It was a view that should clear your mind, but Craig’s mind was far from lucid. He should be relaxing, or at least pretending to enjoy the annual Whitsunday Morgan Carmichael Christmas getaway. But he wasn’t. Last Monday morning, the day after Charlotte Evans asked him to stay away from her, Keith had stormed into his office issuing orders. ‘I need you to go to Townsville and sort out those cowboys setting up the new office,’ he snarled. Craig looked up from his laptop slowly. Cool and calm in the face of Keith’s red-faced blustering. ‘You need me to fix up other people’s fuck ups again, you mean?’ he said. The flush of Keith’s cheeks deepened. ‘I don’t need any of your lip, son,’ he snapped. ‘Just get yourself on a fucking plane and sort it out.’ Margie booked his flight and accommodation immediately, and he was off just after lunch. Over the course of the working week, he had ‘words’ with the ‘cowboys’ about the property market in regional Queensland, and ensured some of the acquisitions under consideration were withdrawn or renegotiated.
