Chapter 10
HARPER
I’m sitting watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns when the phone rings.
“Brooke?”
“Er, yes,” I say after a beat.
I really need to stop blinking every time someone says my name. It’s a tell that I need to drop and fast.
“This is Sue Hanson, head of Human Resources at St Clair.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Have they uncovered an anomaly in my application? Is my cover blown?
“We have a position for you,” she continues.
“You do?” I say, trying hard to hold my voice steady.
“You mentioned to my colleague earlier that you’re available to start right away?”
My heart rate picks up. Working, even in a company with tight security, is exposure, but sitting here, staring at four walls—
“Absolutely,” I say, injecting every ounce of enthusiasm I can muster, ignoring my racing pulse and churning stomach.
“Can you meet me at the office tomorrow at nine-thirty?”
I pause. Did I just hear correctly? They want me to start right away.
“Of course. Do you mind me asking what I’ll be doing?”
There’s a pause. “You must have made quite the impression. You’ll be working with Callie, Mr Bianchi’s PA. She’s about to go on maternity leave, and Mr Bianchi needs a replacement.”
I freeze.
What?
“I’m going to be Mr Bianchi’s PA?”
“If you pass the probation period, yes.”
“But I’ve never worked as a PA before,” I admit.
There must be some mistake. Sophia said I would be working in admin somewhere, hidden away.
“Your test results flagged you as a strong candidate. Callie has said she’s willing to train you, and Mr Bianchi trusts her judgement.”
There is a slight frostiness to her tone.
She clearly doesn’t think I’m capable or have enough experience to work for the big man himself.
I’m not sure I do, if I’m honest. My bloody CV is fabricated.
I doubt the mysterious woman on the plane thought I’d end up as the personal assistant to the head of one of the world’s largest and most successful fashion houses.
Shit!
“Is there a problem?”
“No, I’m just a little overwhelmed…surprised,” I admit truthfully.
A little being the understatement of the century.
Her tone softens. “Callie is the best. She’ll teach you everything you need to know before she leaves.”
“Thank you, Ms Hanson,” I say.
There’s a slight pause.
“Call me Sue. You’ll do great, Brooke. Congratulations and welcome on board.”
“Thank you again.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at nine-thirty.”
She ends the call before I can ask any further questions. Firstly, where the hell am I supposed to go tomorrow? What do I need to take with me?
Sucking in an uneven breath, I hold out my hands and laugh when I see them shaking.
Come on, Harper, you’ve got this!
No!
Come on, Brooke, you’ve got this! Breathe!
I close my eyes, then open them.
It’s not like I haven’t spent years helping Mum organise Foundation events. I even spent a summer working at one of the Frazer hotels before Dad died. Not to mention, I’ve spent the past few years building an audience of three million followers.
I swallow past the lump that forms in my throat every time I think of my deleted accounts.
All that work building them up, only to lose them.
Elijah blocked my access to the accounts and then deleted them after the scandal broke.
The Seamstress didn’t need to worry. My protective big brother stepped in after he saw some messages I was receiving.
No one wants to read the hate spewed by trolls and keyboard warriors.
I put down my phone and walk into the bedroom. Staring at my sparse wardrobe, I sift through the limited items I brought with me. Inconspicuous clothing. Nothing traditionally Harper, only items that will allow me, Brooke, to melt into the background.
I’m going to need to go shopping.
I pull out a trouser suit and jumper, then put them back.
I think back to what Callie was wearing.
Model what I know, don’t mimic. I pull out a dress that was once my grandmother’s, a classic vintage Chanel.
I slip it on and stare at myself in the mirror.
It’s plausible that Brooke could have purchased it from a charity shop or vintage clothes seller.
Smiling, I lean down and grab some shoes, slipping them on.
I turn left, then right, then left again.
They want the perfect PA, I’ll give them the perfect PA.
I only wish I had one of my many scarves to accessorise, but that’s a problem for another day.
I change and sit on the edge of the bed and sigh.
Fashion, at least this part, is something I understand.
The job itself, however, might be a different ballgame.
Callie was lovely, but Alessandro doesn’t strike me as someone who suffers fools gladly.
Good thing I’m not a fool. They’re expecting average student Brooke.
Instead, what they’re getting is straight-A Harper in disguise.
I’ve never failed at anything before, and I’m not about to start now.
I pick up my phone.
ME:
I’ve been offered a job.
SOPHIA:
Congratulations. What will you be doing?
Does she really not know?
