Maid in England (The I Do Crew Book 1)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Your party is tomorrow. I’ll be back at eight, but don’t forget you have yoga at ten and hair at three.” Vera’s words come out in a rush.

  “I’m going to cancel yoga so we can catch up in the morning and possibly reschedule for the class at twelve.” I really, really need to go to yoga, especially with Alastair coming down and my party tomorrow night. Plus, given that Jed is sitting in my living room, I’m going to need all of the calm I can get.

  “I can do that for you before I leave.” Vera gives me a look that I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to read into, but I’ve got nothing.

  I nod and say, “If you don’t mind, that would be terrific.”

  Vera backs away nodding, giving me that same look, but the minute she’s crossed the threshold out of the living room, Jed clears his throat and says, “We need to talk, Remi.”

  One good thing about spending the last two days in an Alastair-induced haze is that I haven’t given much thought to Tompkins Payne Cooper. This is also a bad thing, because judging from the look on Jed’s face, he’s thought about it plenty.

  I let out a long breath. “I think so, too. You first.”

  “I understand that you have mixed emotions about moving to Los Angeles, but I want you to know that we’ve only proposed it because we feel that you’re the best person for the job. Surely if it were suited to someone with Rex’s capabilities, or even mine, one of us would take on the challenge of that market. But the truth is, not only are you the most flexible member of the team in terms of your accounts, you’re also the best fit.” Jed pauses to give me a chance to respond. When I don’t, he continues. “I’m sure…”

  I don’t know what Jed is sure about because I stop listening. Possibly for the first time in twelve years, I’m not hanging on every word out of Jed Payne’s mouth. Instead, I’m studying the man himself. The sharp crease in his trousers. The white crisply starched shirt. His hair grazing the collar of his shirt. The lines around his eyes. And mouth. The way his mouth turns down at the corners like it’s more used to frowning than not. The way his fingers tap his knee.

  “Are you happy?” I blurt the words out in the middle of Jed speaking.

  “Happy? What do you mean?” He straightens and furrows his brow at me.

  “I mean, are you happy? Do you wake up excited about your life? Do you smile when you think about the day ahead?” I take a deep breath, as if it will stop the words spilling from my mouth. Spoiler: it doesn’t. “Because I don’t. I wake up with a task list and a shitload of emails that, if I ignore, I’ll drown in by five o’clock. I’m at the mercy of my phone. A text comes through and if I take longer than ten minutes to answer it, I inevitably get another one. I haven’t had a real vacation in over ten years, which is my doing, obviously, but it’s a problem. I lost the only person I’ve ever been in love with because he thought I was married to my job. He wasn’t wrong. I’ve prioritized work over everything, and that’s a problem because it doesn’t make me happy, Jed. None of this makes me happy.”

  I’m glad I’ve locked my knees because, truth be told, they’re wobbly as hell right now. But I stand still and straight while Jed looks at me like I’ve grown another head. His words are laced with condescension when he says, “And what does make you happy? Please, do tell.”

  “I don’t know, and that’s a problem, too. I’m going to be thirty-five years old and I have no hobbies, no friends, not even a boyfriend. It’s a huge problem.” Made bigger by spelling it out that way. Because, dammit, Alastair wasn’t wrong. Then or now. I don’t know if it’s ironic or sad that I finally understand his point so clearly after all of these years.

  “And?” Jed’s fingers on his knee tap faster now. He’s bored of this.

  “I’m taking the next four weeks off to reevaluate things.” Until the words come out of my mouth, I have no idea I’m going to say them, but now that they’re out, the rightness of it hits me like an electric shock. I feel it all the way to my toes. My words pour out. “I have tons of vacation time, so I’m taking it, effective immediately. We can set up a meeting for when I get back if that would make you feel better, but aside from the party tomorrow I’m off the clock. The only client I’m working with is Alastair Wells and I’ll let him know directly.”

  It occurs to me that I haven’t told Jed or Rex about Alastair’s video, but Jed interjects before I can mention it. “We need someone in L.A., Remi.”

