Chapter 15
HARPER
Callie is at another doctor’s appointment. David is worse than a mother hen. Her words, not mine. It means I’m holding down the fort. Great practice for next week, because then it’s all on me. At least not having Callie to rely on gives me a clear view of what I do and don’t know.
I look at the clock. It’s one thirty. Is he going to spend all day shut in there? He’s told me to hold all calls and followed it up with, ‘Brooke, I don’t want to be disturbed.’
But that was four hours ago.
My stomach grumbles.
Okay, this is ridiculous. The man was here before me, and I arrived just before eight.
I’m still trying to get used to the time difference, especially since Mum keeps ringing me on Pen’s bat-phone, as I like to call it.
She knows the time difference but doesn’t seem to consider that I might appreciate an occasional lie-in.
Not that I’m complaining, I love hearing from both her and Kat, all the comings and goings, the latest Frazer gossip.
I call down to the cafeteria.
“Hi, Bea, it’s Brooke. Sorry to call, but I don’t want to leave the desk. Can I have Alessandro’s special lunch made up?”
“Of course, hon. Do you want something for yourself? I can make you the chicken salad you enjoyed the other day.”
I look over at his door.
Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.
“That would be amazing. Thank you, but only if it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s not, and we’re quiet now. The lunch rush is almost over.”
“Great. When shall I pop down?”
“It’s okay, I’ll get one of the girls to bring it up. I’m sure they’ll appreciate a break from the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
I cut off the call and sit back. I still have a few tasks to complete, so a working lunch may mean less time spent catching up after hours tonight.
Callie’s presents are being delivered this afternoon, and I managed to get a delivery of wrapping paper.
I must admit, not being able to simply pop out to the shops is getting tiresome.
So far, I’ve been lucky. No one has recognised me, but then who here would expect the infamous Harper Frazer to be working as a PA for a fashion house in Manhattan?
Being seen out on the street is a different risk.
As Sophia pointed out in the beginning, it’s about keeping myself safe.
To say The Seamstress put the fear of God into me is putting it mildly, and at the end of the day, it’s not just me.
If what she said is true, then I must think about the rest of my family and the other women who are also at risk.
Fifteen minutes later, Molly appears.
“Hey, Brooke,” she says, her southern twang warm and inviting.
“Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate you bringing this up.”
“Don’t thank me. It got me out of the kitchen. It’s crazy with all the prep for tomorrow’s party. Everyone is super excited. Everyone loves Callie and wants this to be the best baby shower she could wish for.”
I’ve been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love shown to Callie and, in turn, to me.
Over seven hundred staff members have RSVP’d to say they’re going to attend.
The other fifty have sent their apologies as they have prior engagements.
But the amount collected in the whip-round has blown my mind. Callie is clearly loved.
No pressure!
Molly places the lunches on my desk.
When she leaves, I head to the kitchen and make Alessandro his favourite coffee. I place it on a tray and carry it back to my desk. I also snag a bottle of chilled water from the fridge, unsure if he has any with him.
I lift the tray and carry it to his door.
Knocking twice, I wait.
I hear a harrumph from deep inside and bite my lip. It could be Gabriel. I pause.
“What?” A terse voice comes from within.
I don’t answer. I simply open the door and step inside.
Alessandro looks up, a frown marring his brow. “I asked not to be disturbed.”
“This isn’t me disturbing you. It’s simply me offering you fuel.” I place the tray on his desk and step away. “We all need sustenance,” I say.
Whatever he’s working on, it cannot be so important that he ignores his body’s needs.
I turn and walk away.
“Brooke…” I stop at the sound of my name. “Thank you. I didn’t realise the time.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, letting myself out.
I glance back briefly to see him staring at the food, his expression unreadable, before closing the door quietly behind me.
Callie returns a little while later.
“Nothing has changed,” she says, hanging up her bag and coat before lowering herself into the chair. “But I admit, I’m relieved.”
“That’s great news,” I say.
I know she was concerned she might need to begin taking insulin.
“Just think, from tomorrow, answering phones and organising Alessandro’s entire life will all be a distant memory. You can focus entirely on you and your Little Button.”
Callie groans. “I’m going to be bored out of my brains. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just for a chat.”
“I promise,” I say, knowing I’m probably not going to have any free time to sneeze, let alone pick up a phone to gossip. But being alone, I get that. David, by all accounts, is like Alessandro, working ridiculous hours.
The afternoon flies by, and Callie packs at five.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
I grin. “No, everything is under control, I promise.”
She sighs.
“If you’re sure, I’m going to go,” she says, rubbing a hand over her growing bump. This is the time of day when the pregnancy affects her most.
“I’m sure,” I say, tapping my notebook.
I’ve spent the afternoon answering phone calls, booking appointments, and learning to liaise with the creative team to track all the high-value samples and ensure they’re returned to the correct place.
Alongside my day job and while Callie wasn’t looking, I’ve also been following up on everything party-related.
Alessandro also sent me several emails asking me to arrange meetings and travel plans for various people, which I now do almost on autopilot.
At least he’s started redirecting tasks to me, allowing Callie to take a step back and simply shadow me, which has been perfect.