ME:
Sue called. Apparently, I’m going to be working as Alessandro’s PA.
The message is read, but nothing comes back. Shit, is she angry?
ME:
Sophia?
SOPHIA:
You’ll be fine. Callie will teach you everything she knows.
Okay, not what I was expecting. My phone pings again.
SOPHIA:
But Brooke, don’t mess it up.
What do I say to that?
I send her a thumbs-up emoji.
To new beginnings.
* * *
I toss and turn all night, the fluttery, empty feeling in my stomach making it impossible for my brain to shut down.
I thump my pillow and roll over.
I’ll be fine.
I yank the covers up and over my head.
Sophia isn’t going to allow me to put myself in danger.
Rolling onto my stomach, I silently scream into my pillow.
No one I met at St Clair batted an eyelid or questioned who I was. My disguise stood up to their scrutiny.
But that was only a few hours. This is going to be all day, every day!
Turning over, I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling. There hadn’t been a flicker of recognition on anyone’s face, not a single “Do I know you?” or “Gosh, don’t you look like…” There had been none of that.
They have my photograph on file—and that thought alone makes me want to vomit. The one positive is that the promise about my references being genuine has held true. To have been offered the job, they must have stood up to the required scrutiny.
At seven, I give up. Leaning against the unit in the bathroom, I stare at my reflection.
Shit!
There’s no hiding the dark circles under my eyes.
I close my eyes and reopen them.
“Hi, I’m Brooke,” I say.
“Hi, I’m Brooke Feldmann…Brooke Feldmann…that’s right, Brooke,” I say again, changing the intonation in my voice, adding a smile, inclining my head.
I repeat the process over and over.
“Brooke, Brooke, Brooke,” I say, hoping that if I hear it enough times, my brain will respond when someone uses it.
At eight-thirty, I call a taxi, allowing myself plenty of time so I won’t be late on my first morning.
Sophia was adamant that I use cabs instead of the subway.
Less exposure and a more pleasant experience.
Now, standing just inside the entrance to my apartment building, I wait for him to pull up, darting outside as soon as I see the cab’s number.
There are people everywhere. A passerby tries to jump in, but I grab the door.
“I’ve booked this.”
She grunts, clearly toying with the idea of arguing with me, but the driver turns and says something, causing her to move away. I breathe a sigh of relief as another cab appears with its light on. She moves quickly, darting out, hand raised. The joys of living in a city.
I get in and hand the driver the address.
“First day?” he says, his New York accent warm and welcoming.
“Yes, that obvious?”
“Handing me the address gave it away,” he says with a wink. “British?”
I nod.
“Well, good luck,” he says, pulling out into the line of traffic.
It takes thirty minutes to get to the office. I jump out and pay with my new credit card. I need to check the credit limit and available balance. Not something I’ve ever had to think about before. The joys of being a billion-pound trust fund kid who’s grown up surrounded by wealth.
I’m suddenly thankful Mum and Dad made us money-conscious, although I’ve never had to really consider my account going to zero or below.
Is that still the case?
A problem for another time.
I thank the driver.
“Good luck,” he says, offering me an encouraging smile.
I return it as someone else grabs the door before I have time to close it.
I drop my head, then remember Sophia’s words from the previous day. Squaring my shoulders, I enter reception and make my way to the main desk, where the woman from the previous day is seated, greeting everyone as they pass. Lucia.
I move towards her counter.
“Hi, I’m not sure if you can help me,” I say. “I’m starting. I’m not sure where I need to go.”
She looks up. “Ah, Brooke, Sue said to expect you.” She smiles before recognition flashes across her face. My lungs constrict. “Oh, you came in with Mrs Bianchi yesterday. Hi again, I’m Lucia.”
“Hi Lucia, a pleasure to meet you— again,” I say, returning her smile despite my thundering heart and light-headedness.
She grins. “I love your British accent.”
She picks up the phone next to her.
“It’s Lucia. Brooke has arrived.” There’s a pause as she listens to whoever is on the other end of the call. “Yes, of course, I’ll tell her to wait here.”
She returns the receiver to its cradle.
She points across to a set of plush sofas. “Take a seat. Callie will be down shortly.”
“Thank you.”
* * *
When Callie appears, I get to my feet, inhaling deeply.
“Lovely to see you again, Brooke,” she says.
The same sense of welcome returns.
“You too,” I say, meaning it.
There’s a warmth about Callie, an openness. I’m looking forward to getting to know her, even if it is only for a few weeks.
I follow her to the elevator while she talks.