‘What if it was something you found,’ she waved one hand around in the air as she searched for the right word. ‘Distasteful?’
‘It’s not my job to decide what is and isn’t distasteful, it’s my job to do my job,’ I replied, thinking back to the time my first boss insisted I sign his wife up to Weight Watchers a month after she gave birth, ‘as a laugh’. ‘An assistant is there to assist, to make their client’s job, their life, easier. That’s what I’m good at.’ I lifted my chin and looked her in the eye. It felt as though there should be a light wind blowing my hair back, a spotlight on my face, and a golden eagle swooping into frame. ‘I’m a great assistant because I know that what I want and what I think doesn’t matter. All that counts is making sure the client’s goals are met.’
‘And what if someone offered you money in exchange for information, or access.’ She pressed her lips together so tightly, they all but disappeared. ‘Or photos.’
Sarah pinned me to my chair with her gaze and I tried to imagine what kind of idiot might have met this woman and actively decided to piss her off.
‘No,’ I replied, utterly serious. ‘That’s terrible. I would never do something like that in professional circumstances or otherwise.’
Sarah Pierce leaned back in her chair, the corners of her mouth inching upwards into an almost smile until she very nearly looked happy.
‘And the strange thing is, I actually believe you,’ she said, tenting her fingers in front of her. ‘One last question. What, to you, defines a good assistant?’
At last, I thought happily, an easy one.
‘A good assistant is someone with good time management skills, good communication skills, and the ability to balance a lot of very different tasks at the same time,’ I replied with well-earned confidence. ‘But the difference between a good assistant and a brilliant assistant is the ability to anticipate potential problems before they arise. You’ve got to be prepared for whatever comes at you when the job turns out to be equal parts assistant, therapist, and best friend, but still know your boundaries. And you should always have mints. I’ve basically got stock in Tic Tacs.’
‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the job.’
A feeling that used to be familiar shot through me. Was it excitement? Happiness? There was an outside chance it was pride, but it had been so long since I’d encountered that particular emotion, it was too difficult to tell.
‘And now I can tell you who you’ll be working for,’ she added, rattling her short, neat nails on the desk in a drumroll. ‘You are officially the new personal assistant to Juliette.’
She held up her hands, fingers stretched out wide like shooting stars as I stared back at her blankly.
‘Juliette who?’
‘Juliette,’ Sarah repeated. ‘The Juliette.’
My mouth dried up, my throat tightened, and I quickly scrolled through all the possible mononymous Juliettes on the planet.
And there she was.
‘You mean Juliette, the singer, Juliette?’ I asked.
‘If there’s one thing I could advise you to learn very quickly,’ Sarah stood and smoothed down her red silk shirt before starting up the spiral staircase. ‘It’s that there is only one Juliette.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘Oh wow, it’s gorgeous,’ I breathed as I hauled my heavy suitcase up the final step of the narrow spiral staircase. The cramped, claustrophobic office bloomed into a huge, modern loft with the most impressive and presumably expensive view of the Thames I had ever seen.
‘Yes,’ Sarah replied, marching across the room without taking her eyes off her phone. ‘It is.’
The living area flowed seamlessly into the kitchen, where sparkling stainless-steel surfaces clashed tastefully against the exposed brick, and bright green potted plants shone with all the confidence of too much money. It was pure interior design porn, straight from the Architectural Digest centrefold spread of my dreams, and I had to wipe my chin to make sure I wasn’t drooling. If this was the accommodation Rose had mentioned on the phone, I really needed to look into squatter’s rights, as soon as possible.
‘Really, it’s stunning,’ I said, still taking in all the beautiful custom features. Farmhouse sink, be still my heart. ‘Is it your flat?’
Sarah opened a built-in fridge and took out two Fiji waters while I pleaded with all known deities for her to say no.
‘This? Oh, no,’ she loosened the lid of the first bottle and handed it to me. ‘It’s just a space. It’s helpful to have a secure spot near the marina for meetings and such.’
I nodded, as though it made perfect sense to me to keep a stunning multimillion-pound, river-view apartment in London to use as ‘a space’. I loved mine and Stew’s little house, but I’d have loved it even more if the couple who had just moved in across the road didn’t consider clothing, body hair removal, and closing the curtains optional.
‘So.’ I breathed in the heady scent of whatever fancy candle was burning on the counter. ‘I’m working for Juliette.’
I couldn’t quite believe it. I had hit the temp jackpot, smashed it open and was rolling around in its innards like Scrooge McDuck.
Sarah unscrewed the lid from her bottle of water, took a careful sip, and replaced the lid right away. ‘Are you a fan?’
‘I’m not not a fan,’ I replied carefully. ‘But I’m not obsessed with her or anything.’
‘If you were, you wouldn’t be here,’ she replied bluntly. ‘Obviously the background check went through your Spotify playlists and iTunes library.’
‘Obviously,’ I muttered in agreement, making a mental note to change every password I’d ever made in my entire life.
She beckoned me over to a rack of clothes hanging on the far side of the room. ‘We need to kit you out with a few things. Juliette likes her team in black and white. Did the agency tell you that?’
‘They did.’ I wheeled my suitcase around in front of me and patted the pop-up handle. ‘I think I have everything.’
‘I’m sure you think you do,’ she replied pleasantly as she tore through the rack, pulling out various shirts, T-shirts, and silk tops, and tossing them on the back of the settee. ‘But better to be safe than sorry. You’ll be accompanying Juliette to an important event, and as her representative, it’s important you portray a certain image, especially given the occasion.’
I bobbed my head up and down like a nodding dog. Juliette would hear no complaints from me if she wanted to dress me up like a designer dolly. Sarah held up a particularly gorgeous black cashmere jumper and squinted as she sized up both me and the sweater.
‘She’s performing at the Crystal Ball on Saturday night.’
‘Is that a big event?’ I asked, my heart in my mouth as she wavered on whether or not to add the jumper to her pile. ‘I’m afraid I’m not familiar.’
‘Not entirely surprising given your most recent Spotify Wrapped list,’ Sarah replied, tossing the jumper onto the settee and insulting my musical taste in one fell swoop. ‘The Crystal Ball is the most exclusive, most opulent event of the social calendar. There are only 1,000 tickets issued each year, and attendees are hand-picked and screened by the Crystal Committee before they are invited to buy a ticket.’