crucial hours. His conundrum at this stage was about style. He knew more than anyone that he often performed best when he was put on the spot. In the moment, and asked to produce, no-one could compete with Dave for his natural flow, swagger and delivery. But the rule of 3 challenged that process and suggested that he should plan. "Maybe I could plan to be spontaneous" Dave thought to himself, tucking into another glass of red wine in the living area. In the back ground he had some relaxing classical music playing, in an attempt to remove all possibilities of any 80's music coming on and reminding him of the disastrous night recently passed.

His lack of creativity was frustrating him on this particular night, which bred a level of uncertainty. This was a sensation and state of mind that Dave didn't tolerate, so it was time for desperate measures. He needed to access his source of inspiration. The post it notes around the house were sufficient for a general pick me up, but tomorrows presentation was pivotal in his surge to success, so he needed the big guns tonight.

Despite his rather vocal preaching to anyone who'd listen about his disdain for coaching, mentoring and guidance, secretly Dave did have someone he could turn to. Thankfully, his person gave him exactly what he needed, but as a precious resource, Dave was always careful not to deplete his supply for occasions that didn't require it. Bill was sure to be a tough guy to present to, and Dave was certain that he'd know about the challenge that Big Nick had set him. Hopefully he wouldn't know about Dave's catastrophic failure to date on that particular mission. Yes, he was certain that his current need was such that the big guns were required. Thankfully Dave had someone who could provide him with the strategic insight, help him get focused and give him the confidence to absolutely nail it.

In position, and staring at his guru firmly in the eye, it appeared like a battle of who would blink first. Nothing was initially spoken. The eyes and the face conveyed the message of importance and the silence imparted the essence of respect. This wasn't a time for friendly advice or some generic feedback. This was a time for cut throat honesty and barrier breaking inspiration.

The silence lasted a while, but was eventually broken. Like Obi-wan to Luke, the words of the mentor were firm, precise and encouraging. "You can do this Dave. If anyone can do this, you can."

With the short session over, it was job done. Dave was happy with the words and advice he'd received. Satisfied and energised, he turned away from the mirror and exited the bathroom.

***

Chapter Boom Boom Ow

***

"David come in please. Make yourself comfortable. Jennifer, usual for me. Drink? David, would you like a drink?"

"Oh yes please. Thank you."

"OKAY, you have to be good to be a CEO, but I'm not psychic. What would you like?"

"I'll have a usual too please. I mean, whatever you are having. Thanks."

Dave wasn't used to being nervous, but he knew what was at stake here, and it was playing on his mind. He'd had a relatively sleepless night for him, and hadn't quite got his mojo going yet today. He'd calmed himself down in the lift on the way up to the Executive Floor at CEC, and had felt back on track until he got to Bill's office. The wait outside his glass office gave Dave a time to get nervous, which was compounded even further as he admiringly watched Bill tear shreds out of an unknown person on the phone. The entire demonstration was eerie. With the recipient not being in the room, there was no way of knowing whether they'd tried to defend themselves from the onslaught or whether they'd even survived. There was enough crimson and anger on Bill's face to suggest a near death experience.

But in true leadership style, Bill transformed in the millisecond from ending the call to opening the door to his massive office which looked like a dedication to antique wood and trophies. He was beaming with a smile, and extended his huge powerful hand to shake Dave's. His force and strength was such that he ended up shaking Dave rather than just his hand. Dave couldn't help but think that Bill must have descended from a bear, as his booming voice echoed from his huge chest and filled the entire room like jet engines with the after burners on.

Dave was clever too though, and whilst he had respect for Bill, he wasn't going to let this opportunity slip because of some idiotic man crush. Bill was the closest thing Dave had to a role model, but he couldn't afford to be in awe of him. Bill was good, but he was also 30 years older than Dave, and Dave started to rebuild his confidence as he sat in the super comfy rocking leather chair. Dave wrote carefully and slowly on the post-it note in his head. "In 15 years, you'll be working for me."

"So David, let's cut to the chase. You've done some good work for us over the last few years and your growth has been amazing to watch. I've heard lots of positive things about you, and I've chosen to ignore the odd negative comment about you too. We all know about the snipers that exist in a career like this. You've achieved a lot young man. But you are just that. You are a young man, and I need convincing, along with the rest of the senior team here, that you are ready for this next step. If you are, then you'll overtake me as the youngest partner this firm has ever elected. And trust me; that is a big mantle to carry.

Dave was angry inside, but portraying ultimate calm. The suggestion that age had something to do with his eligibility for this role was archaic thinking and infuriated him. The entrance of Jennifer into the room with two decaf soy lattes gave him time to channel that anger, and put it to good use. "What was the leader of CEC Services doing drinking decaf coffee?"

"Thanks Jen. Now where were we? Ah yes, so if you were in my shoes young David, what would you do?"

Dave ignored his instinct to reply with "I'd start by stopping calling me young you patronising git", thinking that as a start, it wouldn't quite help him towards his goal. He had to stick to his plan.

"Well with all due respect Bill, I hope to be in my shoes but in your office quite soon. We're operating in an environment now where the old school business rules have been so over publicised and documented, that they no-longer represent any form of competitive advantage. Education and ability are growing further apart, and innovative companies are working on the premise that to realise potential you have to release people potential. I'm not the finished article and I've never claimed to be. What I am, is bloody good at my job, committed to the cause and outstandingly successful. None of that is due to anything other than me, my drive, and my determination to be who I am and achieve what I can. If you allow me to fulfil my potential by removing the barriers to my success, then I will blossom and bring with it the rewards. If you wait for me to prove myself within the shackles of my current role, then you will lose the opportunity to harness that potential and inspire that drive. In my view, there is only one person who should determine whether I am ready or not, and that is me. I am the one who will have to wake up each day and face the challenge, and I am the one who will have to deliver on that promise. I know I am ready Bill. What makes it hard though, is the moving goal posts and changing expectations of different stakeholders who all have a say in whether I get the promotion or not. By trying to satisfy all of them, I'll satisfy none."

Bill paused and took a gentle sip of his drink. Dave was craving a fix after his high tension monologue, but the thought of coffee-free coffee and fake milk did nothing for his thirst. The intent look on Bill's face gave nothing away. As he lowered the cup, a smirk developed which was joined by a small soy milk moustache.

"Well that is very impressive young man. I hope you see it as a compliment when I tell you that you definitely remind me of me at your age. Ambitious, motivated, buoyant and confident. Very impressive. And I hear what you say about the different perspectives of your eventual peers. So I'll do you a deal. I can make their views immaterial if you are up for the challenge?"

Dave sat and waited. There was clearly a 'but' that was about to come out, but knowing Bill's reputation, he'd dress the 'but' up as an opportunity and sugar coat it.

"I can't disagree with anything you've said David, but that doesn't make you completely right. You see, this company has foundations that go deeper than your personal drive and ambition. They are built of things stronger than determination. Potential alone won't pay the wages."

"Yeah, but..."

"David, David, David. Let me finish young man. Your eagerness will get the better of you one day. What I am saying is that you have the basis of what we need, but I still need you to show me that you can perform at the next level. This company survives and prospers because our clients pay their bills. I need you to show to me that you can take advantage of your position within Food United Group and secure them as a CEC Services client for the next year. If you can, the job is yours. Forget all your other targets, statistics, key performance indicators and metrics. All of them gone and replaced by one. Make sense?"

"Yeah, but my stats and all my targets are well beyond expectations. I've nailed it. To be fair, I've done everything that has been asked of me and more."

His protests were well voiced but fell on deaf ears. "The world is not entirely fair young man. Just like an investor shouldn't buy into shares based on past performance, I can't promote people on what has happened. You talk about potential yeah? Well potential is in the future, so you prove me to me that your potential has the strength and longevity that you claim by securing Food United Group, and your future here will be more than secure. This isn't a barrier David, and nor is it a test. I want you to succeed, but I need you to show me that you can develop and maintain relationships. It is really a win-win situation."

"Thanks for being so candid Bill. I have a plan already in place actually. What I was thinking was..."

"David. Ironic as it might seem given that I am the CEO of a boutique consulting company, but I don't care what you do to achieve it. I honestly don't care how you get there. A goal is a goal, and can be complicated by the 'how'. I'll make it clear to you; you get me Food United Group and I get you the title you deserve. Easy. Now my next appointment has turned up, so if you don't mind."

Bill stood and before Dave knew it, he was going down in the lift whilst planning his climb back up. With the target so clearly articulated, he should have felt great, but the magnitude of Bill's request was bearing down on Dave's shoulders. Food United Group was a huge organisation and one which CEC Services had been battling to get into for years. It looked on the brink of disappearing from CEC's grasp, until Dave's Dad had provided the introductions and the work had come up with Tim Parkin.

"OH SHIT. Tim Parkin." Glancing down at his watch amongst the lift full of startled workers, Dave realised he was 20 mins late for a meeting with the man who might decide his fate. This wasn't a good start. It was time for some damage limitation.

***

Chapter Limited Damage

***

"Hello there. Dave Marsdon to see Tim Parkin. He should be expecting me. Thanks."

"Afternoon Mr Marsdon. Please sign in and then take a seat and we'll contact Mr Parkin for you."

The receptionist was one of those attractive assertive types, who made even the sternest of businessmen melt. Dave had signed in and politely sat down before she'd even found Tim's extension number.

"Mr Marsdon?" Dave leapt from his seat like an eager school boy wanting to please the teacher. "I'm afraid Mr Parkin is out to lunch, but I believe he is with some colleagues of yours. They are just along the road. Here are the details if you'd like to join them immediately."

As Dave was led over to the table, his mind was still trying to work out any possible positive connotations to Kipto and Jason having lunch with someone so important. There weren't any, even in his wildest of imagination. This was more likely to be the last supper or maybe an attempt to get them on neutral territory, which always meant bad news. Kipto was too caught up in missing home, culture and a desired feeling of worth through wanting to contribute to society. He didn't see his taxes and work as contribution enough. Jason was a menace. Mildly OK at his job, and a smooth talker, he was at his most dangerous when his brain left his head and returned to its normal resting place near his penis. In fact, on personality and past times alone, these guys were the essential ingredients to a short career rather than the touch paper with which to light the working relationship to make a career. These guys weren't exactly the A team.

Adversity and uphill battles were all a part of Dave's repertoire in the boardroom, but with the maitre d' pointing towards the table, Dave felt like he'd just walked the plank on his illustrious career.

"Dave, come join us. We saved you a seat." It was a vibrant and smiling Tim Parkin. To all intents and purposes, he looked just like the Tim that Dave had met several times, but he'd never seen him smile, laugh or cajole in such a way. Maybe he was the smiling assassin.

"We were just talking about you. I hope your ears weren't burning? Don't worry, it was all good. These boys were just telling me about your coaching and mentoring. It is simply wondrous that you'd go to so much trouble to hand pick and book these people for this job. I couldn't have matched them better myself."

There was no obvious irony in Tim's tone, so Dave silently searched for other interpretations of what Tim had just revealed. There were none.

"Sorry, how rude of me. Dave, please let me introduce Abebe. Abebe, this is Dave who I've been telling you about."

A very confused Dave gently shook the hand of the beautiful black woman who was sat to his right. Her teeth shone with such brightness that they were nearly blinding, and her skin was blemish free in every way.

"Abebe is our Head of Human Resources."

Dave's heart sank to below his feet. Looking squarely at Kipto and Jason, it was the latter that was the outright favourite as things stood. If anyone had done something that required a meeting on neutral ground with the Head of Human Resources, it was Jason and his wandering libido.

"Kipto and Jason have been working very closely with Abebe on this project, and we're already having some amazing results. Much better than we expected, and I think there is real potential here. Whilst I am normally quite conservative, I think the traction we've got in these short few days deserved a reward, so lunch is on me. Cheers."

Dave still hadn't spoken. He felt like he was in a parallel universe where nothing made sense. Everyone was smiling for no apparent reason. There was a strange, but beautiful woman with blinding white teeth. There was a senior Food United Group executive who appeared to be happy without obvious cause.

Jason was first to notice Dave's disorientation. "I might just go and check out the specials board. Dave, did you want to come with me?"

A slightly dazed Dave managed a nod, and was on his way with Jason.

"Are you OK boss? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

"Funny that. I was expecting to be dead and buried, but unless I am mistaken I am not. What the hell is going on Jason? Why, what, how and who? NOW."