  I’m not imagining the thinly-veiled challenge in Jed’s tone, but I can’t let myself rise to it so I shrug with feigned nonchalance. “We haven’t had anyone in L.A. yet, so I’m sure giving me some time off that I’m owed won’t make a difference.”

  Jed holds my gaze and I feel like he’s waiting for me to back down. A month ago, I would have. Hell, two weeks ago, I would have. But now I hold my ground and hold his eyes until he puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself to his feet. The heels of his Gucci loafers tap on my hardwood floor as he makes his way to the front door. I don’t turn around until he says, “This isn’t like you, Remi. I don’t know what’s changed, but it’s not going to serve you well in this firm.”

  I spin on my heel with a slow nod. “I realize that, thank you.”

  Jed waits half a breath to see if I have anything to add, then pulls the door open and closes it softly behind him. As it clicks shut, I let out a long, slow breath and close my eyes. When I open them, Vera stands in the hallway, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing. Do you want me to…” Her voice trails off like she’s not sure how to finish that sentence.

  I’m not sure either, but I do know I need to be fair to Vera in this. And not only because she waited in the wings during my face-off with Jed, knowing how I feel about him. I shake my head. “I’ll pay you for the next eight weeks, no question, but you’re officially on holiday for the next four. I’m taking some time to reevaluate things, and there’s no sense in you hanging around with nothing to do.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I could finally sort those files of yours.” Vera offers a weak smile.

  “I’m sure.” I smile, too. “The only thing I’d love for you to do is come to my party tomorrow night, although I realize it’s stupidly short notice. You should have been the first person I invited and I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in myself that I’ve lost sight of some important things and I’m going to try to remedy that.”

  “You haven’t been that bad,” Vera says, emphasis on ‘that.’

  “You still should have been the first person I invited.” The fact that I feel worse about not inviting Vera to my birthday party than I do about the whole blow-up with Jed speaks volumes, and I’ll think about that later. For now, I continue, “Alastair Wells is going to be there and we’re premiering his new music video, which is pretty great, if I say so myself.”

  “I knew he’d be coming if you had anything to do with it.” Vera’s smile is more genuine this time. “I’d love to be there. It just so happens I have a black cocktail dress.”

  “Perfect.” I grin, but it fades as I say, “And, Vera, I understand if you feel like you need to look for another job. I’d hate to lose you, but I can’t guarantee what’s going to happen here.”

  “I get it, but I’ll wait.” Vera’s smile turns shy. “I mean, you’re a pretty great boss, actually, so it’s worth it, you know?”

  “You’re a pretty great assistant and I’m super lucky. Thank you.”

  It’s kind of dark in the hallway, but I’m pretty sure Vera blushes. But she recovers quickly and says, “So that’s settled then. Tell me about Alastair Wells. Is he as broody and mysterious as he seems?”

  “Yes and no.” I turn towards the kitchen. “Are there any donuts? If you have time, it’s a much better story with a side of sugar.”

  I’m going to leave out the juicy parts, but talking about Alastair doesn’t get any easier. If anything, it’s harder now that I’ve gotten to know him again than it ever was when I hated him. For the first time in
years my heart aches with missing him, and it’s a feeling so sharp and so true, I feel it to my soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alastair and I have texted off and on all day, but both of us have avoided bringing up yesterday’s exchange in the car, which puts me on edge in my impatience to see him. So when he texts me at 6:15 saying his train is being held in Milton Keynes and he’s going to have to meet me at the party, it takes a monumental effort not to snap back that he shouldn’t have waited until so late in the afternoon to come down in the first place. I mean, seriously. Who takes a three o’clock train to be in London for a seven o’clock event?

  I text back a breezy: Good luck and see you there! Xx, then make myself put my phone away. Instead I focus on making sure I’m both mentally and physically ready for tonight. Sparkly black dress, check. Silver stilettos, check. Hair in a complicated updo, check. Smokey eyes, red lips, and eyebrows on point, check. Mentally? The only things I feel like I can put checkmarks against are resolve and anticipation, although the latter is mostly related to Alastair. And the former - one hundred and ten percent related to Jed.

