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What is this?
Chrissy stood in Pearson’s walk-in closet, cleaning up from his change from day to evening clothes. It was yet another mundane task she found herself doing for him. She’d hung his suit in the section of clothes to send out to the dry cleaners, and now picked a shirt she didn’t recognize up off the floor. It was odd, given that she knew intimately the contents of his closet, and a closer inspection showed her it wasn’t the shirt he’d walked out in earlier that day. In fact, it was an off-the- rack shirt, which entirely shocked her. The man abhorred off-the-rack clothing. Something must have happened to his good shirt, so she made a note to order several replacements of the missing shirt, just in case he ruined another.
“Miss Serafini!” Pearson snapped.
Chrissy tossed the shirt into the trash and hurried out of Pearson’s walk-in closet, to see him struggling with his cufflinks.
“Can you give me a hand with this?” he said, annoyance in his voice. He held out his arm.
She drew his arm closer to her, and he winced. “Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Pearson?”
“It’s nothing. A damn tourist fell onto me on the street and pushed me into the car. I’m fine.”
Chrissy set one then the other cufflink in place, wondering how Pearson allowed a tourist to get close enough to fall on him. “Do you need to see a doctor? I have a concierge physician I can call.”
Instead of showing appreciation for the suggestion, he glared at her. “Why aren’t you dressed?” he snapped, eyeing her in her bathrobe. “I told you to be ready.”
Chrissy had plenty of opportunity in this past month to practice what she called her “game face.” Inside she seethed with annoyance, but her face didn’t show it. It struck her as ironic that she’d learned this skill from watching her mother doing the same when the Serafini men “acted up,” as her mother had called it.
“I’ve done my hair and makeup,” she said in a pleasant voice. “All I need to do is slip on the dress. I was in the middle of that when you called me to care for your clothes.”
“Excuses,” he muttered. “I take it your assistant is ready, then?”
“Pardon?” This wasn’t part of today’s plan.
“I expect that if your assistant is taking over for you, she’d attend with us to understand her part in these functions.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
“I’ll check on her,” Chrissy said.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath as she stalked from his bedroom. She knocked on the guest bedroom door.
Jessica’s voice drifted out the door. “Come in.”
Chrissy swept in, full of purpose. She spotted Jessica walking out of her ensuite, wrapped in a towel fresh from her shower.
“Change of plans,” Chrissy started. “You’re coming with us tonight.”
“What? I don’t have anything to wear for that.”
“We’ll get something from my closet. Let’s go.”
“Damn, girl. Can’t a woman recover from jet lag?”
“Sorry. No. And it’s just for a couple weeks. Let’s go.” There wasn’t any time to waste, not when Pearson was already on an angry streak.
The moment a grumbling Jessica reached Chrissy’s closet, her eyes widened. “Damn,” she muttered. “This is bigger than my bedroom.”
“Let’s see what’s in here,” Chrissy said, snapping through the gowns. “It’s a good thing you’re close to my size.” She pulled out the blue off-the-shoulder gown she had bought for herself for the night.
“Here, try this.”
Jessica held the gown to her frame. “This isn’t going to work. It’s too short on me.” She handed the dress back to Chrissy.
“You’re right. You are a bit taller.”
“What’s in this box,” Jessica asked. She lifted the lid to spot the dress inside. “What about this?”
She pulled out the pricey designer gown and stepped into it. It was blue silk, with a piece that hung off one shoulder in ruffled folds. It had a bit of train, so it actually fit Jessica’s longer frame perfectly.
“Ms. Serafini!” Pearson called.
“Okay. Wear that. I’ll wear this one. Sit and let me fix your hair.” Chrissy eased her friend onto the ottoman at the center of her closet. “A minute, Mr. Pearson!”
In a hurry, Chrissy worked on the Jess’ hair as she did her own makeup. Then Chrissy took over. With all the time she’d been working for Pearson she’d become an expert at quick, stunning makeup. Between the two of them, they managed to get her ready in no time. Chrissy gave her a pair of strappy silver lamé heels, and they helped each other with their dresses.
“Ms. Serafini!” Pearson said more impatiently.
“He’s a damned child, isn’t he?” Jessica said.
“Ssh. He has the ears of a cat.” Chrissy handed her a silver lamé clutch and she picked a blue satin one she’d packed earlier and slipped on the shoes she bought for her ensemble.
Chrissy sucked in a breath.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Chrissy,” Mr. Pearson said more insistently.
“Okay. I’m in trouble now. He used my first name.”
“Chrissy, are you sure this is all worth this? I mean, damn girl, I didn’t say this earlier, but you’ve lost weight and you don’t look happy.”
“I’m fine,” Chrissy assured. “And I really need you to help me out here, so please, Jessica, just do what I ask.”
Jessica nodded and both women walked from Chrissy’s room to the living room. Pearson turned when he heard their heels on the marble floor. He stared, transfixed.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Pearson?” Chrissy asked crisply. “The car isn’t due here for fifteen minutes.”
He stared at her.
“That isn’t the dress I bought you.”
“No, sorry. Jessica’s dress got ruined in transit. We had to go through my wardrobe and this was the only thing that fit her.”
He shook his head slightly. “Excuses,” he said. “I hope this isn’t what I can expect during your vacation, Miss Serafini.”
One. Two. Three. Chrissy counted off numbers to keep herself from reacting.
“I can stay back,” Jessica offered.
“Absolutely not,” Pearson ordered. “I suppose everything has worked out for the best.”
Chrissy’s phone rang, and she pulled it out to see the text.
“It’s the driving service. The car is here.”
