Sarita is less than impressed at me waking her up after her overnight shift. But at least she gives me a closer approximation of what the client hasactuallyrequested.
“A babygrand piano,” she snaps. “Or a medium or large grand if you can swing it. But a baby, at minimum.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, I amnotfucking kidding you, and don’t call me again outside work hours,Ollie,unless you’re going to pay me for my time.”
“I really am sorry—”
“If you really are sorry, get Magda to stop scheduling me on with Brandon,” she huffs, and hangs up before I can say any more.
Okay. Breathe. Think.
After a quick check online, my next call is to a shop that hires out musical instruments, but they laugh so hard about getting it there within an hour that I end up hanging up on them.
Something trickles down the side of my face as I slam the phone down, and when I put my hand up to touch it, I discover that I’ve broken out in a cold sweat. Where thefuckcan I get a baby grand piano from in the next—I check the time—sixty-three minutes?
Shit. There’soneperson I know who could probably give me some tips, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t take my call…
Even Brandon can tell that shit is about to blow up, because he’s suddenlyverybusy at the other end of the reception desk. I go into my office and put my head down on the desk.
This is it. This is the one request that has undone me. Magda is going to cut off my balls and wear them as earrings when all these VIPs complain that I couldn’t get a fuckingpianointo the conference room.
Why in the hell would anyone evenwanta piano at a meeting? Are they planning on having a few easy-listening classics over lunch?
I stand up so fast I almost tip the desk over, and bolt for the restaurant, the Michelin-starred restaurant within the Bellamy Grand, where every night a pianist comes to play easy-listening classics for diners…
On the grand piano set up in one corner of the restaurant.
* * *
For the next sixty minutes, I am in full Boss Bitch mode, and I get it done.
I get itdone, in between checking that the caterers have everything they need, the room is set up exactly as the client requested, the projector and tech are all in working order, and the water jugs don’t have too much ice in them.
I guess I learnedsomethingfrom my time with Elliot.
By the time the attendees start arriving, everything is perfect and ready to go, right down to the grandfuckingpiano that has been resituated from the restaurant to the end of the conference room.
I’m standing by a sign in the lobby with a discrete logo, where the attendees will first check in. Then I’ll send them on to the conference room to sign in officially with the studio contact, who is the only one who has a list of names to check off as they arrive. Only a handful of staff are allowed into the room while the meeting goes on, and all of us have signed air-tight nondisclosure agreements.
But while this meeting issupposedto be top secret, I definitely recognize some of the faces as they come through the doors of the Bellamy Grand. Two A-list movie stars come in together, then an Oscar-winning director, and then an exec who used to run the whole schedule for a major franchise—he’s a celebrity in his own right.
But I’m theultimatepro. I don’t give anything away when I greet them and explain how to get to the conference room; I treat each of them like a very welcome guest of the Bellamy Grand, and speak as discreetly as I can.
Just after giving directions to another studio executive, I turn back toward the entrance with the same smile I’ve had plastered on my face all morning—my cheeks are aching—and I feel my soul leave my body.
Coming through the doors is Elliot Barrington-Thwaite, Earl of Arden.
And he’s headed straight toward me.
CHAPTER32
Oliver
The only thing that saves me is the fact that Elliot is talking to the man next to him, so I have a few seconds to get my shit together before the two of them are standing right in front of me.
“Good morning, my—gentlemen,” I manage. “You’re here for the meeting?”
