PAST
“So, Amelie, what do you think?” Justine asked.
We’d arrived at the party and were standing in the vast entrance hall of the Exclusives offices. I stared up at the atrium ceiling, hung with thousands of tiny lights.
“It’s stunning,” I said. “Does all this really belong to Exclusives? The whole building?”
“Yes—well, to Ned. Impressive, isn’t it?”
She took my arm and led me toward the main hall, where people wearing beautiful dresses and designer suits were standing in small groups, while live music played in the background. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great place to work. But having a few men around might dilute the cutthroat atmosphere a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that it’s hard to stand up to Ned. He can fire you for no discernible reason. It happened to Sam the other day, he made her leave, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “She didn’t say a word, just packed her things and left.”
“Can he do that?”
She shrugged. “Ned Hawthorpe can do anything he likes.”
It was hard to know where to look. To the right, emerging periodically from a side door, elegant waitstaff circled with trays of champagne and canapés. Along the back wall, cooking stations had been set up.
“This is amazing,” I said. “Did you really organize it all?”
“With a lot of help.”
We passed a stand with dishes piled high with caviar.
“So much food!” I said.
“There’s every cuisine you can possibly think of,” Justine explained. “Italian, French, Thai, Malaysian, American; you name it, it’s probably here.”
“Where’s Lina? And Carolyn? Didn’t they say they were going to get something to eat?”
“Over there, I think.” She leaned closer to me, and I smelled her distinct rose-based perfume. “Look, there’s the boss.”
I looked to where she was pointing and saw a dark-haired man weaving his way through the crowd, accompanied by two other men, one of whom was dressed in a black suit. A head shorter than his friends, Ned Hawthorpe moved with the ease of someone comfortable in his skin. I watched as they headed toward a table at the side of the room. Ned and one of the men sat down, while the other stood to one side.
“Who’s the man with Ned?” I asked.
“His best friend, Matt Algerson, heir—along with his sister—to the Algerson fortune,” Justine said. “I love his shirt; it matches my dress.”
“No, I meant the other man, the one dressed in black.”
“Oh, that’s Hunter, Ned’s bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard? He has a bodyguard?”
Justine laughed. “That’s what we call him. He’s Ned’s security guard and driver.”
I studied him a moment. He wasn’t good-looking in the way that Matt Algerson was, or even Ned Hawthorpe, but there was something about him that I found incredibly attractive.
“He looks nice,” I said.
“He is.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Ned.”
“No,” I said, horrified. “We can’t disturb him.”
“Yes, we can.”
She pulled me across the room to Ned’s table, and Lina and Carolyn came to join us. Justine introduced Carolyn and me to Ned and Matt Algerson and after ordering champagne for everyone, Ned started a conversation with Lina and Justine about something work-related, so Carolyn and I sat down a little farther away. The champagne arrived and as I politely waved away a glass, my eyes met those of Ned’s security guard.
Justine stood up. “Let’s go and find some food!”
She looked so happy in that moment, in her silver-sequined dress, strands of dark hair already escaping from her updo, her head thrown back as she laughed.
“Come on, Amelie!” she called when I remained sitting. But I smiled and shook my head, content to sit and watch everyone enjoying themselves. What must it be like to be able to afford to pay hundreds of pounds, more even, for the privilege of coming to such a glamorous event?
Aware of Ned’s security guard standing somewhere behind me, I turned to him.
“Don’t you want something to eat?” I asked.
He gave me an amused smile. “Not when I’m working, no.”
I flushed. “Oh, of course. Sorry.”
His eyes met mine and for a moment, the world stopped. There were bottles of sparkling water in the middle of the table, so I reached for one to hide my confusion. As I poured myself a glass, I stole a quick glance and found he was still looking at me. Even more flustered, I turned my eyes to where Justine was standing with Matt Algerson, small plates of food in their hands. As I watched, Ned joined them, interrupting their conversation, and positioned himself directly in front of Justine. A flash of annoyance cast a shadow over her pretty face, and I smiled as she pointedly angled her body away from him and toward Matt. I couldn’t work out if she was doing it because she liked Matt Algerson, or if she was trying to annoy Ned.
Whichever it was, Ned soon gave up and came back to the table.
“You don’t work for me, do you?” he asked, sitting down next to me.
I smiled and shook my head. “No, I work for Carolyn, Justine and Lina’s friend.”
“And what line of work is that?”
“Oh, just a kind of a live-in housekeeper. But I’m studying too.”
“What do you want to do in the future?”
“Law.”
He nodded. “Everyone needs a lawyer,” he said approvingly, then looked curiously at me. “Do you enjoy being a housekeeper?”
“I love it. It’s a dream working for Carolyn, she’s so kind to me. But her partner is moving in after Christmas, so I’ll be looking for a new job.”
He smiled. “Why, don’t you like him?”
I laughed. “It’s not that, he’s one of the nicest people I’ve met. They’ve said I can stay, but they don’t need me in their way.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “We’re going to be looking for another assistant at the magazine in the New Year. The job is basically answering calls and emails, and arranging my diary. If you think it’s something you might like to do, give me a call and I’ll arrange an interview with HR. I’ll also arrange for you to meet Vicky, my PA, as you would be working for her.” He paused. “What do you think? Would you like to come and work at Exclusives?”
I thought of Lina and Justine, and his security guard, who I was sure could hear every word.
“Yes, I think I’d like it very much.”
A woman, dressed more casually than most of the other women I’d seen that evening, approached the table.
“Mr. Hawthorpe?”
Ned looked up. “Yes?”
“I’m Sally Webster, from the Mail.”
Ned’s face hardened. “This is a private evening.”
The young woman took no notice. “Can I ask you about the Hawthorpe Foundation? Is it true that your father doesn’t want you to have anything to do with it? Can you confirm that you’re barely on speaking terms?”
But before she’d finished speaking, Ned’s security guard was propelling the journalist toward the door.