I wonder if she’s done it to force his hand.
It’s also given me a chance to work out what I can and can’t do.
There appears to be more I can do than I can’t, which bodes well for next week.
“I knew I was right about you,” Callie says, sliding on her coat. “You’ve got this.”
“I sure hope so,” I say, smiling. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Callie says as she leaves.
I glance at my phone. That was close. The delivery is due in fifteen minutes.
My phone flashes.
“A delivery just arrived for you,” Lucia at reception says.
“Hi Lucia. Shit, er-sorry. Callie is on her way down. It’s her leaving gifts.”
“I thought that’s what it was when I saw the picture of the crib… hold on, I’ve got you.” I hear some rumbling and hissing. A few grunts and an unrepeatable swear word.
Lucia comes back on the phone, panting. “That was close,” she wheezes. “We managed to get the box out of sight.”
I chuckle. “You’re a star!” I can’t believe how on board everyone has been.
“You’re welcome. Callie has now exited the building,” she says in a tone straight out of a spy thriller. “Are you happy for me to send Mr Delivery up to you?”
“Send away. Thanks again, Lucia.”
The elevator pings five minutes later, and a guy around my age steps out. His broad shoulders suggest he’s a gym bunny, while his tanned face says he spends his weekends at the coast. He shoots me a panty-melting smile.
I move to greet him.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi, are you Brooke?”
“I am. Thanks for bringing this up.”
Alessandro’s door opens behind us.
“Brooke,” he says, stepping out. His eyes instantly lock on the guy standing next to me, his brow wrinkling.
“Callie’s baby shower presents have just been delivered. I was going to wrap them up before I leave tonight.”
He grunts and moves to my desk, placing a pile of papers on top of my keyboard.
“Can you get these copied? I need them for my meeting first thing.”
“Of course.”
I glance up at the clock. It’s already gone five-thirty. Another late one is on the cards. If this is usual, no wonder David wants Callie to finish.
He nods before disappearing back into his room and shutting the door.
I turn back to the delivery guy.
“Can you pop them over there?” I say, pointing to the sofa.
“Of course,” he says with a smile. “Where in the UK are you from?”
“The south,” I say, trying to be as vague as possible.
“Oh, whereabouts? I know Southampton and Bournemouth,” he says, surprising me, before grinning. “My aunt and uncle moved there a few years ago.”
“I live in a village called Brockenhurst,” I say. “It’s in the New Forest.”
I do live in Hampshire, and Brockenhurst is one place I know, and where I apparently grew up, according to The Seamstress. I’m not sure whether they chose it because familiar is safer.
“That’s so cool.”
It’s then that I realise the delivery guy is flirting with me. He’s stopped moving the items I ordered and is standing, his pose designed to show off his muscles while he chats me up.
“It is, but now I’m here,” I say, holding out my hand for the invoice.
“Would you go out for a drink with me?” he blurts out.
Oh hell.
“I’m in a relationship,” I say quickly, thinking of the first thing that comes to mind.
“Shame, I could have shown you the sights of the city.”
“That’s very kind, but I’m dating a New Yorker, so I’m getting plenty of insight,” I say, wanting this conversation to end.
“Brooke.” The sharp rebuke comes from behind me, making me spin on my heels. “I need those documents… tonight.”
I bite the inside of my mouth, not wanting to tell him I’m officially off the clock. I’m only still here to make sure Callie’s party goes without a hitch.
“Of course,” I say, turning back to Mr Delivery, who is staring at Alessandro over my shoulder.
“I’d better get going. My packages aren’t going to deliver themselves.”
“No, they won’t,” Alessandro says sharply from his door.
I take the invoice and quickly sign to confirm I’ve received the listed goods, before he hands me my copy.
“Nice meeting you, Brooke,” he says with a wink before wheeling his trolley back to the elevator.
I turn back to my desk, but I can still feel Alessandro’s eyes burning into my back.
“I’ll get these done now,” I say, picking up the papers he left on my desk.
When he doesn’t move, I turn to face him.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I ask, finding my body heating up under his scrutiny. It’s always the same whenever he’s nearby.
“No, that’s all. I wanted to say thanks for lunch.”
His words are gruff, yet the sincerity surprises me.
“You’re welcome.”
He pauses for a moment, and I think he’s about to say something when he turns and re-enters his room, closing the door behind him.
Did he just come out and offer me an escape from an over-friendly delivery guy?
No, he would have had to have been listening to our conversation. I’m just his lowly PA. Maybe he really does need these papers urgently.
I look down. They’re the reports I gave him earlier. I frown. He wants these copied?
I shrug. Who am I to question the all-powerful Alessandro Bianchi, CEO of St Clair Fashion House?
However, I wasn’t really expecting a thank you.
I let out a breath, knowing next time I won’t need to think twice.
I feel like high-fiving myself. A win for me.
Although I won’t count my chickens before they hatch.
Tomorrow is the real test. If I mess up, then all the lunches in America aren’t going to save me.
Papers in hand, I head to the copier and slide them in, mindlessly staring into space.
Once this is done, I can wrap Callie’s presents and make my way home… prepare for P-day and a goodbye I’m dreading.