Oh, Freya was on edge and trying not to be but Beth really was a bridezilla.
‘Okay, done. Wow. You look amazing!’ Freya said. ‘Simply stunning.’
No one could ever tell when Freya was lying. It was why she was so successful in PR.
The dress that Beth had chosen was a long sheath of ivory tulle, tied in the middle with a huge satin bow.
Like an oddly wrapped parcel, Freya thought.
Worse, Beth had chosen similar for Freya to wear. Hers was knee-length, though, and the shade of Freya’s dress was Antique White. Freya felt as if she was wearing an old teabag. Her brunette hair had been teased into curls and Beth had insisted on red lips for them both. The only saving grace was that the bow on Freya’s dress was smaller.
They looked like two poodles who’d been badly clipped, Freya thought as she stared at their reflections.
‘Are you wearing a bra?’ Beth checked.
‘It didn’t work with the dress,’ Freya said.
‘Well, put some plasters on them,’ Beth said. ‘I don’t want your nipples in my photos.’
There was a knock at the door and, of course, brides didn’t answer doors, so Freya opened it and smiled when she saw Beth’s father, realising it was time for her to head down and check the last-minute details.
‘Right, I’m going to go down and make sure everything is in place,’ Freya said. ‘Enjoy every moment and leave all the worrying to me.’
‘I shall.’ Beth nodded. ‘It’s all set for midnight?’
‘It is.’
‘I want everyone watching us kiss as we ring in the New Year.’
‘They shall be.’
‘Thanks for organising everything.’
‘Well, it’s been a lot more fun sorting out flowers and table plans than getting everyone at The Hills to glam up for the new brochure...’
‘They’re already a glam lot.’
‘I know they are.’ That hadn’t been what Freya had meant but there wasn’t time for all that now. ‘I’ll see you down in the hotel chapel.’
‘Don’t forget the plasters,’ Beth reminded her. Freya smiled and picked up her posy of red flowers to match her red lips then stepped out of the room and let out a very long breath.
Again she had lied. This wedding had been hell to organise.
Two of the hotels that Beth and Neil had chosen as potential venues had explained that their stairways and escalators were for all of their guests, especially on New Year’s Eve. It had been difficult to find somewhere to accommodate all their demands but Freya had achieved it.
The wedding was at five, then dinner and speeches, but instead of being able to relax afterwards she had to keep the cameraman and photographer sober, as well as get two hundred guests out of the ballroom and onto the main staircase. Oh, and her ex, Edward, was going to be there.
As he had been at three other weddings she’d attended this year.
Freya was so over weddings!
She knew that her PR skills were a very large reason that Beth had chosen her to be bridesmaid.
It didn’t offend Freya.
To survive as top PR consultant in LA, you needed to keep in with your contacts. Beth was a journalist, and the many hours that Freya had spent organising the wedding would be returned in kind.
It was called networking and Freya was very good at that.
Freya got to her hotel room to freshen up. She checked her make-up and wished she hadn’t—it was far too much.
She really didn’t like this dress and how much it revealed of her shoulders. Her upper back was bare too and she felt exposed. Freya turned and craned her neck and told herself that everyone in the chapel would be looking at the bride rather than the bridesmaid’s spinal column.
As always, she checked her phone and saw that there were several messages and missed calls from her brother, James.
Work.
Freya knew that it would be.
James Rothsberg was the cosmetic surgeon in LA and for the past six years he had poured everything into The Hollywood Hills Medical Center. It was an amazing facility frequented by the rich and famous. Affectionately known as The Hills, it had everything from obstetrics to intensive care and was the top tier of health care. Two years ago James had asked Freya to come on board and she had put her PR skills to excellent commercial use.
Till now.
It was time to give back, she had told James.
And he’d listened.
Which was why, instead of rolling her eyes at being called late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, Freya called her brother.
‘Hi, James,’ Freya said. ‘You’ve been trying to get hold of me.’
‘I have,’ James said. ‘Freya, I need you at The Hills tomorrow at nine.’
‘On New Year’s Day?’ Freya checked.
‘I’ve just taken a call from Geoff, and Paulo’s condition has deteriorated. I’ve just spoken with Zackary and he’s agreed to come in and be interviewed tomorrow instead of waiting till Monday.’
Freya’s eyes screwed closed as James carried on talking.
‘I need you to be at the interview.’
‘Me?’ Freya tried to keep the quake from her voice. ‘Since when did I sit in on the hiring of medical personnel?’
‘Since you talked me into taking on charitable cases,’ James answered tartly. ‘And, given we’re going to be asking him to donate his skills for nothing...’
‘He already knows that he’ll be doing some pro bono work.’
‘Freya?’
She could hear the question in her brother’s voice at her reluctance to sit in on the interview. After all, Freya had been the one pushing for The Hills to embrace this. Freya had been the one looking into a suitable charity to properly support and now things were finally moving along. But what James didn’t understand was that the very seemingly together, always-very-much-in-control Freya had got herself into a little pickle that her older brother didn’t know about.
There was a big pickle her brother didn’t know about either, namely that the charity she’d found was headed by his ex, Mila Brightman, but it was the other pickle in the jar that Freya was wrestling with now.
She had already been dreading meeting the hotshot cardiac surgeon
