‘Then you know the background.’ She looked at me. ‘How Emily came up with the idea, I don’t know. She actually managed to come up with a winner. But I need you to keep on top of things. Miranda’s agent is a complete shark. I don’t want to come back to hear that the entire budget has been blown on room service in Miranda’s bloody hotel suite or on an entourage of thousands.’
So far, a stylist and a make-up artist had been sanctioned but Fiona had vetoed the nutritionist, Reiki practitioner and personal Pilates instructor.
‘I’ve heard the problems,’ I murmured.
‘The main thing you have to worry about is Miranda’s partner.’
This was news to me. ‘Who?’
‘Rowan Majors, recently ex-boy-band hero and supposedly heading northward up the charts. Except it’s not happening.’
‘So?’ There was no point even trying to hide my ignorance. Fiona needed to know that I was out of my depth.
Fiona gave me another scornful look. ‘If,’ she paused with a heavy sigh, ‘his solo career doesn’t deliver a number one hit in the next week, he’s toast... and we’re stuffed.’
Apparently, Miranda’s ten-page contract stipulated we had to find an escort if she needed one. There was even a sub-clause specifying required inside-leg measurements. Fiona wasn’t joking!
The contract, legal and binding, was astonishing. According to the densely written paperwork she fished out of her file, the escort couldn’t have blonder hair than her (unless there were obvious roots) and his shoulders had to be broad enough to show off Miranda’s miniscule size 6 frame. Last but not least, Miranda had to have final approval.
‘Christ, I hope Rowan stays the course!’
Fiona gave a God-give-me-strength groan. ‘He won’t. It’s my worst nightmare. Or rather, it’s yours now,’ she said sounding bitter. ‘Look I need to go. My mother is desperate.’ She looked at her watch grimacing. ‘I’ll come down with you to break the news to the team.’
‘I’m so sorry about your mother...’ I said tentatively, wondering what was wrong with her.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled weakly at me. ‘It’s not totally unexpected but Mummy’s really cut up. She can’t believe the surgeon won’t operate again. And on top of Daddy, it’s too much.’
‘Oh, no. Is it cancer?’ I asked sympathetically.
Fiona looked at me sharply. ‘No, liposuction. She’s devastated. She swore she’d never go to Weight Watchers again.’
What could I say to that? If I’d been a cartoon my eyes would have done that bugging out thing where they bounce up and down on springs. All I could do was manage a strangled, ‘Don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure we’ll cope.’
‘Of course, Daddy’s is a little more serious with his prostate trouble. Mummy doesn’t drive so she needs me while he’s in hospital having his op.’
Then to my surprise, she stood, smoothed her perfect skirt again and came towards me. Squeezing my good arm with an earnest expression on her face she said, ‘You know, Olivia, I couldn’t leave my team with anyone else in charge. You’re the only other person here who knows what they’re doing.’
With that she wheeled out, leaving me staring after her in amazement. Blimey! Compliments from Fiona and David? What a day it was turning out to be. Perhaps I should be off sick more often. Now all I had to do was break the news to Emily. Deep joy.
* * *
My visit to the top floor had been the subject of much conjecture, so when I came into the office all eyes swivelled my way. I cringed, looking at all the curious faces.
Max might just break down and cry and as for the beauty team’s reaction, I didn’t even want to go there. It was going to be bad enough trying to do the job. Miranda’s demands sounded outrageous. She was one high-maintenance chick.
Old Jabba the Hutt had never demanded any more than a hanky to wipe his sweaty brow before a photo shoot. In fact, I’d maligned him. Today, I’d returned to find two dozen, scented pink roses and a beautiful card wishing me well.
Predictably, Emily was livid. She couldn’t believe it wasn’t her stepping into Fiona’s shoes. The fact that it was me was a double whammy. Even I could see it was a very public slur.
It was going to be a difficult couple of weeks. Changing desks with one arm was my first challenge. Not one of the beauty team offered to help. Cara was about to but when she jumped up, she got a quelling look from Emily and quickly sat down again.
Max roused himself from his perennial laziness to carry over my laptop. Being helpful didn’t come naturally to him; he just wanted to moan about how unfair it all was.
‘How am I going to manage? Who’s going to write the Winton Bypass release? What about the Broughton public enquiry?’ he griped, wiping his perpetually smeared glasses.
‘Max,’ I said with exasperation, handing him a pile of neatly labelled files. ‘I’m right here. It’s not as if I’ve been relocated to the Leeds office.’
‘God forbid.’ He really did look horrified at that. ‘But still...’