"Easy tiger. Look, on our first day we got bored so did a little tour of the office. They had all these FUG Community posters up about combining cultures and making the workplace a better place by understanding diversity of something. Anyway, Kipto got a culture hard on, and couldn't help but call the number and got straight through to Abebe. Turns out she is from a similar tribe or whatever to him. Anyway, she came down straight away and they sat in the conference room talking mumbo jumbo. At the same time, I got bored of their mumbo jumbo so went for my own office tour. Turns out that Tim has an off-sider called Martin who has a stunning, 8.5/10 steaming hot PA. I struggle to remember, but she claims I picked her up the other week in the Queen, so we went out for another drink. Her body is divine. She does yoga too."

Jason stopped in the moment, closed his eyes and appeared to transport himself back into his memory judging by the smile on his face.

"OK, OK, I get the picture."

"No you don't. I ended up getting a little bit too drunk with her on Friday night and told her about what we were supposed to be doing here and how I didn't have a clue because I am basically smoke and mirrors. Pretty face but little behind the front eh? Anyway, she then tells me that someone did a very similar piece of work about a year ago but never finished it for some reason, and then mailed me the whole lot. It's given us about a 2 week head start."

"Wow. Jason, that is remarkable, both in its results and your method of acquiring such results. But why is the Head of Human Resources here having lunch with us? Please don't tell me you've ruined this already?"

"No boss. The head of HR is also otherwise known as Tim's wife. She's majorly smitten with Kipto and keeps on dragging him off to help with all these diversity plans she has got. Tim even came in the office this morning to say that he'd happily pay a separate hourly rate for all the extra stuff that Kitty has been doing, so we're sweet."

"And your PA friend?"

"Yeah mate, she is steamingly, smoulderingly hot."

"I'm not looking for a review Jason. What I mean is, she isn't going to give anything away?"

"No way boss. She couldn't afford for her husband to find out."

Dave's eyes rolled 360 degrees back around his head. Why oh why did he have to do this. He was keen to employ non-standard approaches to work and had taken a few innovative steps in his own career development, but Jason was a new breed.

"Let's get back to the table, and please keep it in your trousers for the entire meal if you can?"

***

Chapter Up In The Air

***

Dave's success hadn't all been based on the rule of 3. It helped that he was a manic obsessive consumer of all business material. What made Dave's passion for all this research, literary and studies was his immediate dismissal of their findings.

Essentially, it was a constant contradiction. Back in the office he was reading one of his latest periodicals from Harvard, hoping for some inspiration as to the events of the day. His mind was highly educated but equally closed. With each sentence of everything he head, he became more and more convinced that he was right.

He reached for his phone, lazily buzzing Laura and requesting her presence.

"Right, have you read this? Obviously not, it would be like giving the keys to a Formula 1 car to a blind man. Anyway, my point is that these bloody professors and doctors and academics don't know a thing. There ideas are fine in theory, but fail in practice. I mean, there is a section here that suggests that the more responsibility and trust you give an employee, the more they flourish, and that if you micro manage them, you actually slow their development. Well that is simply bollocks. Can you imagine what life would be like here if we tried that eh? All hell would break lose."

Sadly, Laura had a well prepared and very eloquent argument on the tip of her tongue that would put Dave firmly in his place, but she knew she was saving it for a rainy day. A day when he would actually hear a single word she said and take some of it in.

"Shocking sir. Is there anything else you need me for?"

"Of course there is. I didn't just bring you in here for a mindless chit chat about the merits of empowerment."

Dave softened. His features lost their angst, his hands untangled and he sat back slowly in his chair. Laura instinctively knew what this meant and closed the door. It was favour time.

"Is there anything I can do to help Mr Marsdon?"

"Oh, for starters you can call me Dave." This was a usual line when he wanted help. "Well Laura, there is something you can do to help. "

Dave went on to give Laura a slightly emphatic and embellished version of his morning conversation with Bill Hennessey, and the various ramifications.

"So in essence, I can ignore Big Nicks challenge and go over his head, if instead of fabricating some farcical relationship with a woman; I can instead secure the ultimate relationship and land Food United Group as a client. This means that we need to up the ante and find this Ronnie Patel chap, and quick smartish. What have you got so far?"

"There he goes again," thought Laura, once again frustrated by the selective use of we and you.

"Well Sir. I mean Dave. I've been in contact with a few people and keep on searching the databases we've got access to, and so far WE haven't got a huge amount to go on. It looks like he is due imminently into the country and I do know there are some quite senior meetings of the big wigs at Food United Group locked in for late this week and early next, that maybe he is arriving for. I can put the feelers out again if you want to see what I can get?"

"Yes please Laura, that would be great. I've been surprised more than once today, and I don't want any surprises when it comes to Ronnie Patel. For my plan to work, I need to have something with which to plan around. Ambiguity is all well and good, but we'll be up against all the other big companies here who'll want a piece of the FUG pie, and we need to be one step ahead. Just focus on finding whatever you can, however small and insignificant it might seem. And go for lunch with Tim's PA. Get her drunk. See if she has anything to spill. And don't mention Jason. Long story, but he's best left off topic."

"On it sir. Is there anything else?"

Dave hardened again in the instant. His posture firmer, his shoulders higher and the look in his eye more menacing.

"Yeah, be a love and run and get me a coffee. Here's 3 quid. Get your own too if there is any change."

The wink from Dave raised a veil of red mist in front of Laura's eyes as she nearly swung for her boss.

"And quick as you can. I'm parched here."

Dave was still disagreeing with another article on innovation in the magazine when he was interrupted by the inconvenience of his desk phone ringing. Even worse, it was 'private number' and he didn't have his trusty PA to screen his calls for him.

Risk Management 101 suggested to Dave that it was far safer to let it ring off and wait for the voicemail. Dave was staring at the light on the phone, waiting for the flash to indicate a message, but nothing.

Suddenly startled by the loud ringing, it was 'private number' again. Dave had far too much to do this afternoon to get caught up on an unimportant call, and it wasn't right for him to be answering his own phone. It clearly didn't convey the right message about his status. Best left alone.

Again the game continued as Dave stared impatiently at the lack of light on the phone. "Why would you call and not leave a message eh? Idiot."

As his door swung open and Laura entered with his coffee, it was time for the bark. "Where have you been? The bloody phone has practically been ringing non-stop here."

"Well..."

"Laura, now isn't the time for excuses. We've got a lot on and...". Dave was stopped by the phone ringing again. He looked at Laura, and without a word, she ran to her phone on the main floor, tapped some numbers, arranged her smile to go along with her phone voice and answered the call.

Dave sat in his office, intrigued, and quite glad to have this level of service. It is what someone of his seniority and worth should have, and he considered it a just reward for his efforts. Dave took a manly swig of his extremely hot coffee, and was about to chastise Laura for not warning him, when she entered his office.

"It's Peter from Barker Constructions. He says it's urgent."

***

Chapter Good Victory, Wrong Battle

***

"Peter, it's been a long time between drinks, how are you?"

This was Dave's way of apologising. His usual attention to clients like Barker Construction was meticulous, but all this mumbo jumbo about finding a girlfriend and moving goal posts around his promotion had distracted him somewhat.

"I'm exceptionally well actually David. Exceptionally well. And you?"

"Ah, you know what it's like. Busy as ever, but I'm keeping my head above water. It's funny you called actually. I'd only just said to Laura this afternoon to set something up for us soon, as I was keen to catch up." Not entirely true, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

"Well isn't that funny. Great minds eh. Well I wanted to chat to you too, but I'd rather discuss things face to face. When can you catch up?"

"Give me a minute Peter and I'll check." Placing his hand over the phone, Dave beckoned Laura back into his office. It was an old tactic but it appeared to still work. His diary was pretty much clear for the rest of the week, but that wouldn't portray the appropriate level of importance.

Despite that fact that Laura was a matter of inches away from him, and conveniently refusing to use the 'mute' button on the phone, Dave started his performance.

"Laura, I know the diary is chocker, but we have to move things around. Peter needs to see me."

Laura looked momentarily confused until she saw the smirk on Dave's face, and played along, waiting for her cue to do something.

Removing his hand from the receiver, Dave updated Peter. "Won't be long Peter. Laura is just helping me with a few logistics regarding the old diary."

"Oh, well if you are too busy..."

"Peter, I am never too busy for Barker Constructions. We just have to re-prioritise, and you know you are top of the pile."

The nod to Laura was her signal. "Well sir, there are a few things I can move and re-arrange for Thursday that would free you up around lunch."

"Did you hear that Peter. How about lunch on Thursday?"

"Ah, that is perfect. And seeing as you've gone to all that effort to move things around, I think it should be my shout. 1pm here and I'll sort out the restaurant. See you then David."

Dave didn't feel a twinge of guilt as they pulled up next to a rather exclusive and expensive Italian restaurant in the heart of the city. The aromas from outside were as sensational as some of the cars parked around. Like a showroom for the rich and outrageous, luxury was apparent at every glance.

"Your table is ready sir. I have a selected a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio ready for you at the table, as well as some of the finest Italian sparkling water. Please let your waiter know should you require anything else."

The posh undertone with a strong hint of Tuscany just didn't sound right, but everything else about this place was perfection. Despite the seriousness of the surroundings, Dave was feeling quite relaxed. His main focus right now was Food United Group. There was nothing that Peter could say, ask, or reveal that would change Dave's plight. Bill had made his mission pretty clear. For that reason, Dave sat back in his sublime chair and sipped on the ideally chilled Italian wine which graced his taste buds with lashings of joy. It tasted even nicer knowing someone else was paying for it.

Given his state of mind and the fact that there was nothing riding on this, Dave was more than happy to engage in general chit chat with Peter. He heard, but didn't listen too, several stories about Peter's holidays, pets, wife, children and home renovations. There was a strange sanctity in his realisation that he couldn't empathise with a single topic that Peter had covered, and they'd already eaten their starters.

"Well Peter, on a personal note, it is great to see you in such high spirits." It was all Dave could say in response to Peter's drivel. Still, he just had to remind himself that other than his time, this was costing him nothing, and the food was bloody awesome.

"Anyway, I've not brought you here to entertain you with stories. There is some news I'd like to share with you that might just make your year."

Dave perked up. He didn't think that this would get any better than a free lunch, but it seemed that by the beaming smile on Peter's face that things were about to take a turn for the even better.

"Another bottle of the Pinot Gris please waiter. We might just be having an early celebration."

The anticipation was killing Dave. He wanted to rush the waiter back to the bar, as it was evident that Peter was waiting for the glasses to be filled before continuing with his story. Dave's eyes and facial expression were trying to will the waiter on to faster service. He needed this news, and patience wasn't something he was famed for.

"Good things come to those who wait David."

Dave snapped back. "People who wait get the bus. Good things come to those who deserve it."

"Ha. I something wish I had your dedication and ambition young man."

" _Jesus, what is it with this 'young man' crap"_. Dave was muttering to himself as the waiter finally poured the wine.

"Iz everfin OK wiv sur?" The faux Italian waiter had picked up on Dave's perplexed, impatient and slightly contorted face. The smile immediately returned and beaming Dave was back in the room. The story could continue.

"Thank you Guiseppe, it is all wonderful. Now Peter, where were we?" charging glasses and beckoning the remainder of this cliff hanger.

"Well, a little birdy told me a while back that a certain Mr David Marsdon was pushing for Partnership this year, and that this would make him the youngest partner in CEC Services history."

"I'd be lying if I denied that." Dave was playing coy, which wasn't a usual habit of his. Not nearly enough dick swinging in being coy, and it never really made sense to him to play things down, when you could shout from the terraces about them. Still, it seemed appropriate with a client and especially one as gentile as Peter.

"And from what I know from my time in your business and from other contacts I have in the trade, your sales and business development are crucial metrics in deciding whether you get the nod or not? Am I right?"

"Are you ever wrong Peter?" Dave had now moved onto smarm. He sensed that somewhere in Peter's head, was the Holy Grail that Dave had been searching for. Maybe word had got out about Food United Group. Dave wanted to wait for the moment, but instant gratification was a well documented feature of his generation.

"Do you know anything about Food United Group Peter?"

"I know lots about Food United Group. What do you want to know?"

The conversation was broken by the return of the waiter. But it wasn't the expensive, elegantly presented and beautifully smelling food that was making Dave salivate. He could feel his senses becoming aroused and aware at the advances that he was making. It was his destiny. He was good, and Peter's excitement at telling his story suggested that they were both on the same page.

Dave also knew that careful questioning had to be engaged here, to not sound too inquisitive or out of the know, whilst getting as much information as possible. His forte.

"Well Peter, how about you start by telling me something I don't know?"

***

Chapter Main Course

***

"Never heard of him, sorry."

"Really. But I thought you said you knew a lot of the senior guys there?"

