Page 51 of Hate You to Love You

‘I always got the impression that Charles didn’t think I deserved the authors and campaigns I was assigned. According to him, I was just a shiny toy from Australia, and I wasn’t nearly experienced enough to be trusted with big campaigns.’

People in front of us begin to shuffle into the venue and we move with the crowd.

‘If he has Claudia’s notebook, I have a feeling he’ll use it to try and worm his way into gloating to her about my carelessness, and tonight will be his best chance to do that.’

As Elliot gives his name to the door staff checking in the guests, I hear the click of sharp footsteps behind me and turn to see Charles Durand coming down the wide hallway.

‘Well, well, well,’ he says smugly, tucking Claudia’s notebook into his breast pocket with a deliberate slowness. ‘I seem to be the man of the hour.’

‘What the hell are you doing with Claudia’s notebook?’ Elliot demands.

‘Whoa there,’ Charles says playfully. ‘I’m just trying to help Claudia and Redhouse get some good buzz for the tour. Can you imagine what a journalist could do with a gem like this?’

Elliot steps in between me and Charles. ‘Claudia trusted me with her notebooks. None of them were ever supposed to get out.’

‘Surprise, surprise,’ Charles scoffs. ‘Elliot Simpson has messed up yet again.’

Before either of us can reply, Charles leans towards a young woman holding a clipboard and says, ‘There’s been a slight change to the guest list, Bridget. These two troublemakers are no longer on it.’ And with that, he takes her pen and scratches out our names.

Elliot lets out an irritated moan as Charles disappears back down the hallway. ‘What the hell are we going to do?’

I’m about to admit defeat. But then I spot a group of people dressed in white button-up shirts with black aprons.

Suddenly, a plan clicks into place. ‘Follow me,’ I tell Elliot.

‘Where are we going?’

I stop, just out of earshot of the catering staff. ‘Trust me,’ I repeat. ‘I’ve got an idea. Now take your jacket off.’

I remove my own jacket, and when Elliot just stands there, I sigh and start tugging at his too.

‘What the—’

‘Can you stop trying to control everything for a minute?’ I hiss at him. ‘We need to look the part.’ I jerk my head in the direction of the catering crew. Elliot’s eyes widen. ‘Are you sure this is going to work?’ he asks.

I shrug my shoulders. ‘No. We’re probably going to get kicked out of here. Again. But taking a risk like this is the kind of thing that always works in the movies, right?’

He gives me a suspicious look. I give him a reassuring smile. There’s a part of my heart that’s still on guard around Elliot, but I need him to trust me. I refuse to let Claudia – or myself – down again.

With a deep breath, I burst through the door leading to the kitchens and cry out, ‘So sorry we’re late. Who’s got a spare apron?’

A group of catering staff standing over platters of duck pancakes stare up at me. For a second, I’m sure they can see straight through my act. But then someone hands us both aprons and we quickly put them on.

The head chef removes a towel from over his shoulder, slams it on the table and points towards the food waiting to be taken out. ‘These were meant to be served hot,’ he grumbles.

‘Yes, chef!’ I say. And then I lean in towards Elliot and whisper in his ear, ‘Okay, we’ll take a platter each and work the room until we find Charles. No matter what happens, we’re not leaving until one of us has the book.’

Elliot stops moving for a moment. He stares at me with a look of admiration.

‘What is it?’ I ask him.

‘Nothing,’ he says, still smiling. ‘It’s just nice to see you with some confidence again.’

His compliment makes me blush. I hadn’t realised my self-doubt was so obvious to others, but if Elliot could see it, then who else could?

We give each other a nod, as if we’re preparing to go into battle. Then we take a platter each and barge into the main events room. The event is being held in the main hall underneath the dome. It’s tightly packed, with guests in every corner. I can see Claudia talking to a little huddle of admirers at the foot of the grand staircase. And just beyond her – Charles Durand, waving the notebook around!

‘Ooh,’ a woman remarks when she spots me. ‘Are these gluten-free?’