Chapter 19
HARPER
Alex appears at his door, a frown marring his brow.
What now?
I click save on the presentation I’m preparing for this afternoon’s meeting. It’s been a long couple of weeks since Callie left, and I’ve barely had a chance to come up for air.
“Do you need anything?” I ask.
“I need my dinner suit collecting from the dry cleaners.”
There’s a long pause.
Okay then, that’s clearly my job.
“I need it for the charity event I’m attending this evening, and I’ve just received a message to say their usual delivery guy is off sick.”
I draw in a gentle breath and plaster a smile on my face.
“No problem. I can collect that for you. Just let me know where.”
He pulls out a ticket from his wallet and hands it to me.
I take it. The address and number are clearly visible.
“They’re short-staffed,” he says before turning and leaving me standing there holding the tiny receipt.
“A thank you would be nice,” I mutter under my breath, pleased when I hear his door shut with a click.
I close my eyes for a second.
Brooke Feldmann is meek and mild and does as she’s told.
She’s not someone who will remind her boss about the twenty reports he wants completed by the end of the day or point out that he’s asked her to accompany him to back-to-back meetings between one and five this afternoon.
I groan at the thought of the evening ahead.
While he’s swanning off to some charity event with the lovely Ms Lebrun, I’ll be stuck in the office finishing my to-do list.
Aubrey Lebrun is the beautiful model whose calls I’ve been fielding all week, after I sent her a large bunch of flowers at Alex’s request. Callie omitted ‘personal shopper’ and ‘errand runner’ from the job specification she wrote for me.
Although I must admit, shopping for birthday presents for four-year-old twins was fun, and something I spent the evening doing from the comfort of my sofa.
“No problem, I’ll get right on it,” I say loudly, unsure whether he can hear me or not. Maybe I need to change my desk plaque from PA to PG - Personal Gofer.
I scowl at my desk. Oh well, there’s nothing to be done. What the bossman wants, the bossman gets.
Grabbing my smartphone, I pull up the NYC map app I downloaded when I arrived.
I enter the address and realise the dry cleaner’s is quite literally a block away.
Glancing out of the window, the sun is shining, and although it may not be the freshest of air, the idea of an autumn stroll is too good to turn down.
* * *
I wave to Lucia as I pass. She returns my greeting with a bright smile before I step out into the sunshine. I pause, closing my eyes and letting the late autumn sun sink into my skin. I let out a sigh before opening my eyes and joining the constant flow of people filling New York streets.
“Excuse me, Miss,” a woman’s voice comes from beside me, stopping me in my tracks.
My heart rate triples, making my head swim.
I half-turn, making sure my hair falls over my face, the way I’ve practised many times in the mirror to obscure my features.
“Excuse me, Miss,” she says again. “Could you spare a few moments of your time? We’re doing a television documentary on American fashion houses—”
I hold up a hand, my expression neutral, despite my stomach flipping repeatedly.
“Sorry,” I say, surprised at how calm my voice sounds. “I’m in a rush. I have a doctor’s appointment, and I’m already late.”
I turn, walking away at pace.
The woman lets out a loud sigh behind me. “Damn, no one wants to talk to us.”
I’m clearly not the first person she’s approached this morning. Do all staff sign NDAs? Is that why Sophia thinks I’m safe within the confines of the office?
I turn the corner and slump against the building, my hand going to my chest, my breathing rapid and uneven. Several people harrumph as they’re forced to step around me.
Shit! Why on earth didn’t I get a taxi?
I push off and return to the flow of people, keeping my head down but checking the reflections in the buildings’ windows to ensure I’m not being followed. My phone beeps, and I jump. The navigation app announces, “You’ve reached your final destination.”
I dart inside the building and follow the signage to the dry cleaners.
“Can I help you?” a male voice comes from behind a hanging rail of plastic-wrapped garments.
“Hi, I’m here to collect a dinner suit for Alessandro Bianchi.”
The man’s head appears, and he smiles apologetically.
“Ah, you must be his new PA. Callie said she was going on maternity leave early. I’m Bryan.”
His face is weathered, but his smile is warm and welcoming.
I return it with one of my own.
“Hi, Bryan, I’m Brooke,” I say, my name coming much more easily now.
“Hi, Brooke. I’m sorry to have dragged you out. Unfortunately, the seasonal flu has taken out most of our staff. I know Mr Bianchi needs his suit for this evening. I offered to deliver it personally after I finish, but he said you’d come.”
Of course he did.
I smile through gritted teeth, which Bryan fails to notice as he’s already disappeared inside the maze of rails.
