Page 13 of Hidden Gem
Chapter 7
The banquet hall hadnearly emptied and the queue at the door had dwindled, but instead of the stairs, Jason led them to the lifts. He swiped his key card and the doors opened. Smiling, he gestured for Marnie to step in. She did, her heart drumming a steady beat. The confined space forced her closer to him, and she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Something spicy. The lift shot up, and her stomach lurched. She took a half-step away, leaning against the wall, searching for something to say. The moment she’d introduced herself as Beatrice, her insides had turned into liquid and stayed that way, excitement chasing nausea, everything swirling and spinning. Or maybe it was the champagne. Either way, she couldn’t stop now. She had to stick to this bid.
“Do you have access to all the floors?”
“Pretty much.”
“You must spend a lot of time here.”
“In Wellington? Or Beehive? Yeah, I suppose. We’re required to be on site Tuesday to Thursday, from nine a.m. to ten p.m. But there’s a lot of other work that falls over the long weekend. I don’t have a family, so it’s hard to even argue for work-life balance. I don’t really have a life outside.” His hollow laugh echoed in the small space.
Marnie cocked her head and studied him. “Sounds... lonely.”
The doors pinged, and they stepped into a round hall.
“The middle of the Beehive,” Jason announced, pointing at the spherical arrangement of marble tiles.
“Wow.”
He led her through another door, down a red-carpeted hallway, then a green-carpeted one. Not another soul was in sight. The walls were lined with endless black-and-white group portraits. White men in dark suits. The inside of the building had a regal feel you would have never guessed from its ugly Sixties exterior. Their steps fell softly on the patterned carpet.
Jason led her to a heavy door which opened onto a footbridge between two buildings covered by a glass ceiling. Underneath, a luscious indoor garden grew on either side of a winding path. On the other side of the bridge, another heavy door opened to what looked like a dimly lit country club with leather couches and oversized snooker tables, empty and quiet as a mausoleum.
Jason flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “Welcome to the Members Lounge.”
Marnie looked around. “No members?”
“I’ve never seen anyone use it. Back in the day, when you were allowed to smoke here, it was quite popular. Scotch and cigars, that kind of thing. But not anymore.”
Marnie meandered deeper into the room, tracing her hand along the huge snooker tables. What a waste of space.
Jason led them to a two-seater along the wall, not directly visible from the entrance.
He took off his jacket and they sat, his sleeve brushing against her bare arm. “Is this okay? There are no cameras here.”
“It’s fine,” Marnie whispered, trying to ignore his proximity.
It was impossible. His broad shoulders encroached into her space, and she found herself leaning sideways to avoid physical contact. Did being in the public eye give people a presence like this? It was hard to breathe around this guy. Or maybe all the sideways leaning was engaging her core a bit too much. She wasn’t great at Russian twists. Marnie sucked in her stomach, worried that her tight dress would display a roll around her waist.
Jason’s smile broadened, his eyes boring into hers, warm and encouraging. “Look, Beatrice. I want to be honest with you. There’s so much at stake here. But first I have to ask you something.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he studied her face. “Are you a property investor?”
Marnie blinked twice, trying to understand the direction of the conversation. “No, I only have one house... an apartment, really. I don’t make a lot of money.” She had a unit in a small co-housing development she’d built with Shasa and two other friends. Quite miraculous that they’d managed it, really.
Jason’s face split into a delighted grin that made her chest flutter. “Great! We’re working on ways to cool down the housing market. It’s out of control and so many people are struggling– renters, first home buyers, low-income families. We have some tools to use, existing laws that could be enforced, but they’ll anger a lot of people, particularly investors. Kathleen isn’t ready for that. She has a lot to lose.”
“You mean her career?”
“And investments. Most of the sitting MPs are property investors. They don’t want to shoot themselves in the foot. And most voters own property. If the value of their investment goes down, they turn on the government. That’s why I’m here. I’m a renter. I choose not to invest in housing. My money’s in start-up businesses, gold and the crypto market. I’m able to make decisions without worrying about my housing portfolio, or even my political career. I don’t care if this is my last term. I want to push for the changes we need. I want to free up land for development. I want a punishing tax on empty homes and land banking.” He raked his fingers through his dirty blond hair, freshly cut but longer on the top than the standard MP haircut. His voice turned darker. “If Kathleen had to step down, I know I’d have a shot at the housing portfolio. I’m telling you this in confidence. This might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, but I need your help, Beatrice.”