"Yeah, I do. I do a lot of mentoring for the local business school, and the Head Finance guy from Food United Group does a lot of the sessions with me. I knew they'd been on a big acquisition spree and that they were buying lots of smaller companies up that they'd need to amalgamate into their business. Is that why you are interested?

"Yes and no. It's complicated."

"Well maybe I can still help with my news then. It's not official yet, but the legal guys are in the final stages of a deal that will see us nearly double in size. I've got the OK from the Executive to head up the transformation team that will run the project to bring the other company on board. It is early days but once the contracts are signed, I'll be coming to you for an official quote."

Dave was motionless. Peter couldn't tell whether it was shock or disappointment. It was hard to tell. His only movement was to push a straggle of tagglietelli around his plate in a random but repetitive sequence.

"Just so you know, I'll only be coming to you, and we're looking at a 12-18 month project, probably with around 3-6 heads depending on where we're up to. It will be in the region of £1m plus, and highly publicised too. It will give us both great exposure. And I'm sure going to your boss with a promise of work like that for the next year and a bit will get you over the line with room to spare eh? Dave?"

"Yeah, Peter...amazing." Dave was struggling to hide his annoyance.

Strangely, images of the women that he'd let slip through his fingers in the last few weeks all passed in front of his depressed eyes. Maybe the Lawyer girl would have been perfect. Not around much, professional and well spoken. She wouldn't have demanded too much time, but would have filled a quota of events and networking functions. The blind date girl was lovely. She had her own home, was educated and sophisticated, whilst being relaxed. Her parents were a definite thorn in the side, but they looked elderly and wouldn't be around forever. Independent and not too needy, she could have been perfect. Plus, religion is only a once a week thing, so that could have easily been accommodated. Even some of the speed dating girls were probably worth a second chance. Even Dave acknowledged now, after the event, that not everyone thrives and is as comfortable as he is in such an environment. The single mum had the most potential. Maybe if the ex-husband was still around, he'd get more of the kid and so it wouldn't be too intrusive. Then there were the disco girls. Memory suggested that Dave had gone home with a pair of good looking ladies, so it would seem that the ugly taxi came during the night and swapped them with some swamp donkeys. The only thing going for her was that she would have been eternally grateful, and therefore very loyal. Better characteristics for a rescued pet than a life partner.

"Well then. Let's charge our glasses. To us, our new roles and prosperity within."

Dave took an unhealthily large swig of his wine, which was cold enough to hurt his teeth and his throat, without achieving the goal. He was still bereft of a way out, and the mystery of Ronnie Patel was not getting anywhere nearer being solved. He felt like he'd just been given first class tickets for any flight anywhere around the world, having just given away his passport the day before.

Defeated by the amazing news that Peter had just given him that now carried no value after his deal with Bill Hennessey, Dave knew there was only thing for it. Despite being worlds apart on how good the news was that Peter had just shared, there was something that both these guys had in common. Peter wanted to celebrate. Dave wanted to commiserate. Different requirements can be resolved with the same solution.

"Another bottle please waiter."

Dave reached for his phone and sent Laura the message to free him up for the remainder of the day. His head wasn't up for anything else, and his ego couldn't cope with any more disappointment. The afternoon plan was to drink. In his head the plan was simple. "Execution should be straight forward given the progress to date. Measurement? Well if I can't measure, then I've failed."

"Right Peter, that is me clear for the day. Now assuming you can follow suit, how about we change the topic. For the next bottle, let's not talk shop."

"I'll drink to that."

And they did.

***

Chapter What Comes After Main Course...Headache

***

"Shhhhhhhh. Please be quiet." A rationale man wouldn't be talking to his alarm clock, but then a rationale man wouldn't have the headache that Dave was currently sporting. Ever relieved that it wasn't a repeat of last Thursday's nightmare, there was no tug boat in the bed next to him or doing her business in his toilet. Dave was firmly alone, and it was the only way to be in his current state.

In his usually busy head, an earthquake of about 8.8 on the Richter scale was working its way from front to back and side to side. There were occasional spasms along his arms and legs that whilst painful, were a gentle reminder that he wasn't paralysed. Assuming a tense slobbering version of the foetal position, Dave's memory from the rest of the previous day was blurry.

His brain had activated enough cells to realise that it was a work day, and sufficient power to compute that an afternoon off on one day could not really be followed by a late morning the next. Knowing that he had to get up, didn't make the act any simpler.

Avoiding the use of eyes for fear of permanent light blindness and headache related injuries; Dave took a deep breath and counted to three. Very, very slowly.

"One...ttttttttttwooooooooooooooo.....twoooooooo.....two....and...THREE...OW"

Attempting the manoeuvre in one swoop, Dave aimed to swing his legs out of the foetal position onto the floor, whilst simultaneously taking his upper body from horizontal to vertical, with supporting flapping arms. To anyone else it would be just getting out of bed, but Dave felt like he'd been in traction for months, and was taking his first solo step of the year.

The thud sounded bad. The echo hurt his head and his body. Rolling over, Dave was faced with a sight that he'd rather have delayed. He was face to face with himself in the full length mirror that hung on wall. He could make out most of his body as he was strewn across floor. He looked like he'd just been hit by a truck. An angry truck.

Closer inspection revealed the source of the fall. Dave still had his right shoe on, and his work trousers were still around his ankles. It quietly explained the failed logistics around getting out of the bed, but didn't soften the blow Dave had just taken. His stumble had led with his head given that his legs were tied together by pants, so his brain had cushioned the blow as he'd fallen from the bed.

After a few seconds of squinting, Dave's eyes finally found focus on his helpless body that was pathetically glued to the carpet. Somehow, gravity seemed stronger today.

Struggling to kick his remaining shoe off, Dave was left with one option. His arms weren't following the instructions that his brain was trying to feed them, so to lose the trousers, Dave rolled onto his back like a stunned cockroach and just kicked and riled as much as he could. Miraculously, his childish attempts to remove his trousers worked, and his legs were free once again.

His new proximity to the mirror provided a whole new angle. The blood shot eyes were now surrounded by a colourless shine, that at first appeared no descript. Then Dave felt the soreness in his nose as he went to grab it.

***

Chapter What Else Comes in 3's

***

"Oh my god, what happened?"

"Nothing Laura. Please don't fuss. I'm fine."

"But sir. You've got two black eyes. Are you OK?"

"Superficially fine, but not in so many other ways. Come into my office. But can you go grab me a coffee first. I couldn't bear to queue up before."

Laura didn't ask for any money. Her boss looked wounded and in need of assistance, and whilst she didn't know the full extent of his injuries, her imagination worked on overtime as she ordered his morning coffee and some toast.

She was therefore a little disappointed at the lack of drama in the truth, but the contrast to her conspiracy theory was that the truth was hilarious. Dave was gingerly sipping his coffee and chewing on tiny bites of toast like he'd just come around from major surgery.

"You fell out of bed? But what did you fall over?"

"Nothing. I told you, I must have got into bed drunk and not actually taken my trousers fully off, so they were around my ankles still. The problem was that I hadn't worked that out when I tried to get out of bed, so it was like having my legs tied together. I went head, or nose first into the bed and then floor, hence the nose."

"Is it broken?"

"Well judging by the ever changing shade of my eyes and the excruciating pain I get when anything goes near my nose, I would guess that it is. Still, nothing we can do about that now. I must soldier on. Now, am I right in thinking it is mainly internal meetings today?

"Yeah, a few strategic client committees, one business development forum, an appraisal round table session with Human Resources and sales pipeline group. Dare I ask...how was Peter?"

"Now that is a very good question." Dave examined his wallet, which provided a few clues to the end of the night. "We had a fair few bottles in the Italian, but I haven't got a receipt from that, which is good. Here is a credit card stub for drinks in the Kudo Bar, which I think is just along the way. Looks like another few bottles and maybe a few shots. And a taxi home at 8.48pm. Hardly a late night."

"Have you heard from him today? Should I call him for you?"

"Thanks Laura. You're a star."

Dave was flicking through a presentation that he was due to talk on that afternoon. His attention to it paid the upmost credit to his hangover. With each page turn, he became more ambivalent and his care factor reduced another unit. He knew that he couldn't afford another day without being productive. Looking down at his coffee which had now cooled down, he was silently willing it to perform some magic on him. It needed to make him alert, make him motivated and make him care. Right now, without the coffee in his system, all he wanted was to be horizontal and in his bed.

"Come on Mr Long Black. Sort me out."

Dave tipped his head back, and took the potion.

"OW...OH SHIT." Before Dave had regathered himself, Laura had rushed into his office to check on the commotion.

"Now what happened? Are you OK?"

"Bollocks is what happened. Bollocks and testicles, with a side order of bloody bollocks." Dave was holding his nose, and partially facing away from Laura. As he turned, she saw what had happened.

"Oh dear, you've got..."

"Yes Sherlock, I've got bloody coffee on my bloody shirt, because the bloody coffee cup hit my bloody nose which is bloody sore, and I spat bloody coffee all over my bloody shirt."

"Bloody hell." Laura's untimely empathy brought out a death stare from Dave. "You probably don't want me to tell you about the phone call I just took then."

Dave was startled. "Peter's OK isn't he?"

"Oh yeah, Peter is fine. I haven't spoken to him, but I've chatted to his PA. He couldn't drive his car to work and nor could he call himself a cab, so she was going to pick him up. Claims he's suffering with a 24 hour bug, which has remarkably similar symptoms to yours."

"So what wouldn't I want you to tell me?"

"Jason has just been on the phone. He was with his lady friend from Food United Group last night and they were a little late in this morning. Well..."

"Laura don't. Please don't tell me anymore. I'll chop his bloody bits off and feed it to the birds in the park. I'm gonna kill him. I know they said bad luck comes in three's. First my nose, then I spill coffee all over my shirt and now this. Right, this is officially a disaster. At least it can't get any worse."

"Sir, that isn't it actually. They were late when she got a call to head into the office because they needed her urgently for something. Jason isn't in trouble and neither is she. They managed to somehow fly under the radar."

"Oh. Well maybe his tackle will live to see another day. Or another whatever he does with it."

"Yes sir. But the reason his PA lady friend had to go in was to assist in an urgent Executive Meeting at Food United Group. Ronnie Patel is there today."

"Wrong again. It can get worse. Brilliant. Awesome. Fabulous."

Dave sat and pondered, his head in his hands being careful to avoid any contact with his nose. He looked up slowly to Laura who was awaiting the next instruction, but Dave's head felt like a desert. Someone somewhere clearly had it in for him. He didn't believe in luck playing a part in success, but maybe bad luck had a big part to play in failures.

"I need a few moments to strategise Laura. Thanks."

Dave's head hadn't completed a single computation in the time Laura was away, other than "why me", which wasn't doing a huge amount to promote his forward thinking on the matters at hand.

"Sorry to interrupt your strategicness sir. I've just run down the shop and got you a new shirt. Unfortunately I couldn't remember what suit and tie you had on today, so it might not match as nice as your combinations, but it's free of coffee. And the nice girl fell for my puppy eyes and even ironed it for you. Here you go."

The realisation that his under qualified PA had achieved more than him sent a shock wave through his competitive body. Nobody was as good as him. Even with a broken nose and bruised ego.

"You are a legend. In different circumstances, and with different variables, maybe in a parallel world or if times had changed, I could kiss you ya know."

"Thank you; I think". Laura had spent enough time with Dave to realise that hidden in there, was a compliment. He didn't structure them as well as his sales pitches or board room performances, but it meant a lot to Laura all the same.

"Laura, I've just realised I've been going about this the wrong way. I have an idea. I've been tipped on my head once today, so I'm going to tip the world on its head now."

Dave approached the white board in his office and cleaned off the scrawling with the sleeve of his shirt. It seemed quite a maverick thing to do, even though he had a freshly pressed shirt ready to replace it. On the top of the clean board he wrote his favourite phrase "RULE OF 3".

Laura looked on, re-assured by his confident swagger, but mystified by what he was actually doing. It quickly became apparent that she was a silent partner in this particular business, so she sat down and got comfortable as the performance began.

"So we're going to turn it on its head you see." Along the left hand side of the board, Dave wrote his next favourite 3 words, but something had changed.

MEASURE, EXECUTE, PLAN.

"Laura, today, were going to do it back to front. God I'm clever."

There was no response required from Laura as the one-man show developed in front of her. Once the strategy, tactics and methodology were all assembled on the board, it was time for action.

"So the final question Laura. Are you OK to tell a few white lies and bend the truth a little to secure our future?"

"YOUR future? Certainly sir."