“Here you go,” he says a moment later, placing a suit carrier on the counter.
“Perfect,” I say, reaching into my bag.
“Nope, it’s all paid for. Mr Bianchi has an account with us.”
“Great. Thank you, Bryan. Have a good weekend.”
I scoop up the suit before making my way back into the main foyer.
Heat floods my body as I scan the hundreds of faces milling around. I clutch Alex’s suit tightly to my chest.
Oh crap.
He’s not going to be happy if I return it creased.
Making my way to the revolving doors, I step out into the sunshine. A cab pulls up to the kerb, its current passengers disembarking. I dart forward, grabbing the door.
“St Clair HQ,” I say, sinking into the back seat and pulling the door closed.
“That’s only a block away,” the cabbie complains.
“I’ll pay you triple the fare,” I say quickly. “And a tip if you can drop me outside the door.”
He turns in his seat and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but then again, being on a potential kidnap list will do that to even the strongest of people.
“It’s your money,” he says, pulling out into the traffic.
I sit back and wait as we circle the block, letting out a deep sigh as we pull up twenty paces from the front entrance.
What on earth was I thinking?
Being at St Clair has made me sloppy. The possibility of being caught on camera…
it doesn’t even bear thinking about. Elijah may have deleted all my old social media and influencer accounts, but there are enough photos of me out there to cross-reference.
I’ve not exactly led a solitary life, having been raised in the public eye, despite my parents’ best efforts.
“Here you go,” he says.
I hand over the money as promised. He shakes his head but doesn’t refuse it.
“Have a lovely day,” I say, scooting over the seat and getting out.
“You too,” he says as I shut the door.
Twenty steps. My eyes scan the area for imminent danger, although what I’m looking for is anyone’s guess.
The cab pulls away, shocking me into motion, my breath whooshing out as I reach the building.
“Welcome back, Ms Feldmann,” the doorman says.
I shoot him a nervous smile. “Thanks, Pete, just collecting Mr Bianchi’s dry cleaning,” I say unnecessarily.
“Well, you have a nice day.”
“You too.”
My pulse only returns to normal once I’m back within the confines of the building and making my way to the elevator. I slump against the wall after using my access card to travel up to our floor.
My desk phone is ringing when I get there.
Shit, I forgot to divert the line.
I hang Alex’s suit on the coat rack before grabbing it.
“St Clair, Brooke speaking,” I say, slightly breathlessly.
“Hi, Brooke, it’s Mickey from the PR Team. Do you have the latest scheduling plan for the Spring collection photo shoots?”
“Hi, Mickey. I do. I’ve just got back to my desk,” I say, resting the phone receiver between my shoulder and my ear. “I can email it down to you.”
“Perfect, I knew you would. I seem to have misplaced it.”
“Not a problem,” I say.
Mickey is one of the team who has made me feel the most welcome.
“You’re a star.”
“Give me five minutes,” I say, hanging up and scribbling myself a note.
Grabbing Alex’s suit, I knock on his door.
“Come in.” His deep voice penetrates my chest and settles low in my stomach.
“Your suit,” I say, opening the door and stepping into the room.
“Hang it up over there.”
He waves a hand in the general direction of his personal bathroom and changing area, not bothering to look up from whatever he’s working on.
I don’t wait. Instead, I do as I’m told. My nerves are already stretched.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his question stopping me in my tracks.
I close my eyes for a second before turning and plastering a smile on my face.
“All good. There was a film crew outside doing a documentary on American fashion houses.”
The words spill out of me before I can stop them.
“There are often people outside. News crews during fashion weeks, documentary makers. Just ignore them. You’re not to discuss anything with anyone. HR should have explained that to you. They should have got you to sign an NDA.”
My hackles rise at the same time my stomach sinks.
Why the hell didn’t Sophia warn me? Film crews?
Maybe she thought she didn’t need to. I’m supposed to be staying inside, out of sight and taking cabs everywhere.
“I wouldn’t discuss anything, and I did sign an NDA,” I say, trying not to snap.
I’m not a complete idiot!
“Good.” He stares at me. “Have you completed the changes for this afternoon’s presentation?”
“I was just finishing them when you asked me to collect your suit. I should have them finalised within the next half an hour.”
“Send them through as soon as they’re done. We’ll need to leave in an hour.”
I’m not sure how many pairs of hands he thinks I have. But I leave quietly and return to my desk. I send Mickey the scheduling plan before completing the updates Mr High-and-Bloody-Mighty requested.