  I take a deep breath. I’m not going to let myself get worked up about Jed tonight. Or Rex. It is what it is. Tonight, they’re my colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Although it’s a lot easier to be all zen about them in my house. When I’m standing in the doorway of ultra-chic Voltaire, watching the black-clad waiters circulate with trays of champagne amongst the partygoers in all of their finery, it’s a different story. Everyone looks gorgeous. It’s intimidating, which is quite something coming from the woman who once went to the Oscars without employing a stylist. But then, that wasn’t about me, was it? This night has been planned by an events company, but there’s no mistaking the fact that this party is mine.

  If I had any doubt, the black and silver lights proclaiming ‘Happy Birthday, Remi!’ displayed on the far wall erase it completely. Thank God I don’t get to dwell on this for longer than a minute when Greyson Vaughn and his girlfriend, Claire, approach. Having one of Hollywood’s biggest actors and his down-to-earth girlfriend here is great publicity, but it’s also just plain great because they’re two of the nicest people I’ve ever worked with.

  Greyson snags a flute of champagne from a passing tray and hands it to me, kissing my cheek as he says, “Happy birthday, Remi. This is quite a bash. You remember Claire, yes?”

  I lean over and air kiss Claire. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely to see you both. Thank you for coming.”

  “This is an amazing venue. You should check out the ladies’ lounge when you get a chance. There are black mirrors in the loos,” says Claire, lowering her voice on the word loos.

  “Is that a good thing?” I take a sip of champagne. I’m not a champagne fan, but this is much needed and surprisingly good.

  “I thought it was an interesting choice,” Claire says. “So, is today the official birthday day?”

  “No, my actual birthday isn’t for a few more days, but no one wants to come to a big party on a Wednesday, do they?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. There are worse ways to spend hump day,” says Greyson. I half-expect him to go all frat boy on me with a humping joke – he has the look – but he surprises me, saying, “I can’t imagine this party was your idea, though?”

  “Not exactly,” I admit.

  “Think of it as practice for Bea’s wedding,” Claire says with a grin. “Although the dress you’re wearing beats the bridesmaid dresses by a mile. If we could wear something like that, I’d stop texting Bea vomit emojis in a heartbeat.”

  “They are very…bright.” Claire and I burst out laughing and I add, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I love bright. In moderation.”

  “But what the bride wants, the bride gets, right?” Greyson says.

  “That’s what they say, darling.” Claire bats her eyelashes at him and my eyes fly to her left hand. There’s no ring, but that doesn’t mean anything. She catches my gaze and smiles. “Not yet, but I’m already priming him that I’m going to be the biggest bridezilla he’s ever seen.”

  “Considering I’ve never seen one, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Greyson’s eyes scan the room and widen as he says, “Holy shit, is that Alastair Wells? How did you get him here?”

  My pulse speeds up and I spin to follow Greyson’s gaze. Not that it takes any effort on my part because in the sea of black tuxes, I find Alastair immediately. His tux hugs his body like it was made for him and his wavy hair is pushed away from his face. He sees me and his face splits into a grin as he closes the distance between us and wraps an arm around my waist. “Hey there, lovely. You look stunning,” he murmurs into my ear.

  “As do you.” My face flushes with pleasure and I slide my arm around his waist as I say, “Do you know Greyson Vaughn and Claire Dyer?”

  “Alastair Wells. A pleasure to meet you. I’m a huge fan.” Alastair reaches his hand out to Greyson, then turns to Claire. “It’s lovely to meet you, as well. Can I admit that my daughter was seriously invested in naming your cat or is that odd?”

  “Not odd at all.” Claire giggles. “That was all Remi’s idea. She’s fab.”

  “She is that.” Alastair’s arm tightens around my waist.

  We spend a few more minutes talking – Greyson is a Wellsie. Who knew? – before someone comes up for a word with Greyson, and Alastair and I slip away. He steers me towards the bar, saying, “I’m so sorry I’m late. I could kick myself for not booking an earlier train, but maybe you’d rather do the honors?”

  “It’s all good. You’re here now, right?” And leading with an apology is the surest way to erase my earlier irritation.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” He gives me a look that feels loaded with meaning.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t want our day to end on that note.” I bite my lip. Apologizing to Alastair for my work interfering is nothing new, but meaning it is.