***

Chapter Headlines, Headway and Heads I win

***

Dave knew that the devil was in the detail, which is why he had no particular affinity with getting that deep into anything. For this reason, and several others, he'd adopted a 'headline' tactic over the years where he'd use a short sharp statement to make a point. The premise which made this tactic so great was that Dave liked to leave the interpretation of the statement to the recipient.

The beauty of this was the art of lying. The more you say, the more you sound like a liar, and the more information you give, the harder it is to get your way.

So once Laura had worked her magic and got Tim Parkin on the phone, it was time for a headline. Good headlines timed correctly and with the right amount of vagueness, could make for amazing confusion.

"Hey Tim, how are you doing?" There was no time to wait for a response if Dave was going to get the severity of the point across. Speed and tone made this sound like much more of an issue. "Look, I won't keep you. I was just looking at our scheduling and obviously Kipto was just filling in for someone else on this project, so we should be able to swap them out next week."

The headline was planted. "Key resource lost in Cultural Diversity Project calamity." Dave knew that Tim couldn't afford turnover after such early success, especially given that he wouldn't just have to explain this to his colleague; he'd have to explain it to his wife. What made this more compelling was that Dave had just got off the phone to Jason, who confirmed that the timing was perfect.

"You must be kidding? He is presenting with my Abebe this afternoon to the Executive on the progress they've made. We can't lose him now. That would be a disaster."

"Tough one. Look, I've got a few other guys that are really keen to work with you. I'm sure one of them would be a good fit."

Having played his hand, it was now time for patience. Any more information would scupper the plan. Tim had to sweat. He had to imagine having to tell his wife and then the Executive. A few seconds passed, and judging by the increased breathing, Tim wasn't enjoying this game.

"Look Dave, I've got a meeting to get back to. There must be a way we can sort this."

Done. Tim had shown a weakness in his hand, and in doing so had basically handed this part of the game over to the insatiable Dave.

"You know, there is a solution that might actually help you even more. My CEO is a big advocate of all that cultural stuff. Maybe you could let us sit in on the presentation this afternoon, and in return, I'll let you have Kipto for however long you need him?"

"Erm, yeah. I suppose. Well why not. Come along at 3pm and you can sit in. Is that it?"

"Of course that is it Tim. I'm hardly going to hold you over a barrel am I? What kind of person would that make me?"

A few rhetorical questions to which Dave really didn't want the answer and he had Tim firmly where he wanted him. One of the best things about knowing the intricate detail of someone else's grand plan, is that you can search through it and find a pivotal point where you have some influence.

In planting the slightly untrue seed in Tim's head that he might lose Kipto, and in turn, lose a large amount of face in his presentation that afternoon, was enough to get Dave the opportunity he needed.

Had Tim had the benefit of more time or more information, then he'd have realised that a firm specialising in as many areas as CEC Services did, would have a multitude of resources available that were probably as good as Kipto. In Dave's mind, they were much better. More information would have also given Tim the head space to think clearly and realise that at such an early stage of a project, a change of face wouldn't be a deal breaker. And more importantly, there were a good few hours until the presentation, so changes could easily have been made.

What made the fear so compelling for Tim, was the vision of the headline.

What made it so gratifying for Dave was that the headline had got him some headway. He had a 3pm at Food United Group and the first part of the plan was in place.

"Laura, come here please."

Laura entered the office. She was pumped too.

Right, there are two tasks, both of equal importance. In the art of sharing, I'll take one if you take the other. Deal?

"Yes boss."

"OK, I'll toss the coin so it's fair." Dave flipped the coin out of his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads." Laura was clearly excited, which worked for Dave. He knew she was dedicated and assertive when she felt there was something at stake.

"Heads it is!"

"Heads I win. Yippee, I won." Laura was ecstatic. She'd not won anything for years. Dave didn't have the heart to tell her that she hadn't won this time.

"Congratulations. So, your task is to get hold of Bill Hennessey's Assistant, and convince her that whatever he has got on at 3pm is less important than what we've got planned, and then get him to Food United Group for 3pm."

Dave hurriedly began packing up his things. "Now then, you've got enough to worry about with your task, so I won't bore you with mine, but I won't be contactable until just before 3pm, so if Bill or his assistant need any more information, either make it up or be vague. Just make sure he is there, OK?"

Before Laura could put up a fight, Dave was out of the office and marching down the corridor looking very serious and stressed. Laura was just glad that this was the winning task, and couldn't begin to imagine how tough it would have been had she landed tails. Relieved, she set about her challenge and picked up the phone.

Dave sat down, and got comfortable. He had to concentrate to make sure he got this right. Creativity hadn't always been his strong point, but he was keen to do this by himself. Delegation was a forte of Dave's, but the attention and precision required here made doing it himself the best option. Plus, he couldn't think of anyone else he could trust.

"Here you go Dave. One macchiato and one cranberry muffin. You look busy?"

"Yeah, putting the final touches to the invites for a surprise party."

"Oh very nice. What is the occasion?"

"Promotion."

"Well your friend must be very special to have someone like you organising the party."

"Very special. One of a kind. It should be a good party."

Dave wasn't sure where his confidence was coming from, as the hard work was still to be done, but there wasn't time to question himself. He knew that seizing the opportunity had helped get him where we was today, so there was no time for naval gazing.

Sipping his coffee and tearing a corner from his muffin, Dave took the glance up to where he hoped his medalling would get him. He was only 100 yards from the doors to CEC Services offices, but he felt comfortably anonymous in his favourite coffee shop.

"Another coffee please Giuseppe. I'll need all the inspiration I can get for this."

Dave opened his laptop and decided that the procrastination had to end now. 3pm wasn't far away and he needed to do some research, so he could prepare himself and then prepare Bill.

Once his wireless connection had kicked in, Dave went straight to work. Clicking on his busy desktop, Google was immediately covering his screen as he asked for the answer to his new most important question.

Dave said a silent prayer. He didn't mind asking the internet for help, as it didn't ask for help in return.

"What is cultural diversity?"

Dave surveyed the results, and made a quick note on the napkin.

"Names you can't pronounce and events you needn't attend. Corporate extension of political correctness."

***

Chapter I knew That Would Happen

***

Bill Hennessey looked charged. Dave wasn't sure whether that was attributable to his normal state as a high pressure and stressed CEO, or more specifically because he didn't like being kept in the dark. His stern refusal of Dave's outstretched hand suggested it was the latter.

"This better be good young man. My diary is triple booked weeks in advance. And however smart you and that PA of yours think you are, I strongly suggest a large bunch of flowers for my assistant. Now get talking, quickly, otherwise you'll have more than a couple of black eyes to worry about."

The frostiness wasn't a surprise, but instead of being nervous or intimidated, Dave just found himself in awe of this giant man that possessed such power in his words and presence in his stature. Good news was that the black eyes had been covered in the first 30 seconds, so that was a relief.

"I'm sorry Bill. I've been knee deep in it all day. I'll make sure your assistants desk is adequately adorned with a plentiful selection of flowers of the highest calibre."

"Young David. Get your nose out of whichever arse it's up and tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

So assertive. Dave had a definite man crush. He stood, speechless, drooling ever so slightly and just gawping into Bill's penetrating eyes.

"David...NOW."

"Sorry Bill." Dave hadn't prepared for this. It was time think on his feet. "Look, I took onboard what you said the other day. We've got a meeting here now with Food United Group and a chance to meet their entire Executive, including their new Regional CEO. I know its short notice but I had to pull a few strings to get access. You know what it's like."

The frosty man was thawing. He was hiding his smile, but his face was softening. "Continue."

"Well, whilst it is amazing to secure this meeting by itself, and I could have easily handled it myself, you are our CEO and I thought your attendance would add kudos and credibility to whatever they ask us to talk about. The one side effect of negotiating a last minute meeting with people of this level is that you never know what the topic will be, and I couldn't think of anyone more appropriate to bring along. By virtue of your position at CEC, you were the only candidate sir. And whilst I don't like to admit it, I didn't think I could do it without you."

Dave looked solemnly down at the floor. It was the only tactic to hide the small grin that nearly gave away his small untruth.

"Well that has cleared that up. It pretty much confirms that your nose was up my ass."

Both men chuckled with a unity that defied the years, inches and honesty that separated them.

"We should head in. It's nearly time."

"Yeah, let's talk tactics in the lift. Obviously you know the client better, but with all my experience, it makes sense for me to lead the conversation."

"Absolutely sir. I'll just join in as and when it is appropriate."

The final part of the plan was in place. Nothing could go wrong from here. The plan worked with either scenario.

Dave had never really bothered to listen in Religious Studies at School. He instead viewed it as essential planning time for his next teenage business venture. It was for that reason, and his complete ignorance towards the topic that made him surprised by his own ability to adopt the "Goliath" strategy. Maybe the bible had learnt it from the business world?

In his sling shot, Dave had 3 hours solid research of Cultural Diversity, and his Goliath was his towering leader. He didn't want to slay him though. In this modern day re-enactment, the important demonstration was of power, knowledge and presence. In Dave's head, this experience would show Bill just how powerful Dave was, and move the goal posts back in Dave's favour. Tactically it was clever. Strategically brilliant. Well those were Dave's thoughts at least. The fact that he'd managed to keep Bill in the dark gave him a definite edge. Dave didn't fail from these elevated positions. It just didn't happen.

And on the off chance he did, then the only reason would be that Goliath would have put in a hell of a performance to save the day, and a performance of that calibre was sure to impress Food United Group. When Bill had said that he wanted them as a client, Dave had never assumed that he'd do all the work himself.

***

Chapter What Goes Around

***

"WOW". Both Dave and Bill muttered the same silent word as they entered the room. Neither had seen the plush surroundings of the Food United Group Board Room. The table was big enough to double as a football pitch, and the chairs could comfortably sit an arena full of people. But their admiration wasn't for the decor.

Dave turned to Bill to fill him in. "Jason mentioned that the PA's were good here, but still."

There was one that they were both focused on. Her skin was a smooth olive tone and exuded years of care and attention. Absolutely flawless. Her outfit was tight, yet formal. She oozed control and her aura was welcoming. She turned and approached Dave and Bill, before they could make it over to Tim Parkin. "Very efficient. I like it. A PA with initiative...I didn't think they existed."

Bill and Dave shared a chuckle as the lady approached. Dave avoided eye contact. In the seconds it took her to stride towards them, Dave had already decided on his tactic. This woman clearly had beauty on her side and an elegance that defied words, but women had already tried to scupper his plans for promotion once already, and he wasn't going to let some super-hot steaming goddess put him off this time. This was the last chance saloon, and with 3 hours of research and a carefully planned series of conversations, Dave had got Bill into the room and his fool proof plan was in place. Either he'd impress Food United Group with his new knowledge of Cultural Diversity, or Bill would completely wow them with his on the spot thinking. Either way, the exhibition of sheer confidence and ability would secure Food United Group as a client and in turn, guarantee Dave his promotion. "Focus Dave. Focus. This is your destiny." Talking to himself had been a recent development but he found it very reassuring, and he was usually right.

"David?"

Unbelievable. Not only was she stunning close up with her glistening eyes and sumptuous lips, but the words that passed those very lips would melt the average businessman to a dribbling spectator. Not Dave. "Very efficient though. Very, very efficient, and very impressive" he thought to himself. She knows my name. I like that. One bit of feedback that Dave would have liked to have given was that her frown really wasn't her best look, but there was no time for distraction.

"Afternoon love. I'll get a large macchiato please, and Bill here will have a decaffeinated soy non-fat latte. We're here for the presentation. Tim's expecting us. Thanks."

Dave attributed her look of confusion to the strange drink concoction that he'd ordered for Bill. To reassert his authority and indicate the end of the first battle, Dave gave the lady a gentle pat on the shoulder as he passed her and in the same movement motioned to Bill to follow. They headed with nonchalance towards the group of aging, grey suited men, all talking in the same tone seemingly about the same topic.

Dave's facial recognition software in his head was furiously analysing the men, looking for the new person. The one they had to impress. The one that held the key to his fate. He must be here somewhere.

"Tim, hi, how are you?" Shaking hands, Dave elected to forgo Tim's answer in preference for keeping on the front foot. First mover advantage was everything in this game of chess. "This is Bill Hennessey, the CEO of CEC Services. We like to bring our best people to the biggest events."

The speed of Dave and his definite delivery meant that Tim was able to hide his confusion. Why on earth was the CEO of CEC Services attending a general chat on Cultural Diversity? The piece of work wasn't worth that much. Still, Tim took a breath and swapped any confusion for enthusiasm. Wheeling out big hitters like this to his boss would surely go some way to show what a key person he was in the senior management team, which wasn't all bad. Knowledge by association could work wonders for him.

