My mistake.
“So she’s doing her best to slander you in the press?” Moana’s mouth forms an O. “That’s… appalling.” Honest and whole-hearted, she has no understanding of how a person could ever do anything to hurt someone in such a manner.
“That is unfortunate,” Mikaere says, “although maybe there’s also a lesson to be learned there about keeping it in your pants, Kingi.”
I haven’t blushed since I was twelve and vomited on stage during a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but my face heats under the principal’s steady gaze.
“Give the guy a break,” Koa says mildly. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not his fault the woman is so vindictive.”
“No,” Mikaere says. “But he’s twenty-eight, not eighteen. You’re a man now, Kingi. You’re free to live your life however you choose, of course. But we have to think about the Foundation. About the young lives we’re hoping to help. We need a respectable figure at the helm. Someone the youngsters can look up to. Not a playboy who’s splashed over the tabloids with a different woman every week.”
I bristle with resentment. My father is rich and so I haven’t had it as tough as some of the youths who’ll come to the Foundation, but I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. I have a First-Class Honors degree and a Master of Business postgrad. I run my own business with my friend Orson, and I’ve more than quadrupled the money my father gave me when I turned twenty-one. I hold the Duke of Edinburgh Hillary Award at Gold Level, and I’m also now an Award Leader. I’ve personally broken several national mountaineering records, and I frequently spend weekends volunteering for Land Search and Rescue New Zealand.
But I don’t say anything, because even though it stings, I know he’s not wrong. I am often photographed with different models and movie stars. I enjoy taking risks, and I am sometimes reckless. I’m torn between believing you only live once, and wanting to be taken seriously.
Mikaere is right. It’s my choice. I can continue to live the way I do. But if I want to be CEO of the Nga Whetu Rangatahi Foundation—the Youth Stars—I’m going to have to make some changes.
I clear my throat. “I’d like to apologize. You’re completely right, and I didn’t mean to embarrass the Foundation by acting inappropriately.”
Moana smiles. “Aw, Kingi,Kia kaha, kia maia, kia manawanui.” It’s a saying that means ‘Be strong, be brave, be steadfast.’
“We’ll back you up,” Koa says, “of course we will. We wouldn’t have offered you the role if we didn’t think you were perfect for it. But we just need you to act a little more… respectable.”
That word again.
“People respect stability,” Mikaere says. “It would help if you looked like a man who values commitment, not just the spotlight.”
Moana nods. “Having someone steady by your side, someone who reflects your values, would reassure our donors. Maybe just bear that in mind, going forward.”
“I’ll give it some serious thought,” I promise.
“Kia ora,” Mikaere says. It’s used as a greeting, but it also means ‘be well’. “We appreciate you giving us your time, Kingi.”
“Of course.”
We all rise, and I walk with them out of the boardroom and through the offices into the lobby.
Midnight is an exclusive business club and resort run by the Midnight Circle—a consortium of wealthy business people headed by Oliver Huxley, who had the idea of using the proceeds of the club to support local charities. We’ve all worked hard to make the club a success, and to ensure it’s seen as honorable and respectable.
I’m going to have that word engraved on my fucking tombstone. Here lies Kingi Davis. Tried to be respectable. Failed spectacularly.
The three of them say their goodbyes and head off to their various cars. I pause on the steps, reluctant to go back to the office. It’s been raining the past few days, but today is a beautiful, blustery autumn May day. Even though it’s too late formountaineering, as there are fewer daylight hours and there will be snow at higher elevations, it’s my favorite time of year. Up here, north of Auckland, autumn is a bit of a non-event, but in the South Island—in Queenstown and Arrowtown and Dunedin and Invercargill—the trees are decked in glorious colors, and in the mornings the air will be filled with a delicious bite and the promise of winter.
I need to stretch my legs and think, so I set off toward the path that circumnavigates the site and provides a pleasant kilometer walk. I’m wearing my suit jacket but it’s too nice for a coat, and I slide my hands into the pockets of my suit trousers and enjoy the feel of the sun on my face.
The path runs along the front of the site, past the car park, not far from the private beach, then follows the river that eventually leads up to the Waiora healing pool and waterfall. Before it gets there, though, it turns away and curves gracefully around the back of the site.
Here we’ve had the grounds landscaped to provide a stunning set of Japanese-style gardens, designed to inspire peaceful contemplation. Stepping-stone walkways wind between numerous vignettes that can’t be viewed all at once. There are small wooden pavilions, pagoda pillars, a bridge over a small stream, and a pond full of colorful goldfish. Bamboo shoots are interwoven to form latticework that separates each scene. It’s beautifully done and has earned the Midnight Club an Earth Star from the New Zealand Gardens Trust for sustainability.
At the back of the site, the ground rises to provide a natural windbreak. At the moment it consists of mown grass, but the landscaping firm we employ is working on converting that to a series of terraces with flower beds to provide a splash of color.
The firm’s employees usually work weekdays, so I’m surprised to see someone halfway up one of the slopes, hard at work in khaki trousers and a pair of mud-coated walking boots.
I slow as I approach. The person has their back to me, and is bent over, busy shoveling earth into a wheelbarrow halfway up one of the slopes. Judging by the shapely ass, it’s a woman. Even though she’s bent over, I can tell she’s small and slender, but she has surprisingly big boobs. I wouldn’t be a red-blooded man if I missed the bounce of her breasts beneath her light-green sweatshirt as she digs the shovel into the wet earth. Wow.
As she lifts the shovel of earth into the wheelbarrow, she turns to reveal her face in profile, along with her long red ponytail, and I realize who it is.
“Morning,” I say.