Unveiling The Bridesmaid. Jessica Gilmore
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the old blogs, through the old photos.’ He paused as Brenda spoke at some length, her words indiscernible to Hope.
She shifted from foot to foot, wishing she had worn less strappy heels in this heat—and that she had catlike hearing. This job was her chance to be noticed, to stop being Kit Buchanan’s loyal and mousy assistant and to be someone with prospects and a real career—if Gael O’Connor messed this up for her she would knock him out with one of his own paintings...
‘As it happens,’ Gael continued smoothly, ‘I have your assistant here. Yes, very cute. Love the accent.’ He winked at Hope and she clenched her jaw. ‘It would be great if you could spare her for a couple of weeks to help me with the archiving and labelling, maybe start to put together some copy. Yeah. Absolutely. You’re a doll, Brenda. Thanks.’
A what? Hope was pretty sure nobody had ever called Brenda Masterson a doll before and lived through the experience. Gael clicked his phone off and smiled over at Hope. ‘Good news. You’re mine for the next couple of weeks.’
She what? In his dreams. And she was going to tell him so just as soon as she had the perfect withering put-down—and when she had answered the call vibrating insistently through her phone. Hope pulled the phone out of her pocket and the words hovering on her lips dried up when she saw Brenda’s name flashing on the screen. She didn’t need to take a course in fortune telling to predict what this call would be about. With a withering look in Gael’s direction, which promised that this conversation was totally not over, Hope answered the call, tension twisting in her stomach.
‘Brenda, hi. Sorry, I’m on my way in.’ Damn, why had she apologised? She hadn’t realised just how much she said ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’ until she moved to New York where no one else seemed to spend their time apologising for occupying space or wanting to get by or just existing. Every time she said sorry to Brenda she felt her stock fall a little further.
‘Absolutely not. Stay right where you are. I didn’t realise you knew Gael O’Connor.’ Was that admiration in Brenda’s voice? Great, three months into her time here and she had finally made her boss sit up and take notice—not through her hard work, initiative or talent but because of some guy she’d only met this morning.
‘My sister is engaged to his stepbrother. Ex-stepbrother.’ She couldn’t have this conversation in front of him, not as he leaned against the wall, arms folded and an annoying Gotcha smirk on his admittedly handsome face. Hope walked past him, heading for the door she’d seen at the other end of the apartment. It might lead to his red room of pain or whatever but she’d take the risk. Actually it led to a rather nice kitchen—an oddity in a city where nobody seemed to have space to cook. It was a little overdone on the stainless-steel front for Hope’s tastes and ranked highly on the ‘terrifying appliances I don’t know how to use and can’t even guess what they’re for’ scale but it was still rather impressive. And very clean. Maybe having a kitchen was a status thing, the using of it optional.
She shut the door firmly behind her. ‘I don’t know Gael O’Connor exactly. I only met him today to discuss wedding plans.’
‘You’ve obviously impressed him. Let’s keep it that way. I’m seconding you to work with him over the next two weeks. I want regular updates and I want him kept sweet. If you can do that then I can promise that all the right people will know how helpful you’ve been, Hope. It wouldn’t surprise me if you got your pick of roles at the end of this secondment here or back in London. After all, as you’ve probably heard by now, Kit Buchanan’s resigned from the London office inconveniently taking my assistant with him. Maybe we could arrange for you to stay here, if you wanted to, that is...’
Hope’s breath caught in her throat. Keep him sweet? Did Brenda know just what he wanted her to do? Was she suggesting that nude modelling was part of her job description? Because Hope was pretty sure she’d missed that clause unless it fell somewhere under ‘any other business.’
But Brenda had also tapped into a worry that Hope had been trying very hard not to think about. Her role in London had been working as a PA for the undoubtedly brilliant if often frustrating Kit Buchanan. Yet in less than three months he had fallen in love with Maddison Carter, her job-swap partner and owner of the tiny if convenient Upper East Side studio Hope was currently living in. And that had changed everything. She hadn’t expected to feel so lost when she’d heard the news, almost grief stricken. It wasn’t that she was jealous exactly. She wasn’t in love with Kit. She didn’t really have a crush on him either, although he had a nice Scottish accent, was handsome in an ‘absent-minded professor’ kind of way and, crucially, was the only single man under thirty she spent any time with. But Kit’s resignation meant that in three months she would be returning to a new manager—and possibly a different, less fulfilling role.
It was a long time since Hope had dreamed of archaeology; she’d pushed those dreams and any thought of university aside after her parents died, starting instead as an office junior at a firm of solicitors close to her Stoke Newington home. But when she had moved to DL Media three years ago Kit had been quick to see potential in his PA and ensured there had been a certain amount of editorial training and events work in her duties. There was no guarantee a new manager would feel the same way. But if Brenda was impressed with her then who knew what opportunities would open up? Hope took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. ‘Why does Gael need an assistant from DL Media?’ And why me? she silently added.
‘Because Gael O’Connor is planning a retrospective of his photographs and the blog that catapulted him into the public eye and I want to make sure that he chooses DL Media as his partner when he does so. I’ve been courting him and his agent for nearly a year and got nowhere. They say that his archive is incredible, that he could bring down careers, end marriages with his photos,’ Brenda’s voice was full of longing. ‘I can smell the sales now. This could be huge, Hope, and you could be part of it straight from the start. I want you to get me those photos and the anecdotes that accompany them. Help him sort out his archive and make sure that at the end he is so impressed he signs on the dotted line of the very generous contract we offered him. Take as long as you need, do whatever you have to do but get that signature for me. You have an in. He asked for you, your sister is marrying someone he’s close to. Anyone would kill for that kind of connection. Exploit it. If you do then I guarantee you a nice promotion and a secure future here at DL Media...’
Hope didn’t need to ask what would happen if she failed—or if she refused. Back to England in ignominy and coffee-making, minute-taking and contract-typing-up for the rest of her days. If she was lucky. But if she agreed then she was not only getting a huge boost up the career ladder but she would also be away from the office, out from under Brenda’s eye and could grab the time to sort out Faith’s wedding. Damn Gael O’Connor, he had her exactly where he wanted her.
‘Okay,’ she said, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she could manage. ‘I’ll do it. You don’t have to worry, Brenda. I won’t let you down.’
* * *
Gael couldn’t hear Hope’s conversation with her boss but he didn’t need to. Hope was as good as his. He’d met Brenda Masterson several times and he knew her type; her eyes were fixed firmly on the prize and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone get in her way.
The kitchen door opened and Hope stalked through, her colour high but her eyes bright with determination. ‘I suppose you think you are very clever,’ she said. ‘Of course some might call it blackmail...’
‘Call what blackmail? Your boss wants my archive and I need help organising it. Seems like a fair trade to me.’ But Gael couldn’t stop the smile playing around his lips. ‘You should thank me. I’m much less of a clock watcher than Brenda. You might even get some wedding organising done while you’re here. In fact you can have today to get started. Consider it my wedding gift to the happy couple.’
‘Is there even an archive or is this just some kind of ruse to keep me here?’
Gael stilled. He was so used to people knowing who he was, what he was, that the scorn in her all too candid eyes took him back. Back to the days before Expose. The