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‘I’m not sure. Probably it’s just his latest, so I’ve set up for two. I had a quick look online, to try and find out who she might be, but I got lost in the quagmire so you’ll just have to wing it. Oh, and Gemma’s brought you in one of her dresses to wear. It’s out the back.’
‘Pardon?’ Merida’s green eyes narrowed. She was unsure if she’d heard that right. Reece had never told her what to wear before.
‘It’s just a simple black dress. And Gemma’s also loaned you some pearls.’
‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’
Merida had on a gorgeous Buchanan tartan kilt. It was possibly a little short, but she had on black tights and suede boots and it was topped with a simple black jumper. It went well with her colouring and was her favourite outfit—one that she usually saved for auditions. But, given the important guest, she had made an extra effort this evening.
‘You look fabulous,’ Reece attempted. ‘Merida, you always do. But while for the most part I’m happy to overlook your little eccentricities, with Ethan Devereux descending...’
‘Eccentricities?’ Merida frowned.
But Reece refused to be drawn and quickly changed the subject. ‘Look, I really do appreciate this, Merida,’ he said as he pulled up the handle on his suitcase. ‘I’m sure there is some guy who hates me for calling you in to work tonight.’
Merida gave a non-committal smile. She had decided long ago that she would not be discussing her love-life with Reece. Or rather the absolute lack of it.
‘And once Ethan’s gone,’ Reece said as he went through the door, ‘would you mind updating the website? Clint didn’t get around to it.’
‘Sure.’
Finally Reece was outside, chatting to Vince, the doorman-cum-security guard, as he hailed down a cab.
With fifteen minutes to prepare for the VIP guest’s arrival, Merida slipped out to the back.
Unlike the gallery, which was all large open spaces, muted colours and plush fabrics, the back area was adorned with brown peeling paint and was terribly cramped.
There in the tiny staffroom, wrapped in plastic and hanging from the door, was a black dress, with a small pouch dangling from it, containing a single row of pearls.
Gemma had also left a pair of black stiletto shoes, and Merida’s jaw gritted. They clearly didn’t dare risk leaving even footwear to her! Reece could be so catty at times—but Merida needed the job far too much to protest.
She slipped the little black number on. It was a halter-neck, and Gemma hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Merida might not have a suitable bra. There was no choice but to go without—though thankfully Merida wasn’t particularly well-endowed in that department.
Her make-up was the same as always—a touch of mascara to darken her fair lashes and bring out the green of her eyes, and a dash of blusher to brighten her pale skin. The only lipstick she had with her was a coral one, and she put a slick on, then stepped back and checked her reflection.
It looked rather dour—though there was far too much flesh on show to call it a funereal outfit, Merida thought. She looked like one of those greeters at an exclusive club or restaurant.
Except for the hair.
Merida would need a week to attain sleek sophistication in that department, so she ran some serum through the ends and then tied it so that it hung in a thick, low ponytail.
It would just have to do.
She headed out to the main gallery and cast a knowing eye over the displays, then clipped down the stairs to the amulets, just to check all was in order.
The lights were on a sensor, and the walls that led to the stunning exhibition were lined in very deep violet velvet. It gave the impression of entering another world.
Of course Reece would have ensured everything was immaculate for Mr Devereux, but she wanted to check for herself.
The amulets twinkled beguilingly. The next time she returned it would be with keys, so their guest could hold some of the choice pieces.
Happy that all was in order, Merida headed up to the main gallery and took her place on a high stool behind the desk. She tried to let go of the feeling of indignation Reece had left her with.
Eccentricities!
While acting might be her real passion, Merida worked hard at the gallery. Far harder than the manager, Clint, who thought only of commission and clearly hadn’t been available this evening.
She was still smarting when an expensive black car pulled up outside. As the chauffeur got out she stepped down from the stool, popped the champagne and started to pour.
