Twenties Girl by Sophie Kinsella Page B

an “iron grip” on the market. They sound terrifying.
    “Oh right!” I twist the phone cord around my fingers. “Well, unfortunately Natalie’s still… er … poorly.”
    This is the story I’ve been spinning ever since Natalie didn’t make it back from Goa. Luckily, you just have to say “She’s been to India,” and everyone launches into their own My Horrendous Traveling Illness story without asking any more questions.
    “But we’re making great headway,” I continue. “Really marvelous. We’re working through the long list, and there’s a file of very strong candidates right here on my desk. We’ll be looking at a top-class short list, I can assure you. All tough thinkers.”
    “Can you give me any names?”
    “Not right now!” My voice jumps in panic. “I’ll fill you in nearer the time. But you’ll be very impressed!”
    “OK, Lara.” Janet is one of those women who never waste time on small talk. “Well, as long as you’re on top of it. Best to Natalie. Good-bye.”
    I replace the receiver and meet Kate’s eyes, my heart thumping. “Remind me, who do we have as possibles for Leonidas Sports?”
    “The guy with the three-year gap in his résumé,” says Kate. “And the weirdo with the dandruff. And … the kleptomaniac woman.”
    I wait for her to continue. She gives a tiny apologetic shrug.
    “That’s
all
?”
    “Paul Richards pulled out yesterday,” she says anxiously. “He’s been offered a position at some American company. Here’s the list.” She hands me the sheet of paper and I stare at the three names in total despair. They’re all no-hopers. We
can’t
send this list in.
    God, headhunting is hard. I had no idea. Before we started up the company, Natalie always made it seem so exciting. She talked about the thrill of the chase, “strategic hiring” and “up-skilling” and “the tap on the shoulder.” We used to meet every few weeks for a drink, and she was full of such amazing stories about her work, I couldn’t help feeling envious. Writing promotional website copy for a car manufacturer seemed really dull in comparison. Plus there were rumors we were going to have big layoffs. So when Natalie suggested a start-up, I jumped at the chance.
    The truth is, I’ve always been a bit in awe of Natalie. She’s so glossy and confident. Even when we were at school, she always had the latest slang and could blag us into pubs. And when we first started off the company, it all worked brilliantly. She brought in some big bits of business for us at once and was constantly out networking. I was writing our website and supposedly learning all the tricks from her. It was all going in the right direction. Until she disappeared and I realized I hadn’t actually learned any tricks at all.
    Natalie’s really into business mantras, and they’re all on Post-its around her desk. I keep sidling over and studying them, as if they’re the runes to some ancient religion, trying to divine what I’m meant to do. For example,
The best talent is already in the market
is stuck up above her computer. That one I do know: It means you’re not supposed to go through the résumés of all the bankers who were fired from an investment bank last week and try to make them sound like marketing directors. You’re supposed to go after
existing
marketing directors.
    But how? What if they won’t even speak to you?
    After doing this job for several weeks on my own, I have a few new mantras, which go as follows:
The best talent doesn’t answer the phone itself. The best talent doesn’t ring back, even if you leave three messages with its secretary. The best talent doesn’t want to move into sports retail. When you mention the fifty percent employee discount on tennis rackets, the best talent just laughs at you
.
    I pull out our original crumpled, coffee-stained long list for the millionth time and flick through it gloomily. Names glitter off the page like shiny sweeties. Employed, bona fide talent.