Bill seamlessly entered the nearby conversation of a few older gentlemen who were discussing the impact of the economy and interest rates on business. That was Bill's forte and comfort zone, and Dave was pleased at his display. Effortless and yet very impressive. He wondered if David had been in admiration of Goliath before taking him on.

"So Tim, how is your day going?" Dave was willing to listen now as he wanted to move quickly from the idle chit chat to discover how the arrival of Ronnie Patel had gone.

"Yeah, mixed bag really. Some interesting news that I can fill you in on later that doesn't really affect me so much, but we're still on to present about Cultural Diversity, so thanks for sorting out Kipto and for coming along. I really didn't expect you to bring the big guns, but no complaints."

"Come on Tim, it was the least I could do to help. I know a fair bit about the topic, and I know it's something that Bill can happily talk about. Our workforce is quite diverse too; we've pretty much got one of everything." Dave was so focused; he didn't see Tim's stunned face." We just wanted to exhibit to your entire management team that we are deadly serious about working with Food United Group, and putting our best resources on every engagement. Anyway, haven't you got some of your own big hitters here today?"

Dave again glanced around the room. There were no obvious signs of an older Indian man, which he'd searched for in his first pass of the room. Next, he'd just looked for an old man that he didn't recognise, which narrowed it down to much of the rest of the people in the room. The anticipation of meeting his maker had softened his usual stern face. The excitement of Tim's answer was almost too much. But on the exterior, whilst his heart raced, his body revealed nothing other than calmness and his usual arrogant confidence.

"Yeah, Ronnie. The bearer of the interesting news. You've met haven't you?"

"I don't believe so Tim, but you know, an introduction wouldn't go amiss." Dave immediately followed Tim's gaze, hoping for an advantage in working out which one Ronnie was. Every second counted in this game. A chance to review Ronnie in the moments leading up to the formal introduction would benefit Dave massively in terms of preparing his patter and directing his deliberate eyes.

Tim's eyes softened and a brief child like grin covered his face. It was part embarrassment and part humour.

"David Derek Marsdon, this is the first time and last time I make you a coffee. Now I suggest you say hello before I get upset."

Dave's brain froze at the exact moment that his legs turned to jelly. Instant paralysis struck most of his body as all emotion, other than fear, left his facial expression. He maintained his position, not out of stubbornness, but lack of control. There were no messages going from his brain to anywhere else in his body. He was motionless, other than his eyes which very quickly noticed that the entire room was watching whatever was unfolding. Dave was great at thinking on his feet, but the words that had just rattled around his ears were so unexpected and debilitating, that his feet had deserted him along with all his other senses.

In the corner of his right eye, he saw a perfectly prepared Macchiato coming into sight, gripped by the perfect olive skin. It was a sight that normally sparked a frenzy of thoughts. Coffee and confidence were his fuel. But something wasn't right, and Dave's head could only compute one transaction right now.

"Nobody knows my middle name. Nobody. It was impossible. Maybe he'd mis-heard her. It was such a non-issue even if she did happen to know it, but how? Nobody knew. Well, practically nobody, and certainly no-one who worked at Food United Group." Dave didn't want to engage in conversation with someone who might have insider information on him, and the concealment then revelation of his middle name had taken him by surprise.

Dave's mind replayed the conversation in his head, searching for evidence. He hadn't been initially surprised when she knew his name, even though it was the more formal 'David' that he didn't often go by. That though alone was an easy mistake to make, and hardly constituted a clue. The fact that she knew his name in the first place was surely a sign of good preparation by Food United Group PA's and a sign of respect for Dave's seniority and standing in the corporate world.

Buoyed by his analysis, Dave suddenly realised. With the advance of technology and in the name of good planning, the attractive lady had probably just Googled Dave. Naturally, she wanted to know who she was dealing with, and it had worked. There were plenty of pictures, and there were probably a few articles from the various conferences that Dave had been a guest speaker. The middle name conundrum was harder to solve, but not impossible. With so many social networking sites and online publication of material, it was unfeasible for her to work out his middle name. The only part of the play back that Dave couldn't rationalise was the 'why'. Why would she use his middle name? Why would she use that tone. And why on earth would a PA expect a hello.

"Halleluiah!" It was a real brain teaser, but Dave had finally worked it out. The little trick by the people at Food United Group had nearly got him and very nearly deceived even his highly analytical and polished brain. The clues were the fact that she was a woman, a PA and had olive skin. This was a test of Dave's belief in Cultural Diversity. Very clever. It all made sense to him now. Food United Group didn't want advisers who knew lots about Cultural Diversity, they wanted partners who believed in Cultural Diversity, so it was time for Dave to pass to the test.

With the eyes of the room upon him, the light and energy was fully replenished in Dave's body having solved the riddle, and he regained the use of his faculties. Armed with the solution in his head, Dave took his macchiato from the PA, and slowly span around. The transition was amazing, as he was now glad that every eye in the room was on him. The board room really was his home, his stage and his arena in which to shine.

Dave spoke with purpose, and a volume that enabled the whole room to share in his brilliance.

"Hello there. It is very nice to meet you, and thank you so much for the coffee. We're all equal in this room, but you do have a slight advantage in that you know my name, but I don't know yours. I'm keen to meet everyone here who is contributing to this meeting, whatever their role, background or beliefs."

Dave felt like he was delivering perfection. Bill was cringing.

Reaching out his hand, Dave delivered the killer blow.

"I think we'll start with a hand shake shall we, and then we can rub noses once we all get to know each other better." He was the only person laughing in the room, but his volume was enough to fill the massive space.

"Why don't I do the introductions?" Tim couldn't help but interrupt and save his business partner and the rest of the meeting, before Dave said anything else wrong.

"Dave Marsdon, Director from CEC Services who we've been doing a mixture of engagements with, and who is with us today to talk about Cultural Diversity." Tim restrained himself from any irony.

"Dave, meet Ronnie Patel."

Unfortunately the ground didn't swallow him up. There was no point in praying either. He'd been a non-believer for too long. The door looked far away and his legs weren't working, so an escape wasn't on the cards. He'd have to face the music. One thing was certain; this was the lowest point of his career so far. In fact, it was one of the lowest points in his life.

"It's OK Tim, David and I go way back. Don't we?"

It couldn't get worse, surely. With the remaining functions that hadn't yet deserted him, Dave once again racked his brain. He'd met a myriad of women in the last month or so, and pissed off pretty much all of them. This could be a disaster. If they'd met online through the websites, she'd not know him as he never revealed his real name. The blind date looked very different. Speed dating? Not a chance; there was no-one remotely this attractive at that event. Which only left the fateful Thursday night in the club with Jason. Looking the PA up and down subtly, Dave was pretty confident that there was no one there that night that looked anywhere near as stunning as this smiling perfection that was stood before him, even with the beer goggles on. Who was this assassin who seemed to have her heart set on single handily bringing down his career? What were her motivations? Who'd primed her with information? Who knew his plan?

Tim looked equally confused. Ronnie had only been in the country for less than 24 hours, and even someone with Dave's appetite would have struggled to have got an introduction in that time. Plus, if they'd met already, the surely Dave would know the news that she came to deliver, in which case, why would he be here now.

"So you are Dave now eh. Seems like we're both going by slightly different names. Oh come on; please don't tell me that you've forgotten me already?"

To the rest of the room, the lack of precise information was creating all kinds of thoughts. They'd clearly met before, and they'd both used different names. Every single man in the room could empathise with Dave. They'd all had a dalliance every now and then, and lived in fear of the day that one of their conquests came back to haunt them. To each and every one of the grey suits in the room, it seemed obvious that this was the case. The mistress had arrived, and he didn't recognise her. That was going to hurt.

"Come here you idiot and give me a hug. Stop messing around. You always were good at keeping a straight face."

Ronnie Patel lurched forward, and with every ounce of love in her body, she gave Dave the biggest and nicest hug he'd had in years. He didn't reciprocate. He couldn't move. Sensing the lack of participation, Ronnie leaned back and looked deep into Dave's eyes.

"Dave, it's me."

As their eyes locked, her name rushed through every sinew of his lax body and his droopy eyes sparked into life as the shock instantly hit the extremities of his perplexed figure. With so much adrenalin pumping around his veins, Dave was struggling to get the word out as he hugged back. His grip was tight, and filled with a mixture of emotions. Fear, shock, surprise and complete and utter confusion. This wasn't familiar ground for him. It had been a long time since he'd held someone which such vigour and commitment, and he hadn't anticipated that it would be in the board room of Food United Group with their leader, in front of a room of 20 observing grey suits.

"Veronica Cartwright?"

"David Marsdon."

They embraced as one.

***

Chapter Alone, Confused and Defeated

***

Ronnie excused the reunited friends and led Dave to an adjoining meeting room. The catch up was simple and factual.

"Yeah, my Mum and Dad split up, so me and Mum moved from Sheffield around the UK with a few different relatives, before her Uncle asked us over to the USA. I've been living there since and working for my Uncle. Once my Mum got her divorce through, she went back to her maiden name and I decided to do the same. And well, as for the Ronnie thing, blame my teenage years for that. Veronica sounded too stuck up, so I've been known as Ronnie since my college years. Anyway, my Uncle hasn't been well recently so I've been doing more and more."

"Hang on. Your Uncle Patel is Rashid Patel? As in the Owner and CEO of Food United Group?"

"Yeah, Uncle Rashi. His health isn't so great, but I've been his right hand woman for about 6 years now, so it made sense for me to take over the reins whilst he gets better. Which is also why I had to come to the UK for the announcement. Anyway, how are you? How are your parents? And Anne? Oh, and that friend of yours. I can picture his face, but I could never remember his name. Kinda plain guy, quite un-assuming, but nice enough."

"Tony. Ha, he is good. He is now also known as my brother-in-law and father to my niece and nephew. Him and Anne have been married for years now. My folks are good. They still live in the same house on the same street in the same Sheffield. So how did the announcement go down? I assume you mean the worst kept corporate secret that you are acquiring a whole load of businesses around Europe that you will amalgamate into the Food United Group empire?"

There was a subtle smile on Dave's face that hid the joy behind it. It was great to catch up with an old friend, but ever better when that old friend was the unassuming keeper of the key to his biggest achievement yet. He no longer had to rely on his fragile knowledge of Cultural Diversity to secure Food United Group as a major client for CEC Services. Veronica would obviously favour him over anyone else, and the promotion would be his. Whilst his plan had been masterful, maybe it was time for him to give credence to the idea that it isn't always what you know. Sometimes it's who you know.

"Really, are those the rumours that were flying around? I'd read a few of the broadsheets and some of the online news reports, but they all spoke generically about what we might do. So what have you heard Mr Marsdon Director Man? And why have you got black eyes?"

"The black eyes will have to wait. Well, I keep my ear to the ground and know a few people. Word was that you were going to acquire a few major competitors and create a massive European food conglomerate. Out of 10, how right am I?"

"Out of 10? About 1."

"What do you mean?"

"Me and Uncle Rashi have spent the last few months in conversations with various Treasury, Industry and Competition Commission heads, and it turns out that we'd get blocked at every possible avenue. Europe just isn't going to cut it for us right now, so we're going to get rid of a few non-core business units and focus our efforts on North America and Asia Pacific. It's where the growth and the profits are."

"So no acquisitions? And no massive project? And no business transformation? And no need for lots of super intelligent and highly efficient consultants to expedite the projects?"

"Quite right David. It will be business as usual for Food United Group in Europe, as they are a good enterprise, but it's just not got the growth we can get elsewhere, and there are just too many barriers. Don't worry though; it shouldn't affect the Cultural Diversity Project that you are involved in."

"Great news." Dave did a poor job of hiding his disappointment.

"Look, we should crack on with the meeting. They'll all be wondering what is going on. I can't begin to imagine what they are all thinking back in there. I know it's short notice, but I've got no plans tonight if you are free. You could even bring your wife or partner or whoever along. It would be great to catch up Dave."

"Yeah, I'm free tonight. But it will be just me if that is alright. No wife to speak of as such. You know what it's like climbing the corporate ladder with someone in tow. Well, I mean..."

"Dave stop. It's OK. I haven't got a wife either. Or a husband, life partner or significant other. Uncle Rashi has kept me far too busy for any distractions like that. 8pm at the Hyatt. I'll meet you downstairs. Now let's go chat about Cultural Diversity, and let's see if you can't offend me some more with your stereotypes; the attractive ethnic girl must be the coffee maker eh?"

Both of them laughed heartily. It felt good to laugh, but Dave knew that the news he'd just got from Veronica wouldn't get a giggle out of Bill. On the scales of life, Dave had just gained a friend and probably lost a promotion. He wasn't sure which one had more weighting.

