Page 64 of The Rebel Billionaire

Aubrey Lebrun is the beautiful model whose calls I’ve been fielding all week, after I sent her a large bunch of flowers at Alex’s request. Callie omitted ‘personal shopper’ and ‘errand runner’ from the job specification she wrote for me. Although I must admit, shopping for birthday presents for four-year-old twins was fun, and something I spent the evening doing from the comfort of my sofa.

“No problem, I’ll get right on it,” I say loudly, unsure whether he can hear me or not. Maybe I need to change my desk plaque from PA to PG - Personal Gofer.

I scowl at my desk. Oh well, there’s nothing to be done. What the bossman wants, the bossman gets.

Grabbing my smartphone, I pull up the NYC map app I downloaded when I arrived. I enter the address and realise the dry cleaner’s is quite literally a block away. Glancing out of the window, the sun is shining, and although it may not be the freshest of air, the idea of an autumn stroll is too good to turn down.

* * *

I wave to Lucia as I pass. She returns my greeting with a bright smile before I step out into the sunshine. I pause, closing my eyes and letting the late autumn sun sink into my skin. I let out a sigh before opening my eyes and joining the constant flow of people filling New York streets.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a woman’s voice comes from beside me, stopping me in my tracks.

My heart rate triples, making my head swim.

I half-turn, making sure my hair falls over my face, the way I’ve practised many times in the mirror to obscure my features.

“Excuse me, Miss,” she says again. “Could you spare a few moments of your time? We’re doing a television documentary on American fashion houses⁠—”

I hold up a hand, my expression neutral, despite my stomach flipping repeatedly.

“Sorry,” I say, surprised at how calm my voice sounds. “I’m in a rush. I have a doctor’s appointment, and I’m already late.”

I turn, walking away at pace.

The woman lets out a loud sigh behind me. “Damn, no one wants to talk to us.”

I’m clearly not the first person she’s approached this morning. Do all staff sign NDAs? Is that why Sophia thinks I’m safe within the confines of the office?

I turn the corner and slump against the building, my hand going to my chest, my breathing rapid and uneven. Several people harrumph as they’re forced to step around me.

Shit! Why on earth didn’t I get a taxi?

I push off and return to the flow of people, keeping my head down but checking the reflections in the buildings’ windows to ensure I’m not being followed. My phone beeps, and I jump. The navigation app announces, “You’ve reached your final destination.”

I dart inside the building and follow the signage to the dry cleaners.

“Can I help you?” a male voice comes from behind a hanging rail of plastic-wrapped garments.

“Hi, I’m here to collect a dinner suit for Alessandro Bianchi.”

The man’s head appears, and he smiles apologetically.

“Ah, you must be his new PA. Callie said she was going on maternity leave early. I’m Bryan.”

His face is weathered, but his smile is warm and welcoming.

I return it with one of my own.

“Hi, Bryan, I’m Brooke,” I say, my name coming much more easily now.

“Hi, Brooke. I’m sorry to have dragged you out. Unfortunately, the seasonal flu has taken out most of our staff. I know Mr Bianchi needs his suit for this evening. I offered to deliver it personally after I finish, but he said you’d come.”

Of course he did.

I smile through gritted teeth, which Bryan fails to notice as he’s already disappeared inside the maze of rails.

“Here you go,” he says a moment later, placing a suit carrier on the counter.