“Good,” Pearson said, his jaw tight. “You do have the invitation, right?’
“Yes, Mr. Pearson, in my clutch.”
The drive was uneventful, but Chrissy noticed that Pearson was exceptionally tense. Both women sat close, but neither felt comfortable saying anything. When they got out of the car at the embassy, Jessica pulled her back.
“Is he always like this?” she asked.
“No. He’s usually more relaxed.”
“What could be wrong?”
“Best not to ask.”
Pearson looked over his shoulder and frowned.
“Is there a problem, ladies?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Chrissy stated.
In the chilly London night air, they walked the red carpet to the entrance of the embassy. At the doors thrown wide open, a man in black tie stood at the podium with military guards in full dress uniform at either side of the door. “Invitation, please,” the man requested.
“Chrissy,” Pearson said, leaving her to internally wince. Apparently, the drive hadn’t given him time to cool down from whatever was bothering him.
Chrissy pulled the invitation from her clutch and handed it to the man, who looked at Mr. Pearson and then both women with a frown.
“Is there a problem?” Pearson asked in a low, warning tone.
The man’s eye twitched as he handed back the invitation. “Of course not,” he gritted out, obviously thinking better of challenging Pearson.
Inside, tall windows filtered in the sun’s last light, tables of food filling the space before them. People gathered in small groups on the floor or along the right-hand wall.
“Ladies,” Pearson said, peering into the crowd. “I see someone I need to speak with. Help yourselves to refreshments.” He hurried off into the crowd.
“He’s intense,” Jessica said.
“Yes. That’s one way to put it.”
“But, why are we here?”
“Mostly we keep track of who he speaks to and when. He generally doesn’t rush off like this.”
“And why does he want this information?”
“Pearson keeps files on who and when he meets people. He’s got an app on his phone that gives him the information in his ear bud so he can greet them by name and say something personal.”
“Into winning friends and influencing people?”
“I just chalk it up to his obsessive nature. For the money he pays me, and you, he can ask anything he likes, as long as it's legal.”
“And how are we supposed to keep track of the people he talks to?”
Chrissy pulled her phone out of the bodice of her dress. “On this proprietary app that Pearson had made. When we’re close enough it will pick up names and record them. Later, I’ll comb through the internet to get pictures to match the name.”
“That sounds very spy-ish,” Jessica observed, wrinkling her nose. “And I tell you, that Marta in the New York office doesn’t respond to cronuts very well. I can’t get anything out of her.”
“Marta's job is the same as ours—keep our mouths shut. Look, a year and we’re out, with fatter bank accounts if we’re smart about it.”
“You really think a man who pays you a million a year to help him sneak around is going to let you walk away?” Jessica’s reproving tone surprised Chrissy.
“Where is this coming from?” Chrissy queried. “I seem to remember you being fully on board with me taking this job.”
“That was before I worked in the office in New York with that weird woman. Chrissy, something isn’t right about Pearson and his whole setup. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s not run like a normal business at all. And five minutes in Pearson’s apartment confirmed it. I don’t like the way he treats you.”
“I’m sorry you don’t like the job. All you need to do is cover for me for my father’s surgery, and you can quit. But I just have to get home.”
Chrissy tried to keep the hurt tone out of her voice, but that proved impossible. Yeah, she didn’t like the job, but Pearson had had her sign a one-year contract, so it wasn’t as if she could walk away. She kept telling herself it was just for a year, but one month had passed and it felt like she’d worked with Pearson a year already.
“That’s not what I mean, Chrissy. I can handle a week or whatever here, but I’m worried about you.”
“I appreciate it, I do, Jessica. But only eleven months left and I’m out of here. I can last a year. Not a problem.”
Chrissy put a halt to the conversation by dragging Jessica toward the food. Per usual, the fare looked more like art than anything edible, and with a few pieces put onto a couple of plates, they stood watching the crowd. Chrissy looked for Mr. Pearson but didn’t see him, which was entirely unusual. He rarely strayed out of her sight.
From the corner of her eye Chrissy had seen an unfamiliar man approaching, but hadn’t imagined he’d actually come toward her.
“Are the appetizers good?” He grinned so brightly at Jessica his teeth seemed to almost sparkle in the chandelier’s dim light. He seemed to fit the tall, dark, and handsome role well, though in company like this he seemed underwhelming in his fitted tux that sported no ribbons or medals of office. He was probably an attaché to some ambassador, here to attend to his boss’ needs.
Jessica smiled back. “If you like tiny pieces of food warmed too long.”
“Alexei Kovel, at your service.”
“Hello, Alexei Kovel, at your service. I’m Jessica.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jessica. That is a lovely dress you are wearing.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a coy smile.
Oh boy, thought Chrissy. “And I’m Chrissy, Jessica’s boss.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Alexei greeted, with less enthusiasm. “I hope I’m not distracting Jessica from her duties.”
Chrissy didn’t like the smarmy way he talked to her. Something about his bearing, about the way he held himself, said he was trouble—despite the tux he wore.
“Not yet,” Chrissy said. “We’re waiting for our employer, who’s busy mingling.”
Alexei gave a little bow. “Perhaps later we can get a drink together.”
“I’d like that,” Jessica said.
Alexei walked away, and Jessica bumped her shoulder.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“I got a bad vibe from him,” Chrissy replied.
“You and your vibes,” she snorted.
They stood waiting for James Pearson, and it didn’t take long for him to summon them. Chrissy didn’t have time to think about Alexei or his bad vibes for the rest of the evening. And the next day, when she got on the plane to go home, she’d forgotten all about him.