As Dave took his seat next to Bill, the room looked on in anticipation for confirmation of the story they weren't going to hear. Bill's eyes quizzed Dave as if to say "you didn't did you?", so Dave put him out of his misery and gave him the good news. He'd save the bad news for later. For now, it was important that Bill could imagine Dave as a partner, because it was more than Dave could muster.

"She's an old friend, and a very close friend. We went to school together."

Bill's face and posture lit up with excitement.

"Excellent news young man. And very well played too. You had us all fooled. You really are showing that you've got the potential for this new role haven't you?"

Dave decided that any more information now would be detrimental. It made sense for Bill to follow his assumptions and spend as long as possible imagining Dave as a partner. Once he heard the rest of Dave's story, the imagery was sure to be replaced with anger.

***

Chapter Comfortable, Conclusions and Confusions

***

"Mum, you remember Veronica don't you?"

"Oh my giddy aunt I do. And how kind the years have been to you? Simply stunning." As mothers do, Jane reached out her hand and placed it on Ronnie's arm, as if to re-assure her that the words were true. "You know dear, I must admit that it's just nice to see David bring a girl home. We've been convinced for years that he might be a bit ABCD. You know, all them bad influences down in London and all that. I won't tell you what they called it in my day, but I think you kids call it cosmopolitan. Just a bloody excuse for piercings, tattoos and dyed hair." Jane's smile was beaming. It was like his mum's coming of age.

Dave, normally one to avidly avoid such occasions was blushing, but loving every moment. The week had been a strange one, but he was starting to feel amazingly comfortable with his new life. Work was very much still an important part of his day, but Dave had caught up with Ronnie every night since their chance meeting, and he was blossoming with feelings that had previously appeared immune in his body.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Anne was here, and the sight of Ronnie was nearly too much for her to contain herself. The tipping point seemed to be when she noticed them holding hands, at which point the extinct volcano of her eyes and nose erupted in unison. Tears flowed and snot rockets appeared.

"And you wonder why I never brought a girl home. I feared this reaction you know!" But a normal angry comment from Dave had softened and become banter after his 7 days with Ronnie.

"So come on then. Mum's already put the kettle on, and Dad's gone with Tony to the off-licence and won't be back for about 10mins, so crack on with the story little brother. You can fill the boys in later."

Then it happened. The miracle that no-one expected and no-one saw coming. Veronica's grip on Dave's hand tightened ever so slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough to get the reaction she required. His silence. No-one close to Dave had ever witnessed him be overpowered in a conversation, but for once in his life, he seemed more than content to share the limelight. After all, she looked stunning in the limelight.

"I flew in last week for some meetings. Neither of us realised that we'd be in the same meeting, and in fact your son here mistook me for a PA and ordered me to go get him a coffee. Anyway, we've caught up a few times this last week and shared our stories along with a few bottles of wine, and I was just dying to see all the faces that Dave included in his wonderful tales. You all look so wonderful."

She was lying. The Sheffield weather had battered Jane, who looked older, paler and more pastel than ever. But today, there was a radiance of joy in her face that was warming the room. Anne looked like a former beauty model who'd just been released from The Priory. Her addiction; children.

"Well Veronica, you simply look stunning. You must tell us your secret later. I'll go stir the tea. You kids make yourselves at home." Jane was on her way.

"This is home mum." Dave's words were meant to be kind, but now Jane joined Anne. Instead of an eruption of tears, the older Jane opted for a lady like dab of the eyes with her handkerchief and gentle snivel. Her kids were home, they were happy and things were good.

The Spanish inquisition began in earnest when Derek and Tony arrived back from the bottle shop. Armed with Lambrusco, Blue Nun and a 12 pack of beers, the family swapped the weak tea for something a bit stronger. In between drinks, Jane would skip upstairs, a little more flush than the time before. Each time, she'd quickly make up one of the rooms in the house, and by the end of the drinks, there was a bed for nearly everyone. Or nearly a bed for everyone. They were all too tipsy to tell.

The house had never been big at the best of times, but with three generations and partners in tow, the Marsdon house was at its cosiest, but no-one complained. Dave and Veronica were sharing a bed for the first time ever, and Dave felt like a 14 year old again. Not just because of the excitement and trepidation of sharing a bed with a girl, but because they were in his old racing car bed. The thought of changing or upgrading Dave and Anne's bedrooms had been too much for Anne, so they'd been carefully restored and maintained to their former beauty. Circa 1992.

"I see your parents did the usual thing and turned your bedroom into an office as soon as you moved out?"

"Ha, not quite. This is actually exactly how I left it, only tidier." They both giggled like school kids.

"Thank you Dave. I've had a wonderful time."

"Don't thank me Miss Patel. I've had a brilliant time. I've never seen my mum beam so much. Apologies if she has been a bit full on, but I fear she is probably trying on wedding hats in their room."

Both of them chuckled and Dave smirked. He really did like the new him. New and improved Dave Marsdon. What felt best to Dave was that he had no thoughts about a strategy or tactics? No planning for a rule of 3. No working out what he could leverage. For once in his life, he'd taken his foot off the accelerator and let fate take over, and he was kind of enjoying it.

"Dave, I've got a favour to ask. In fact, two favours."

Dave coughed to clear his throat. "Should I be nervous?"

"Always. Ha, no don't be nervous. The first one of them will be something you've probably done thousands of times, but the other one might be hard for you."

"Oh er. Go on then, try me."

"Neither requires words."

In the soft light, she looked truly angelic, with a black painted steering wheel just behind her head. Slowly, but confidently, Ronnie leaned forward and their lips touched. Dave had thought about this moment constantly during the last week, but had ruled it out after the first failed attempt. It felt amazing. She was soft and sensual. She was warm and welcoming. She liked him and he liked that.

Dave was relieved to see that she was still there as their lips parted and his eyes slowly opened. If there had been room, he would have pinched himself.

"So that makes me Miss One thousand and one?"

Before Dave had time to respond, their lips were touching again and the softness and composure with which they kissed sent shivers throughout his body.

Dave lay back and smiled. It was inevitable that it would all come out now. With his guard down, and with her twinkling eyes talking volumes to him, it was time to drop the mask. He knew it. He had to lower the veil. Will the real Dave Marsdon please stand up? Taking the deep breath that he required to relax every muscle in his body, Dave structured the stories in his head, removed any agendas and decided it was time to tell the truth.

As he rolled over to commence the ultimate presentation of his life, he realised that he'd achieved Veronica's second favour without saying a word. She just wanted Dave to be Dave. No performance and no pretence.

Leading forward to kiss her gently on the forehead, Dave had a chance to admire his new success who was fast asleep.

"If only you knew Ronnie, if only you knew."

***

Chapter Take Aim and Fire

***

"I just wish I'd done it when I was 16 like everyone else."

The inevitable had been plaguing Dave's mind for the entire drive back to London. The conversation had flowed with its now customary ease, and they nattered away like a couple very much in the honeymoon period. To a passer by, they'd never know that these inseparable love birds had only been reunited a week before and had only shared their first kiss in the last 24 hours.

Despite all of his powers over his mind, the same thought and scenario was replaying through his mind, and it never ended well. In fact there were a multitude of bad endings, leading to embarrassment, shame, disappointment and even one scenario that required corrective surgery.

"What was that honey?"

Dave hadn't realised that his deepest thoughts had escaped and transcended the in car conversation. Time to back track.

"Oh, I meant I just wished I kissed you back in the day. You know, when I first had a chance. Well I'm not saying I had a chance. You know what I mean?"

"Ha. You sound just like a nervous teenager. Anyone would have thought that you'd never kissed a girl before. Anyway, what do you mean 'like everyone else'? What could you possibly be suggesting?"

Now wasn't the time for the truth. New Dave preferred eye contact, and a simple blink or blush from Ronnie could cover a Bible full of words from anyone else, and Dave needed to gauge the reaction on this one. It could be catastrophic. He didn't want corrective surgery. Was it even possible to break it? He'd have to Google it when he got a chance.

"Do you want to come to the hotel for dinner tonight? I was thinking that given its location, for the sake of convenience, you could stay over. You know, we could swing past yours on the way, grab your suit and stuff, and then you don't have to rush home after dinner. And you'll be closer to work. Logistically it makes sense. I know how time poor you are, and you need to start on your boss early to convince him that you still deserve that promotion."

"Yes, that certainly sounds convenient and logistically compelling. Though I was hoping to send a few e-mails tonight."

"Well that works perfectly. I have a bit of reading to do, and there is a study in my room, so let's lock an hour to one side to catch up on our work before dinner. Good thinking."

"Yeah, but I was also thinking..."

"Don't tell me you were going to wash your hair or something silly like that. If you don't want to stay Dave, I understand." Her face suggested otherwise.

"Of course I want to stay. I mean, of course I will stay."

Back at his apartment, Dave took control of the situation.

"Look, it won't take me 2 minutes, so why don't you wait here and I'll just go and grab what I need."

"Are you sure? Is there evidence of your other women up there that you don't want me to see?"

"Yes dear. It's a shrine to the woman past and present that have adorned my apartment. You stay here. I'll be right back."

Dave urgently needed some time with his mentor and coach, but there was a problem. Staring blankly into the mirror, it was clear that Ronnie was his kryptonite. He'd lost his powers of self-persuasion. What was most worrying, was that as far as this topic was concerned, his mentor was the only person who was as under qualified as he was.

Dave grabbed his things and just had time for one more mirror consultation.

"You can do this mate, you really can. And with her too. She is wonderful. You are brilliant at everything you put your mind too, so just focus and go with the flow."

Far from convinced, Dave returned to the car.

"Thank you Dave. I appreciate that you are busy and I've already taken up a lot of your time this week, but this means a lot to me."

"Ah, don't be daft. We have to make the most of our opportunities don't we."

"Very true. Ha, for a moment then, I thought you were going soft on me."

Dave closed his eyes as he accelerated away. That was seriously the wrong phrase. He knew what she really meant, but it added another scenario to his worried mind.

***

Chapter Rush of Blood to The Head

***

Relaxing in Ronnie's hotel room, Dave was back in the zone. Flicking through his work e-mails, he noted that there were now a good collection of messages from Bill Hennessey wanting confirmation of the rumours he'd heard about Food United Group. Whilst the information hadn't officially gone public again, it was natural for Bill to have many fingers in many pies. His suspicions were true, but Dave was holding off breaking the news. The confirmation that Food United Group wasn't going through a massive acquisition spree in Europe would put an end to them as a target for CEC Services and with it, Dave's promotion chance, which would be laid to rest for another year.

"Dave, can I get you a glass of wine?"

"No thanks, just in the middle of right now."

"OKAY. I might pour us both one and maybe we can chat shortly. There are a few things we should discuss."

"Erm, yeah. I need about 10 minutes to wrap this up."

"Perfect." With a wink and a stroke of his shoulders, the sleek and slender Ronnie smoothly strolled passed his view. "In that case, I'll go freshen up. I'll be in the bathroom if you need me for anything...urgent."

Dave's heart was ready to leave his body. Everything he'd always wanted was being discussed in the e-mails that he was trying to digest. But the thing he thought he never wanted was suddenly the temptation and distraction that he'd feared. What he'd never realised before was the persuasion, power and lure that a woman could provide.

Sitting back, with the mesmerising noise of the shower in the background, it was time to perform a stock-take. The horizons had changed. His three phase plan to get a woman and gain promotion had both failed and succeeded. Whilst throughout the last month or so Dave had felt that he'd completely wasted his time and taken his eye off the ball, he'd inadvertently experienced a very powerful lesson.

It was now. He had two options. He could wait for Ronnie to finish in the shower and talk her through his concerns, hope that she'd empathise and then hope even more that she could help him over his nerves. Or there was the braver option 2. There was no choice really. Dave knew it was time to stand up and be counted. He wanted to join the group. The clan that he'd avoided joining for all these years.

Dave slowly and purposely removed his clothes, folding them neatly on the bed. Tidiness wasn't his objective, but he was buying himself time to calm down. To relax and to focus. To perform.

Standing at the door way to the bathroom, the significance of the moment hit him. The weight lifted from his shoulders as he allowed reflection to be a part of his life for the first time. It seemed tonight was going to be the night for a lot of firsts.

He thought through his journey. He was amazingly proud of his success to date and had no regrets for his tactics and approach to getting where he'd got. It had been the right use of the right tools for the right job. But the time he'd spent with Ronnie had shown Dave that sharing and caring can add to your powers, and he felt that he had new weaponry at his disposal.

