I met him at an industry event a few months ago when hewas still at his old agency. We got chatting and I was instantly drawn to his passion for his work. Heloveshelping musicians find their audience and talked about that vocation so zealously, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie. So many people discuss their work like it’s a chore, and it was gratifying to speak to someone who also genuinely loves what they do. He didn’t just talk about himself, either, unlike the last few dates I’d attempted. He was genuinely fascinated with me and my job. When he found me at the end of the event to ask for my number, I was happy to give it to him.
I hastily end the call and scurry past the porter at the entrance to Claridge’s, who taps his hat as he holds open the door.
“Harper!”
I smile as I spot Rachael Walker gliding across the shiny lobby. She’s one of my favorite film publicists to work with—she’s great at her job, and she’s also alotof fun. We’ve had some wild nights together over the years.
“Why do you always look so gorgeous?” I ask.
She gives me a kiss on each cheek, her expensive perfume reminding me that I forgot to spritz myself this morning. When I get a chance, I can put those Jo Malone samples swimming about in my bag to use.
Rachael is about my height, around five foot five, but lives in heels so she always seems taller. With long wavy golden blond hair that looks freshly highlighted, she’s sporting perfectly winged bold black eyeliner and a matte dark berry lipstick. Today, she’s in a yellow blazer over a crisp white shirt, with high-waisted, wide-leg black trousers—she can be anywhere with a smart dress code at the drop of a hat.
“I get an excellent deal on Botox with the best in the business, thanks to my celebrity referrals,” she says quietly, taking a step back. “You look fabulous, too.”
“You’re just buttering me up for a front page feature.”
“Always on the clock, babe.” She grins, gesturing for me to follow her toward the elevators. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for all that space you gave to the period drama—I told you it was going to be a hit.”
“I had to fight Cosmo tooth and nail for that spread,” I tell her as she presses the button and we wait side by side. “So, how long do I get with everyone today?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Or fifteen?” I counter hopefully.
She gives me a stern look. “Ten.”
I try my luck. “How about fifteen minutes with Isabella Blossom and then just eight minutes with everyone else? That seems fair.”
She can’t help but smile at my attempt. “You know we’re on a schedule, Harper. You’re not the only journalist here, today. Although you are the latest.”
“I’m perfectly on time!” I check my phone screen as the lift pings its arrival. “Sort of. Blame my editor. He insisted on giving me advice about celebrity interviews before I left.”
“That buffoon gaveyouadvice? Go on, I could do with a laugh. What did he say?” she asks, following me into the elevator.
“That I shouldn’t be late.” I groan, leaning against the mirror while she presses the button. “Why do you need a laugh today?”
She sighs heavily. “Have you got your journalist hat on?”
“I’ll whip it right off. You’re off the record.”
She smiles gratefully, watching the numbers on the elevator go up. “Isabella Blossom’s boyfriend is here.”
“The indie-film director?”
“Yeah, Elijah.” She frowns. “He’s a thorn in my side. They’ve been arguing all day. She’s told him to make himself scarce for the junket—he’s not involved in this movie at all—but he’s insisting on hanging around. He’s putting her in a bad mood.”
I grimace. “Uh-oh. Press junket and actors in a bad mood… never a good combination.”
“Never,” she confirms.
“Isn’t he new on the scene? He’s not the father of the baby, is he?”
“They’ve been together three months,” she confirms. “This should be the honeymoon period.”
“Promoting a film is a stressful time,” I reason. “It’s probably putting a bit of strain on the relationship with her being so busy. It will get easier once this bit is over.”
“Let’s hope so,” she says as the doors open onto the top floor.
