Free Re-Awakening by Ashe Barker Page B

to do in my dining room.
    “And of course, you know me. I’ve been explaining to Jack and Claire how well you looked after me when I was here last month.”
    Yeah, I’ll bet… Imogen couldn’t help thinking he’d probably not shared all the finer details with his colleagues. Christ, she hoped not!
    Her head still reeling, uncertain if this was some sort of wind-up, Imogen took her time settling herself in the vacant chair opposite Zack. She straightened her skirt, flicked off an imaginary cat hair—she didn’t even own a cat—and helped herself to a small sip of water. Then she faced Zack, smiled serenely, and agreed how nice it was, how very nice indeed, to see him again.
    Zack nodded, and was suddenly all business. “As you’ll realise, I’m the Director of the Network, or will be when I take up the post fully next week. Meanwhile though, I’ll be chairing the interview panel today. We have a number of questions to ask you, if that’s all right?”
    “Of course.” Imogen managed another faint smile, trying to at least look the part of the confident assistant and administrator.
    “So, Imogen, could you start by telling us something about your own experience of running a business in the Dales? What do you see as the key challenges facing rural entrepreneurs?”
    And she was off. Easy as that. The next forty-five minutes flew past as Imogen explained her own difficulties, her thoughts on tackling them, her experiences of networking with other guesthouse owners and developing clusters of complementary businesses to help each other, refer customers, make recommendations, support other local traders. All the things she did naturally as a rural entrepreneur herself. The panel members scribbled their notes, nodded politely, asked additional, probing questions occasionally. And suddenly it was done. They’d finished with her.
    “Thank you, Imogen, you’ve been most helpful. It’s been a pleasure to meet you again. We’ll make our decision today and we’ll let all candidates know the outcome by the end of the week.”
    Picking up her bag Imogen stood, offered her hand to each of the panel members in turn and made a run for it with as much dignity as her now shattered nerves would allow.
    * * * *
    The end of the week. It was only Tuesday. She might have days to wait to find out if she’d got the job. Not that she would get it, probably. Not with all those bright young graduates swilling around, waving their degrees and diplomas and whatever else. Imogen pushed her microwaved pizza around on her plate, telling herself she’d done the best she could, and wondering if her finances could stretch to a half bottle of white. Probably best not.
    Her good sense wavered a little as she inspected the bottom shelf in her fridge for a nice chilled chardonnay, and she nearly missed the insistent trill of her mobile in her coat pocket out in the hall. She managed to grab it just as the caller rang off. She checked her missed calls log.
    Zack! It had been Zack. She’d missed his call. Shit. Shit. Shit!
    Should she call him back? She was just debating that point as her phone rang again. It was Zack. She hit ‘answer’.
    “Zack? Hello.”
    “Hello yourself, Gennie.”
    Gennie!
    “I-I…” She was stuttering, at a loss what to say now. Which Zack was this? Was he Zack—her Zack who’d fucked her and spanked her and made her sob with delight? Or was he Zack—the Director of the Rural Development Network, wanting to explain why he was sorry, but they’d offered the job to someone else?
    Neither, apparently.
    “The job’s yours. Well done.”
    “What? Me? You’re offering me that job?”
    “Yes, we are. You were very impressive. Easily the best candidate.”
    “Really? You’re not just…?”
    “Imogen. Gennie—before you say any more, there were three of us on the panel, and the interview was conducted absolutely by the book. Claire made sure of that. You were far and away the best candidate, all three of us