Dave had been scared of change, because change meant admitting that you were wrong. This wasn't the case anymore. Dave's new echelon of confidence was brimming from the edges, and it was a confidence that was being sourced from someone else. Someone who gave to him without taking, and didn't deplete in the process. Ronnie was his catalyst not his kryptonite.

She didn't steal his power. She enabled him. She made him better. She silently gave him permission to be him, and for that to be alright. That confirmation and backing had unleashed a belief in Dave that he'd never experienced before, and a poise that didn't verge on the arrogant.

The pep talk was over. Whatever the challenges that lay ahead, he was the man for the job. He was the man to walk into that bathroom and do what any red blooded male should do. He was the man to walk into Bill Hennessey's office tomorrow morning and explain why he deserved to be a partner.

Whilst his brain was confident, his faculties were petrified. His conviction was there, but this was still uncharted territory for Dave. New waters and new adventures came with a twinge of fear about the unknown.

His shaking hand grabbed the door handle, and before doubt could affect his body, Dave sternly twisted the handle and fixed his view directly ahead as he thrust the door open.

The view wasn't quite what he'd expected. The pep talk had taken away from his concentration and Dave hadn't noticed that the shower had turned off.

Seeing that tremendous and perfectly formed curvaceous body in its full delight and glistening with drips of water was too much for Dave. He focused firmly on a drip of water that was about to fall from her ear. It fell, and his eyes followed intently. It joined another slow stream of water on her shoulder and down. Down it went. "Oh dear lord. Focus man. Brave men seize opportunities. This is how nature intended it." He didn't hear Ronnie scream.

***

Chapter Talk Your Way Into Bed

***

"Now that is the most innovative way of getting a woman into bed that I have ever seen. Storm into the bathroom naked when she is naked, and then faint. Cunning."

"What the...did I faint?"

"I think so. I expected the blood to rush to your extremities when you saw me naked, but I guess you chose the wrong extremity." Ronnie giggled to ease Dave's obvious nerves.

"Ronnie, there is something I need to tell you."

"Oh god. You aren't married are you? Gay? You're not a married gay?"

"No, I'm none of those things. I need to tell you a story. A story that starts with you, and finishes with you now. Just promise me you'll be gentle?"

"Dave. We're both laying here as naked as they day we were born. Just over a week ago we'd both forgotten that the other person existed. Last night we shared our first kiss in your racing car bed under the same roof as your parents. I'll be gentle."

"OK. Imagine you've got the keys to an amazing car. The car is raring to be driven. And you are raring to drive the car. But as you approach the car and realise its value, significance, importance and sheer beauty, you realise you can't drive the car. Because you are a learner driver."

"Dave, what the hell are you talking about? You drove really well today."

"I'M A VIRGIN!"

That was the end of the story. For the next hour, Dave went back to the mix tape, and they chuckled their way through a bottle of wine, giggling on the bed, cuddling and sharing stories.

And then without any planning, executing or measuring, it just happened. Dave was relieved that there was no measuring, as the statistics on this occasion didn't seem too flattering.

Taking a sip of wine from her glass on the table, a cheeky looking Ronnie looked at Dave.

"You were a virgin."

Dave smiled. He never wanted this to end. He'd learnt the lesson he'd never signed up for, had an experience he hadn't asked for, and was with a woman that he could never have wished for. Life was brilliant. Ronnie's visit had been a blessing in disguise, but it was just that. A visit.

"Now can I tell you my story?"

"Oh god. You aren't married are you? Or a lesbian? Or a married lesbian?"

"Ha, no, nothing that drastic, but something quite exciting. I got a mail from Uncle Rashi before I went for my shower. The CEO of European Operations has resigned because of the failed acquisitions and Uncle Rashi wants me to relocate here for the foreseeable future until he finds a replacement. Looks like I might be moving to London."

Dave rolled on top of Ronnie and showed her how happy he was with that news.

On his way to work the following morning, a very content Dave reached for his mobile whilst waiting at a set of lights. Searching for a bookmarked page on the internet, he added a final e-mail address and hit send. He was having his party whether he got promoted or not. Life was worth celebrating.

***

Chapter Back To Reality

***

"You better have a bloody good story to tell me. I mean something that involves the massacre of your entire family and a series of funerals and communications breakdowns that maybe, just maybe, make it slightly alright that you have avoided, screened and ignored every single one of my messages for the last week?"

There was steam coming from every orifice of Bill's fuming body. His posture even yelled anger. The confidence Dave had felt on approach had quickly escaped and hidden somewhere far away. Maybe now wasn't the right situation to try out his new techniques. It made sense and was much safer to go with a trusted old technique, such as 'tell the truth, but avoid the facts.'

"Well Sir, I've spent a lot of time with Miss Patel this week and we've covered an awful lot of ground. I can promise you that I've tried everything . I can safely say that I've gone well beyond the normal call of duty."

Dave loved presenting the facts in a way that made him look like a martyr. There was no need to tell Bill that he'd woken up in the arms of the new love of his life, and that as well as being unbelievably stunning as a physical specimen, she was his perfect match too. They'd enjoyed a wonderful breakfast at the hotel talking about 'leveraging opportunities', 'marginal cost of effectiveness over efficiency' and 'cross pollination of business ideas to generate innovation'. The fact that nothing of what they said made tangible sense wasn't important. They shared the same language and love for the ridiculous when it came to the business world. They shared a cut throat desire to be the best, lavishly topped with a confidence that everything they were doing was right. The icing on Dave's cake had been when Ronnie had told a story about a fellow Executive that she'd worked with in the USA. "She was doing really well and under my guidance had achieved some solid promotions. Then she suddenly announces to me over drinks that she is trying for a baby? What kind of message does that send? In one breath she suggests that she is dedicated to the company and its success, then in the next, she blindly admits that her dedication lies elsewhere."

"Young man. Why didn't you share this news with me earlier? Why did you hide?"

"Sir, I would never hide from you. You are my role model at CEC. I was merely performing my due diligence and getting as much information as possible. The fact that the acquisitions didn't go ahead didn't mean there were no opportunities for us."

"Oh, you are going to surprise me with some good news then? You are going to tell me something that will enable me to give you this promotion you think you deserve?"

"No sir." Dave felt defeated. In those words, the man he'd admired for so long was cutting the chord on his bungee rope and setting Dave free. Free into a wilderness of mediocracy. His balanced life with Ronnie in the last week had made him exceptionally happy, but stood in front of the giant now; he wondered how long that joy would last. He wasn't ready to give up, not yet. He'd worked too hard for this.

"What was that young man?"

"Look Bill, I'd prefer it if you didn't call me young man. I am here on merit. I am stood in your office because I respect you and wanted to fill you in personally on what the situation was. I am the best performing person at my level by a long way and we both know that, but I still took on your challenge. I've taken on and nailed every challenge thrown at me in my time here. My date of birth merely reflects how long I've been in this world for; what counts in this room right now is the calibre of work I've performed, the money I've brought in for this company and my constant achievement of the goals that I've been set. They speak volumes about my potential."

"They do David. But you have to remember that in my world, there is a massive difference between potential and ability. The challenge I set you was your opportunity to show me that you aren't a flash in the pan. That you've not had a lucky few years. That you've not succeeded by riding the coat tails of those around you. That you haven't been a passenger in a booming market. That work hasn't just arrived at your feet. That you have the ability, not the potential, to consistently perform at the level to which I think a partner should." Each sentence was stabbing into Dave's body like acupuncture gone wrong. The words hurt more as Dave knew that they weren't fair and really weren't true, but there was little he could say. He'd tried and said his bit. The really strange part was that instead of wanting to fight, all he wanted to do was to be in the arms of Ronnie. She seemed to make bad things good.

"Well Bill, I have lunch with Miss Patel today. So whatever you want to attribute my success too, you certainly can't fault my commitment, eagerness and _ability_ to take on a challenge."

"David, please don't be disheartened. The world of being a leader can be a lonely one, and I need to know that you've got the smarts for this. I admire a lot of your qualities, but we have targets to meet and mouths to feed. That only happens when we win major clients, not when we make friends over lunch."

Dave was angry. His blood boiled inside, but he bit down hard to hold back the barrage of words that wanted to erupt out of his mouth. Bill had just used words that Dave had used a million times himself to manage his team and others around him, and being the recipient made him nauseous. He felt like he was at a turning point in his career and life.

"Now go and enjoy your lunch young man. And remember, there are always more candidates for promotion than there are positions available, so someone has got to miss out. Once the dust settles, maybe another year at your current standing will give you a chance to convince those that doubt your longevity."

Bill reached out to give Dave a firm hand shake, but the adrenalin wasn't there anymore. It was neither patronising nor warming. It didn't comfort or convince.

"Can I get a vodka tonic please?" The waiter hadn't yet asked about drinks, but Dave needed to calm his nerves. He felt unusually rattled and very confused.

"Wowsers. Bad morning darling?" Just hearing Ronnie's voice and seeing that gleaming smile turned Dave from rock hard butter to spreadable margarine.

It helped, in the same way paracetemol helps a hangover. It was a temporary relief, but there was more pain to come. Dave looked into her wondrous eyes and was lost in a world of passion. But the feeling wasn't all soft and cuddly. He felt like he was sat on the top of a very large mountain, one leg either side of the pinnacle. On one side, his world at CEC Services and everything he'd worked for, lived for and sacrificed for. His commitment to that life had been unequivocal, unquestionable and uncomplicated.

The tipping point that he was now party to, was that one leg was on the other side of the mountain. A side that he'd ignored sacrificed and avoided, for fear of interference. That and the fact that he didn't think he'd be any good at it. Dave had survived on the theory that you hide your weaknesses and play to your strengths. And that had worked, up until now. He never asked for this. Why had it suddenly become so complicated.

"I never asked for this."

"Sorry Sir, I thought you ordered a Vodka Tonic?"

"Oh yes, I did. I wasn't talking to you. Thanks."

"Were you talking to me darling? Should I be worried?"

Dave was flustered. The old inner monologue volume often played tricks on him and once again he'd let out a bleeper.

"Oh Ronnie, I am just so confused. You know what I told you last night. The secrets I shared with you. No-one was ever supposed to know them. They were mine, and I kept them well hidden. I had my disguise and it worked. Look at where it got me. And now I feel that by letting them out, I have weakened myself. That I am not as good. But I am good. In fact I am brilliant. Do you see what I mean?"

The taught and frustrated look on Dave's face made Ronnie want to giggle, but she sensed the serious undertone in his ramble. She reached for his hand.

"Dave. Life's a funny thing. As the Stones once sang, 'you can't always get what you want'. Even worse, every now and then you get what you think you want and you are disappointed when you get it. We can't always plan what happens, taking this case in point as a prime example. Look at us sat here. The week we've had and the randomness of it all. Now I'm going to guess that a sniper took a shot at you this morning and it hurt. Look at me Dave. You are wounded, but you are not beat. Your career will traverse industries, decades, fashions, booms, busts, and most importantly, you'll outlast Bill Hennessey. You are bigger and better than that. You have the support of your family, your friends and me. Your chance will come, of that I am sure."

Dave barely heard the words. In his head he could hear a gentle orchestra that was playing a beautiful lullaby, that as well as caressing his ears was carefully massaging every muscle in his body and sending him into a tranquil stupor. Luckily, the words that eased out of Ronnie's mouth interjected with the music and provided Dave with the headline he needed.

Bill's demanding, bullying and business chat had provided Dave with a role model and target, but in Ronnie, Dave had someone who finished him off. Polished him. She was his catalyst. This is why he didn't need a mentor, life coach or any of that crap. He'd more than survived by himself, but with Ronnie for support, he'd become even better. Maybe not today, but eventually.

"You complete me Miss Patel and you are a truly wonderful gift."

"Are you drunk?"

"Haaaa. No Ronnie. I've just realised something. Being able to take my mask off is a good thing. The energy and time that I will save by not pretending and by just being myself, can be re-invested elsewhere and it will make me even more successful. You don't like me despite my faults. You like me because of my faults. True?"

"Maybe I do more than like you Mr Marsdon. Should we take these drinks and have lunch upstairs? Maybe some room service?"

Dave didn't respond. He grabbed his drink, her hand and headed for the lift. Life was brilliant, and Ronnie Patel was amazing.

"Oh, and I accepted the invite for your _surprise_ party. I can't wait to meet your friends."

Sexy and clever. Could this get any better?

Dave was starting to realise that opportunities like this didn't come along very often. In business terms, and personal terms, he had to seal the deal before a rival bid came in.

***

Chapter What Leopards Can't Do

***

"Morning Sir."

Dave hadn't lost any weight but he felt lighter. He hadn't changed his diet but he had more energy.

"Morning Laura. Come in and sit down. I've got you a coffee."

