Learning curves by Gemma Townley Page B

“I’ve been a personal life coach for more than ten years,” he continued, “and have psychology degrees, coaching accreditations, and a black belt in karate. You begin to find things getting on top of you, you come to me. Need an extension on a deadline, you let me know and I’ll see if I can sort it for you. You dig?”
    Jen smiled in spite of herself.
You dig?
Who actually spoke like that anymore?
    “You have any personal issues you want to discuss, my door is open,” Bill was saying, getting into his stride. His eyes were shining, and he looked as if he would not be satisfied until he had fought for something on Jen’s behalf. “Not getting on with a lecturer or subject, come see me. And when you get your MBA and a great new job, you take me out and buy me a few beers. How does that sound?”
    Jen relaxed and grinned back at him. “And if I get a crap job, do you buy me beers?”
    “You won’t,” Bill said seriously. “You focus on your goals and align your life around them, and you’ll get where you want to be.”
    “Okay,” Jen said quickly. Bill was right; she had to focus on her goals. Goal one: get the information she needed so she could get the hell out of this place. Goal two: work out what she was going to do next. She grimaced. Maybe one goal was enough for now.
    “So what happens if I don’t need an extension or experience any personal issues?” she asked curiously. “What if I don’t have any problems?”
    Bill looked disconcerted. “People always have problems,” he said, frowning. “You get through this without any problems and that’s me out of a job. You remember that.”
    Jen raised an eyebrow at him, and Bill slammed the desk with his fist.
    “I’m kidding! I’m kidding you! No problems would be terrific. Just fab, you know?”
    “Okay. Well, thanks. I mean, it’s good to know you’re here,” Jen said as genuinely as she could manage, and Bill shrugged gauchely.
    “Just doing my job,” he said with a grin. “Feel free to swing by any time. Deal?”
    “Deal,” said Jen and stood up.
If only he knew,
she thought to herself as she left the room, realizing as she did so that she was late for her lecture.
    Jen saw the elevator doors open and made a run for it, sticking her hand in before they could close again. She quickly perused the occupants, then stepped in with a relieved smile on her face. When she’d first arrived at Bell a few weeks ago she’d been terrified of taking the lift in case her father got in, but since she’d discovered that George Bell rarely left the eighth floor when he was in the building, and that he was only in the building about half a day a week, she’d grown more confident. Blasé even.
    “Thank God for that.” She sighed, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the lift’s occupants, three serious-looking consultants. “I thought I was going to have to walk up three flights of stairs!”
    They looked at her curiously, then turned away as Jen realized that she’d seen one of them before. He was one of the guys from the charity dinner.
    “Anyway,” he was saying to one of the others, an older man, “those bloody environmentalists are at it again. Milton Supermarkets has had two planning applications turned down because of them—they’ve got protests organized and vigils over the trees. It’s a bloody nightmare.”
    Jen watched silently as the older guy nodded.
    “All right, Jack. Thanks for keeping me up to date. What are you recommending?”
    “A delay of a couple of months. Soon as it starts to get cold again, the majority of them’ll lose the enthusiasm for it. Students will be back at university. They know they’re fighting a losing battle anyway. If Milton doesn’t move in, another supermarket will.”
    “And Milton is happy to wait?”
    “Not really, no,” said the young man. “But they don’t really have an option.” He smirked, and Jen’s hands clenched into fists, as she felt her familiar temper flare. Friends of hers