Excerpt from High Dive by Jonathan Lee, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"This is as good as it gets, Barb."

She pinned her ears back and yawned.

He asked Marina, the Grand's Guest Relations Manager, whether there'd been any further press inquiries about the conference, or any changes to the block-booking numbers supplied by the Prime Minister's secretary's secretary. There hadn't been, so after he'd marveled at the wondrous way she blew upward at her hair between sentences, the soft fringe fluttering darkly, he took his disappointment and arousal to the cupboard he called his office. A memo to finish. A briefing pack on important guests. Documents authorizing the installation of extra security and CCTV—nine cameras, twelve, the requirements kept shifting. Paper sprouting from his IBM Wheelwriter. No natural light in here. Assuming the overall manager stepped down in a few months, as planned, and assuming also that the PM's visit was a major success; assuming all this and assuming that the Group Executive Committee was as good as its word, Moose would soon be moving upstairs into an office with a door plaque saying "General Manager." Overall control. Decent salary. Sun and sea view. He wished he were not so reliant on recognition, but it gave him the little lift he needed to get through each seventy-hour week.

Paragraphs taking shape. Letters sometimes interlocking. Clack clack clack and only four errors. The dyslexia always an itchy label on his thoughts, irritating his attempts at eloquence. The calendar on the wall showing sun touching fields and September festooned with breezy leaves. He was in the habit of crossing out each finished day, boxes of canceled life, a pencil not a pen, as if he might at some point want to reinstate a long-lost Tuesday. The filing cabinet had his little gold statuettes on top, men with torsos that were upside-down triangles. They were standing on the edges of diving boards. Along with the hatstand, these were his favorite office item.

Did he own any hats? No, technically he did not. But built into his belief system these days were a number of convictions—never take taxis, never be afraid of combining carbohydrates—and one of them was that a hatstand was something every man ought to have. The thing about hats was, you never knew when you might want to start getting into them. Freya had said to him, "Why don't you use it for coats, in the meantime?" But his daughter was missing the point. He was saving the hatstand for a hat. He could picture it: the first delicious instant when, with casual carefulness, he'd toss onto one of its lovely curling limbs an Ascot cap, a Balmoral bonnet, a beret, a boater, a fez or a fedora. It was a small moment of magic he'd stored up for the future.

He reached for a folder entitled "Conservative Party Visit" and began to refine his strategies, taking breaks only to phone universities and ask them to send more prospectuses.

*                      *                     *

In the afternoon there was a meeting with the following agenda:

1. Alarm clock roll out. 201 + spares. Testing committee. Features. LED light? Serving the long-sighted, late-sleepers, etc. (PF)
2. Napkins for functions during conference. Scottish supplier. Problem? Conference blue? (PF)
3. Snagging request from Cameron House. (PF)
4. Training prog for additional temporary staff. (PF)
5. Canapé vote. (PF)
6. Fax machine installation. (PF)
7. Mitigating annoyance of CCTV for non-conference guests? (MV)
8. Towels not soft enough—what's the point of trying to be cheap on fabric softener? (DN)

Excerpted from High Dive by Jonathan Lee. Copyright © 2016 by Jonathan Lee. Excerpted by permission of Knopf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.