Laura's look of utter shock was replaced by fear, as she saw Dave sit down. He was smiling. This was unheralded and unheard of behaviour for a man who took life and his career so seriously. What compounded things is that the news doing the rounds on the grapevine was that Dave wasn't going to get his promotion.

"Ermmm, thank you sir. Is everything OK? I mean are you alright?"

"Couldn't be better Laura. And you?"

"Suppose so. "

"Good, now sit down, grab your coffee and let's chat. I need a few favours from you in the next few days. Are you up for a challenge and some fun?"

"That depends sir. Not if you are going to take me out for lunch, get me drunk and proposition me to help you get a promotion."

"Laura, Laura, Laura. I never really thanked you enough or apologised nearly enough for that. I am extremely sorry for putting you in that situation, and even more grateful for the advice that you provided me with. You are a wonderful assistant and a brilliant friend."

Dave was doing that smiling thing again which unnerved Laura even more.

"But it didn't work Sir. My advice didn't work."

"Laura dearest, there is a difference between being right and something working. You were right with your advice and that is what I am thanking you for. Now onto matters at hand. I have a little secret to tell you. Can you keep a secret?"

Unnerved now moved into petrified. Dave was smiling, being nice and he'd bought her a coffee. Something was definitely up and whilst the suspense was killing Laura, finding out what was going on might be even worse. Laura was flustered, but trapped.

"I am excellent with secrets. When my sister told me about her threesome, I didn't tell anyone." Her mouth was working, but her brain wasn't engaged. "Bollocks, I didn't just tell you that!"

"Laura, calm down and drink some of your coffee. I've forgotten about your sisters endeavours. I need your help OK? As you may have noticed, you got an invite to a party on Thursday night."

"Yes Sir. Your surprise party."

"How did you know I sent that? No-one was supposed to know that the invites had come from me."

"Well sir, the wording kinda gave it away. Not many other people can get leverage, strategy, synergy and contingency into a party invite, but you did. And with all due respect sir, there is only one person I know who can do that."

"Thank you Laura." Now wasn't the time for her to explain that her statement was not a compliment. She wanted his good mood to continue. "So I need help with the party. I've got the venue sorted, but nothing else, so we'll need to sort out decorations, drinks and food."

Laura placed her coffee down sharply and looked at the imposter in Dave's office. Her face said it all.

"Yes Laura, I am planning the party and paying for it. And before you ask, no it is not a promotion party. The gossip that you've heard is largely true. We didn't secure Food United Group as a major client and so I failed in my final challenge. Good news is that we aren't going anywhere. It's still me and you conquering the business world. Maybe with a little help from some friends."

"And you are OK with all this? It's just that I thought..."

"Laura, this is the best thing that could have happened to me. There is another secret I want to share with you. I've met someone. Someone really special. And the whole experience, both missing out on the promotion and meeting someone, has really changed my perspective on life."

"That is wonderful news sir. I am so happy for you."

"Thanks Laura, and please stop calling me sir. Call me Dave, OK?"

"OK Dave. In that case Dave, do you mind me asking how you got someone so special in such a short period of time. I hope she isn't after your money or anything. You know there are some gold diggers out there."

"I appreciate your concern Laura, but funnily enough, I've known this woman since before I was a teenager, and ironically enough, I'd be doing the gold digging. She isn't badly off herself."

"Oh that is brilliant." Laura was silently clapping her hangs together like an excited kid. "I hope I get to meet her sometime."

"You will Laura. You'll get to meet her at the party that we are about to plan. Now drink your coffee and let's get creative. This is going to be one hell of a non-promotion party."

***

Chapter Fight or Flight

***

"Well Colin, it has been great chatting to you again. I am as ever, deeply envious of your life over there, but convincing my better half to move more than an hour away from the dreaded in-laws, was a mission, do doubt I'd ever make it over there. Plus, I think that lifestyle would kill me. Where do you get your stress from? Anyway, I'll have a think on about your situation. I've got someone in mind who might just be perfect. We've been honing him for a while, and I think his drive and determination is exactly what you are looking for. I'll just have to see if he will take the bait and accept the offer of a thankless task in exchange for an office, new title and status."

Bill beckoned for his assistant to come into his office, despite still being mid conversation. "Look, I've got to run. The end of my day sparks the start of yours and I'm sure you've got a shrimp to put on the barbie or something ridiculous like that. Have a good one buddy and I'll get back to you on that before my morning so your night-time yeah? Bye"

Bill placed the handset back on the phone, thought for a milli-second to get his strategy right and then engaged his assistant. "Jen, I need you to get Dave Marsdon for me. He's usually the only other person still in the office at this hour."

"No problems Bill. What should I say it's regarding."

"Nothing Jen. It's urgent and it is regarding nothing. Just find him."

Before Bill could even think about starting his next task, the annoyingly efficient Jen was back in his office. "Sorry Bill, no sign of David or his PA in the office Sir. Both of them have their phones switched off and they are going to voicemail."

"Sorry Jennifer, that was my fault for not being clear. When I mean urgent, what I should have said was that I don't care how or where you find that boy. I need to speak to him tonight. Preferably nearer to now than later. Thank you."

The party was in full flow and despite feeling a little uncomfortable with his promise of not talking shop, Dave was enjoying himself. It felt strange being the centre of attention and having to correct everyone who wrongly congratulated him. The people arrived in droves, many bringing their own alcohol and the majority having eaten before they arrived, doubting the sincerity of the invite which promised drink and nibbles.

"Well it would have been a promotion party, if I'd been promoted. Long story, and not worth getting into now. Let me introduce you to my close friend Ronnie, and I'll grab you a drink. Red wine OK?"

It was a standard headline that Dave was delivering to each person as they arrived, each person who was equally shocked by his lack of promotion as they were to his sudden investment in buying drinks. Had the venue not been so well decorated by Laura that afternoon, with a keen addition of some wait staff, Dave was sure it wouldn't be such a success. There it was. That word again. Success.

In between welcoming guests, ushering wait staff with drinks and collecting "Congratulations" cards and gifts from people who thought it was his Partnership party; Dave had a rare moment to himself. But when he did, he treated himself to something he knew he hadn't done much of in the last decade. He reflected. Success had only meant one thing for so long, but observing the room, the people, the laughter and the coming together, he realised in that moment that success was all around him and that he was a by-product of that. It felt good. Like getting a towel off a heated radiator.

His daydream was broken by Ronnie, the ideal person to wake up next to. He'd barely seen her in the first part of the night, as she matched him chat for chat on the networking front. She seamlessly glided around the room from group to group, cajoling, giggling, empathising and generally making sure everyone was alright and having fun. For once in his life Dave smiled at someone who was good at all the things he was good at, but wasn't competition. She was a compliment.

"Come here you piece of perfection. I hope you aren't using my party to drum up contacts Miss Patel?" There was a new cheeky side to Dave and he was milking it.

"Oh dear, am I at the wrong event. I thought this was 'Networking for Beginners'?"

They giggled and gently embraced. Laura, who was logistics manager for the evening came over, with that expectant look that women often adopted. Dave got straight to the point. He'd learnt a lot, but deep down he was still an alpha male.

"Laura, I can't profess to have a clue about what you want from me. That face suggests I've forgotten something, but now isn't the time for subtlety. Spit it out woman."

"Well Sir. I mean Dave. I've been busy all night and I hope that you are enjoying your party. I was just curious, and please forgive me if you consider this rude...but you haven't introduced me yet."

"A thousand apologies Laura. I got carried away with everything and just assumed you two had met. After my dearest Mother, you are the two most important women in my life. Laura meet Ronnie, Ronnie meet Laura."

The expectant look on Laura's face quickly transitioned into a quizzical look. "As in Ronnie Patel. I thought you were a man."

"Why thank you Laura. It's a pleasure to meet you too." Ronnie smiled a forgiving look to Laura. "It's OK Laura. You aren't the first, and you certainly won't be the last person to think I was a man. Comes with the name and the seniority."

Just as the girls became acquainted and the pieces of the puzzle dropped into place, Dave was interrupted by his mobile. "Sorry ladies, you two get to know each other. This is probably my sister. Second one out and always late!"

***

Chapter Dogs, Tricks and Spots

***

Dave returned from his call feeling flustered but looking excited. He loved how good he was at playing the game. Scanning the room, he was glad to see that Anne and Tony had made it, and could see them in the corner chatting with his parents, all being dutifully entertained by Ronnie. They all looked so proud.

Rushing towards the bar, Dave located Laura and the wait staff. "Right, I know we said no champagne, but I think we should push the boat out and make this a real celebration. So, I want the coldest, best value bottles of the fizzy stuff, and I want you to make sure that everyone has a glass. Can you also get me a microphone please? I need to address the guests."

Dave was trying to make his way through the crowd over to his family. The words were practically bursting out of him. The crowd however, had grown, and with each new attendee came a new set of the same questions. Funnily enough, not a single person asked who'd planned the 'surprise' party.

Before he could make it over, the manager of the venue approached Dave. "Here you go Mr Marsdon. The microphone you asked for. Just flick that switch there to turn it on. Only problem is that we need it downstairs in about 5 mins as the quiz is about to start. Will that be OK?"

"No problems. No time like the present. Where can I get some prominence?"

"I'd get on there if I were you. You'll be the best dressed person we've had on their week."

Dave clambered unconvincingly onto the edge of the bar. He was closer to the tall ceiling but still miles away. He nervously held the microphone, and flicked the switch.

A few short coughs alerted the crowd, and every set of eyes turned to him. It felt good and it was re-assuring. A normal person would have cowered or felt the pressure. A normal person wouldn't have been uncomfortable or jittery. Dave reminded himself. He'd evolved in this environment, was in many ways before his time and had a level of insight and ability that others couldn't appreciate. There was no need to pause for affect.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends. This isn't one of those thanks for coming; it wouldn't be the same without you speeches." There was a brief giggle from the crowd. They didn't expect one of those, even from new Dave. "You will notice that your drinks have either been topped up or replaced and you should all now be the proud owner of a glass of the finest champagne this London pub could provide. The reason for this is that I have some surprising news for you."

In the corner, Dave spotted a glint in his parent's eye, and Jane looked excitedly over to Ronnie. The fact that they'd just shared a few stories about Ronnie's relocation to London, and the time she'd been spending with Dave, had both of them heading for a very different headline than Dave was about to deliver.

"So ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, I have 3 things to tell you. 3 things have changed recently, and I'd like to share them with you." Ronnie grinned back to Jane. Their man was at centre stage and was about to make them both very happy.

"Firstly, I didn't have an office with a view, but now I have. Secondly, I was a Director, but I am now a Partner. And thirdly, I was based in London." The room fell more silent as confusion set it.

"Yes. You are looking at the new Head Partner for the new CEC Sydney, Australia. G'day."

"Oh darling David, that is amazing." Jane was first to rush over, and was as surprised as everyone else.

"Well you know, it's no real surprise. A man of my ability with my achievements was always going to get head hunted for such a role. Darwin pioneered natural selection and Darwin is in Australia."

"I never even realised they were the same person. Oh, you are so smart. We are very proud of you both."

"Both? I think you'll find..." Dave didn't have a chance to finish. Ronnie moved in, kissed him gently on the cheek and took him aside.

"You should have said something? What about us?"

"Yeah, that is going to be tight. I don't fly til next Friday, but I've got a lot of handover to do between now and then, and I'm sure there are a few clients who'll want a piece of me before I leave. I'll have a word with Laura and see if she can lock something in." The words stung, but the patronising pat on her arm sent fire through her veins. Ronnie held back the tears that were on the tip of her eyes.

"I meant us in a more general sense. You know, us. We? The two of us."

Dave went back to the same point on the same arm, this time gently gripping her upper arm instead of patting. He had Ronnie's full undivided attention. She knew exactly what he was going to say and she was ready to melt.

"Yeah, we should definitely stay in touch, as I'll be targeting Food United Group over there, so shoot over any contacts you've got. Obviously I don't know who my PA will be over there, but once I do I'll get my people to talk to your people." Dave accepted another empty handshake from an unknown acquaintance. He felt successful and popular.

Ronnie moved away slowly. She'd been wrong. "Leopards and spots" she thought.

###
Written and published by Dom Price.

Contact the author: dom.price@gmail.com

Thanks

This book wouldn't be complete without acknowledging those that helped make it happen. Mel, I owe you the world for your endless support. Steph, your eye for a character, story and amazing ability to tell me which bits were crap. Jen, for you crazy attention to detail and for fixing my awful spelling. Naomi for my freebie book cover. To my extended family & friends for believing in me, and to everyone who hopefully buys this and reads it.