  “I’m sorry, too. I overreacted. Old habits.” Alastair shakes his head and I see a flash of frustration cross his face, although I’m pretty sure it’s with his reaction, not with me.

  But I don’t get to reply before someone comes up to kiss my cheek and wish me a happy birthday. In fact, Alastair and I don’t get to speak directly to each other again until I pull him away from the West End actress he’s talking to with the excuse that I need a quick word in private. Judging by the way Jed and Rex – who I also haven’t spoken to all night – have started milling around the front of the room, it’s nearly time for the video unveiling.

  That they still know nothing about.

  To Alastair I say, “Um, I think it’s showtime.”

  Alastair takes a deep breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  “Come up to the front of the room with me?” And have my back. I don’t say that part, but Jed catches my eye and I wonder if I should.

  Alastair threads his fingers through mine. “In case I haven’t said it yet, thank you for this. I have a feeling it’s going to be incredible.”

  “Of course it is.” I smile with a confidence I don’t necessarily feel and start weaving my way through the crowd to the front of the room.

  I’m about three feet away from Jed and Rex when Rex catches my eye. His eyes widen as he notices me holding Alastair’s hand, but then he smiles and it’s genuine. “Remi. The woman of the hour we were looking for.”

  I lean for a cheek kiss from him, a stiff air kiss from Jed, introduce Alastair, and then say, “I’m not sure what you have in mind, but I’m hoping you’ll roll with a change of plans because I’m pretty sure I have something better.”

  I hold up my evening bag and Jed says, “What, pray tell, is that?”

  “This is my purse.” I fish inside for the thumb drive and bring it out with a flourish. “But this is Alastair Wells’ new music video, ready for its world premiere here tonight.”

  Jed turns his eagle eyes on Alastair. “Is that so?”

  Al
astair nods, but I’m the one who answers. “I’ve scheduled all of the sneak peeks on social media and it’s set to go live online everywhere tomorrow morning at ten New York time. If you agree to showing it tonight, of course. If not, I’ll cancel it all and premiere it somewhere else.”

  “We have an editor here from The Telegraph,” says Rex.

  “And the Wire,” adds Jed. “It seemed like overkill at first, but now it feels like this is something you’ve been planning.”

  Of course I’ve been planning it, asshole. A music video doesn’t make itself and it certainly doesn’t get any coverage without a solid launch behind it.

  Aloud, I say, “The Wire is a good contact to have. Plus, the editor is always good for a last-minute placement.”

  “So, what’s your plan?” Rex asks.

  “Let me have the stage and you’ll see.” I grin like the tension between us never happened.

  Rex and Jed exchange a glance and, at first, I don’t think they’re going to bite. Or worse, that they’ve been planning on announcing my L.A. move, despite my push back. Alastair grips my hand more tightly so I know he sees it, too. I hear him take a breath to speak when Jed makes a wide sweeping gesture with his hand and says, “It’s all yours.”

  I don’t wait for him to change his mind, stepping around him to the podium set up on the stage. There’s a laptop hooked up to a projector, which Vera confirmed with the party planner weeks before I knew I’d be working with Alastair. I’ve been doing events long enough to know it’s better to have a projector than not, even if it’s never used. I insert the memory stick into the USB port, make sure it’s loaded, and then murmur to Alastair, “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” His voice is low, but his eyes are bright with excitement.

  “Okay. Here we go.” I grab the microphone from the podium with my free hand and bring it to my lips. “Hey, everyone. I’m Remi Cooper. Thank you so much for coming tonight.”

  There’s a healthy round of applause and I wait for it and the conversation in the room to die down before continuing, making sure I amp up the excitement in my voice. It’s as unnatural to me as riding that granny bike, but I know it’s what’s required. “It’s my birthday. I’m thirty-five. Yay. I think? But that is not the highlight of this evening. In fact, I’m betting that in five minutes no one will be talking about me and my birthday at all.” I lower my voice. “Although if you are, talk about how I don’t look a day over thirty-four, would you?”