Hunting for Crows Read Online Free Page A

by a growing web-based business. Now, the monster he was walking towards, where the sign proclaiming the name of the business looked taller than him, had over ten times the square-footage of his biggest shop. This allowed him for the first time to realise his dream of selling a wide range of fitness equipment, including rowing machines, multi-gyms, tennis, squash and badminton racquets, racing, road and city bikes, and with a cafe upstairs serving good food and fitness drinks.
    He walked into the shop and moments later the manager, Ben Young, came striding towards him and shook his hand.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Grant.’
    ‘Good morning, Ben. How are you? How’s Martha keeping?’
    ‘I’m fine. She’s getting better day by day, thanks for asking.’
    ‘Glad to hear it.’ Grant started walking. ‘Let’s take a wander around the shop before we start our meeting. How’s it going?’
    ‘It’s a lot bigger than my old shop, and now that we’re dealing with a much larger product range, I can offer a more complete fitness package to our customers.’
    ‘What about you?’
    He puffed out his cheeks and blew a blast of air, flicking up a lock of jet-black hair. ‘It’s been a big learning curve for sure, but I think I’m getting there.’
    ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
    ‘Pradip’, the badge said, was demonstrating an expensive rowing machine to a young couple, clearly impressed by his ability to row and talk at the same time. It was not hard to feel jealous of this tall, rugged individual who moved without breaking sweat and enthralled his audience, and even though Grant was as fit as any office-bound forty-seven-year-old could hope to be, he didn’t feel the urge to take over the demo and show the young Turk how it should be done. He knew what he was good at and this wasn’t it.
    Peter Grant was a businessman and no matter the sophistication of the machines or the palatability of the weight-gain and muscle-building powders, it was nothing but a bag of beans unless the same magic was being pushed through the tills.
    Ben did not disappoint with his assessment of the shop’s progress to date or his three-month projections, and when Peter Grant left the new face of Grant’s Fitness Emporium an hour later, he was a happier man than when he’d arrived. He could now see the idea, one he’d championed in the face of deep reservations by many of his colleagues, was living and breathing in the big wide world and taking its first tentative steps.
    The head office and main warehouse of the company was located in a modern industrial unit on the Woodingdean Business Park, to the east of Brighton and close to the University of Sussex. By the time he got there it was almost two o’clock and, feeling hungry, he headed straight for the cafeteria. He could have purchased a pack of sandwiches from the service station he passed on the M23 and eaten them at his desk, but doing so would make him feel like some lab-raised hamster, fearful of stepping off the treadmill in case he missed an important phone call or an interesting email. He didn’t see many people about as most of the staff in the building stopped for lunch at one, but after collecting his food, he spotted his Human Resources Director, Sarah Corbett, and walked over to join her.
    ‘This is a bit late for you, Peter.’
    ‘Are you checking up on me, making sure I’m eating well?’
    She smiled. ‘Sorry if it sounded like I was. No, what I meant was you are usually down here by about twelve-thirty.’
    ‘I know, I’m only teasing. I visited the Croydon shop this morning. It’s the first time I’ve seen it since it’s been stocked.’
    ‘What did you think?’
    ‘It’s marvellous, and if the numbers over the next few months back it up as I expect they will, we’ll be opening a few more and refocusing our other shops to compliment them.’
    ‘How do you mean refocusing, in what way?’
    It never ceased to amaze him how skilful HR people were at making