Gus comes past my desk just before lunchtime, telling me to join him. I don’t miss how Elliot clenches his jaw as I follow his father. If Gus and I are going to run this company together, Elliot will be a problem. There are only two options. Either I teach him his place or he finds employment elsewhere. I prefer the latter, but he’s Gus’s flesh and blood, his only son no less. Gus would rather promote him to a bogus position with a fancy job title than letting him work for a competitor. He’ll just have to learn his place.
“You’ll need a suit and tie,” Gus says, stopping in front of the locker room where I keep a set of formal clothes in case I’m needed at an impromptu meeting. After changing into a suit and tie, I meet Gus outside.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I get into the passenger side of Gus’s Maserati.
“I’m having lunch with an old friend. I’d like you to meet him.”
Since Gus knows everyone in the traffic department and gets all his fines squashed, he breaks the speed limit, showing off the impressive acceleration of his car that goes from zero to a hundred kilometers per hour in less than four seconds.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he says when he pulls up at the Johannesburg Country Club. “Impression is everything. The car you drive and the clothes you wear tell people who they’re dealing with. It tells them how successful you are.”
He cuts the engine, jumps out, and throws the key at the valet. Gripping my shoulder, he guides me to the entrance. “You already have all the basics right. Now observe and learn.”
He pushes through the door and makes his way to the restaurant, greeting everyone we pass on the way with a jovial handshake and by name.
“It’s imperative that you make people feel important,” he says under his breath as we enter the restaurant. “You never know when you’ll need a favor.” He adds with a wink, “It also doesn’t hurt to be popular.”
The maître d’hôtel is conversing with an elderly gentleman who I recognize as Tobias Fisher, the mayor of Tshwane. We seat ourselves at the best table in the house with a view of the golf course, even though a card that stands in the center of the table says it’s reserved.
Gus dusts the sleeve of his jacket. “Act as if the best is due to you, and people will presume the same.” He leans closer. “Look around. People pretend not to stare, but they’re noticing us. More importantly, they’re noticing that we’re having a better table than the mayor.”
The maître d’hôtel bustles over. “Mr. Starley.” He shakes Gus’s hand. “It’s an honor, sir.”
“Steven, my man,” Gus says. “How’s the family?”
“The wife is doing all right, sir. She’s battling with her arthritis, but she’s not complaining.”
Gus adopts a sympathetic expression. “You let me know if you need a good doctor. I’ll put you in contact with the best team of specialists in the city.”
Steven nods his gratitude. “I appreciate that, sir. What may I get you to drink?”
“A bottle of your best red.” He turns to me. “This is my colleague, Mr. Hart. He’s a wine connoisseur. I’ll have to impress him.”
“Yes, sir.” Discreetly sweeping up the reservation card with a gloved hand, Steven slips it into his pocket. “Will anyone else be joining you?”
“Mr. Carter from Platinum Consolidated.”
“Yes, sir.” Steven removes a knife and fork, leaving three place settings. “Your waiter will take your order as soon as your guest arrives.”
Gus flashes me with a smile when Steven has left. “That’s what I’m talking about, son. You don’t only want them to kiss your ass. You want them to do it with it smile.”
Getting my ass kissed isn’t my modus operandi, but I’m not going to tell my boss how to operate. I have a different matter on my mind. While we wait, I may as well make use of the opportunity to inform him of my plans.
“Violet is moving in with me,” I say.
“Times are modern.” Draping an arm over the back of his chair, he studies the diners. “I pride myself on moving with the times.”
“If you don’t have a preset idea about a wedding date—”
“That’s for you to decide,” he says, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket.
I follow his example. A graying man wearing a silk suit enters. When his gaze falls on Gus, he smiles broadly and makes his way over.
“Gus,” he says, shaking Gus’s hand. “You’ve been scarce.”
“This is my colleague, Leon Hart.”
“Mr. Hart.” Carter excepts the hand I extend. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Following their lead, I take my seat. “Likewise.”
The waiter immediately appears at our table. “Gentlemen, may I suggest the chef’s menu of the day?”
Carter waves a hand. “I trust you, Becker. You know my tastes.” He turns to me. “What about you, my good man?”