Page 23 of Hidden Gem
“I’ll get back to my... research,” Tracy concluded, passing Kathleen’s burly figure at the doorway.
“Jason, you have a minute?” Not waiting for an answer, Kathleen bulldozed into his office and sat across the desk from him. She slipped her hands in her lap, away from view. If they were shaking, nothing on her face gave it away as she fixed her steely gaze on him.
“This empty homes tax. We’ve been investigating it for three months now, and it’s time to publish some conclusions. Obviously, it isn’t happening. But we have to make it sound like we looked into it, long and hard. Since you’re passionate about it, I think you should make the announcement on behalf of the group.”
Jason swallowed a hard lump in his throat. Currently, the working group was evenly split between those for and against the tax. Jason had tried to hide his true passion for the subject, fearing he would be seen as biased.
He met Kathleen’s gaze, keeping his tone casual. “Are we sure it won’t make a difference? Vancouver is collecting 40 million per year and investing it in affordable housing. It won’t fix the housing crisis, but it’s notnothingeither. We could recommend one for big cities only. No one would have to pay tax for an empty holiday home in Coromandel.”
“What about Waiheke Island? Piha? Muriwai? There are plenty of remote holiday spots in Auckland. You know how the media will twist this, don’t you? They’ll say we’re forcing hard working Aucklanders to rent out their holiday homes to meth-cooking gang members.”
Jason gritted his teeth. The deep-seated prejudice in Kathleen’s words made his skin prickle. He lowered his voice, determined to keep his cool. “No, they’d just pay the tax to help support fellow Aucklanders into healthy homes.”
A condescending smile hovered on Kathleen’s fuchsia lips. She’d made up her mind and could easily torpedo their suggestions. But if Jason could get the working group to recommend the tax, she’d have to shoot them down in public. It would make her look bad. Plenty of people who didn’t own empty properties were willing to support the tax. And if there was a chance Kathleen was on her way out... Jason couldn’t help daydreaming. He had to believe it was possible. Then everything he’d done to get here would be justified.
“That’s the kind of passion the public wants to see. You should definitely make the announcement.” Kathleen’s words rang with a finality Jason recognised from earlier encounters. Play ball or get out of the way.
Kathleen got up and sailed to the door, turning to give him one last look. A warning. “Unless you’re not feeling well, of course. You look tired.”
The nerve! She was the one who’d passed out in a public bathroom and hadn’t reported it.
“I’m feeling great.” Jason bounced out of his chair. Head rush. He slung his arm on the tall cabinet for support. “Never better.”
He had to find Beatrice. Now.
***
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Jason made it out of the parliament building. He crossed the square and stopped at the edge of the vast lawn, filling his lungs with cool evening air. In the distance, streetlights flickered on as Wellington transitioned into Monday night. Time marched on, carrying him towards yet another sleepless night. Was there any hope? Even if Beatrice was the answer, she likely lived at the other end of the island, possibly a nine-hour drive away. How could he ever make it work?
Setting his sights on the apartment building across the street, Jason descended the wide stairs, weaving between occasional pedestrians on his way down. He didn’t notice the woman until she tapped him on the shoulder at the traffic lights.
Jason turned, drawing a sharp breath. He’d only met her in passing on Saturday night, but recognised her immediately. The stylist. She wore a similar figure-hugging dress, albeit with less sparkle, and teetered expertly on stilettos. How could she balance those curves with such little ground contact?
A warm smile lit her features as she caught his attention. “You might not remember me, but we met briefly on Saturday night.”
“I remember. Luna, right?” Jason cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I could use your help.”
The light turned green, and she fell into step with him as they crossed the road. Once on the other side, she curled her long-nailed fingers around his arm. “What can I do for you, Jason?”
He dropped his arm to break contact. “You remember the woman I was with on Saturday night? Beatrice? She said you helped her find a dress. Would you have her contact details? I’m trying to get in touch.”
Luna narrowed her eyes. A flicker of annoyance tugged at her mouth before she turned on her megawatt smile. “Absolutely. Let me just...”
Jason’s heart leapt as she pulled a business card and a pen from her purse, wrote something on the card and passed it to him with a meaningful look.
“Here you go. My number’s on the other side. We could have some fun together.” She held his gaze for a moment, then spun on her heels and disappeared into the evening crowd, hips swaying with purpose like a trout swimming upstream.
Having caught the last glimpse of her round buttocks, Jason studied the business card, desperate for Beatrice’s phone number. Where was it? One side displayed the woman’s name, Luna Bella, stylist and influencer. On the other side, she’d written ‘Call me, sexy, and I’ll tell you everything’. Jason tightened his fist, overwhelmed by the desire to punch something. He wanted to rip the card to shreds, but something held him back – this woman knew Beatrice. She held the answer to his problems, and she was playing with him.
Jason stepped into his apartment, his mind reeling. Outside the window, night had fallen, the streets below dotted by thousands of lights. Familiar uncertainty tightened his throat as he approached bedtime. The time of relaxing, if only he could bring himself to let go, to reach the peace that allowed sleep. But he couldn’t relax. Not here. Not by himself. And every night he stayed awake added one more bad experience to his frame of reference, convincing him of the opposite.
Jason made a cup of chamomile tea and settled in the armchair to work on press releases. He resisted the urge to call Malcolm. The big guy had talked Jason off the ledge more than once, insisting that they had no need to feel guilty, they’d merely played the game like everyone else and won. There was no other way to achieve political goals, Malcolm maintained, and it would all be worth it in the end.
Jason inhaled the steam rising from his cup, squeezing his eyes shut. He’d write those press releases, take his pills, bide his time and crawl under the covers when the nausea-like blackness closed in, narrowing his vision.
After the second press release was done, Jason’s eyes jumped to the business card he’d placed on the side table. Luna’s number. What would happen if he contacted her? He picked up the card, a cold sensation travelling down his spine. What kind of web was this woman weaving for him? Could he extract Beatrice’s phone number from her without getting tangled in it? And what if Beatrice wanted nothing to do with him? She’d snuck away in the middle of the night without leaving her phone number. It probably wasn’t every woman’s dream to lull a grown man to sleep and then experience such a lame effort in bed. He longed for a do-over.
Damn it! He could handle one social media influencer. He would flirt, pretend to open up and spin some tale that got him what he wanted. Beatrice. Sleep. Kathleen’s downfall. Which one was he after? Or was it all three?
