counted on her help to pull off. Deangelo cast a quick look through the open door at the nervous replacement as she sat typing diligently but unable to shield the worry in her eyes, biting her lip as she pretended not to listen in. No, with those kind of acting skills she wouldn’t do at all and it was far too late to train anyone else.
‘What kind of business?’
‘An agency. She has gone into partnership with three other ex-Aion employees. They are providing an all-round service, I believe, from event management to PA temps, household management to reputation management.’
Deangelo seized upon the one piece of information that was relevant. ‘They provide PA temps? Excellent. Then hire her back. For the next month. I’ll pay double the going rate.’ Everyone had their price and a fledgling agency would be more eager than most for business and income. ‘Tell her to make sure her passport is up-to-date; we leave for Rio in two weeks, but I want her back in tomorrow.’
He ended the call and stalked across the office to stand at the full-length windows, staring out at the London skyline beyond. Views like this were worth millions, buildings like the one Aion occupied—occupied and owned—in the heart of South Bank were worth more. He lived right here, in a penthouse apartment, his office took up the floor below, his private gym and swimming pool were in the basement, right next to the garage which housed his beloved collection of vintage sports cars. The rest of the building was a thriving hub of some of the world’s leading minds and they all worked for him. He had come a long, long way from the favela. But when he set foot in Rio would he be Deangelo Santos, founder of Aion, tech billionaire, philanthropist or would he revert to the street rat, illegitimate son of one of Rio’s oldest families? Discarded and left out like the rubbish they had deemed him.
His hands curled into fists. He had the power now and in two weeks he would show them just who he was. And for that he needed everything to be perfect. He needed Harriet.
As if on cue, his mobile rang. Glancing at the screen before he answered, Deangelo began to relax. Sue with the news of Harriet’s return, no doubt.
He answered the call with a curt ‘Yes?’ then listened to the apologetic voice for a moment, incredulity creeping over him. ‘What do you mean, she can’t do it?’
‘She says she hasn’t got time. Give her a week and she’ll find you a new replacement for Jenny, although she thinks you should give the poor girl more of a chance—her words not mine—but she’s too busy setting up the agency at the moment to take a month away. They only opened today, sir; they’re holding their launch party tonight. I was just on my way there now.’
Deangelo stilled. ‘Launch party? What’s the address? I’ll see you there. I’d better speak to Harriet myself.’
He ended the call, cutting off Sue’s polite but clearly panicked protests. If Rio was to go to plan then nothing could go wrong and that included Harriet Fairchild’s presence. And if he had to go to Chelsea and persuade her himself then that was exactly what he would do. His gaze stole towards the recycling bin and the gaudy magazine cover peeking out the top. He had a deathbed promise to fulfil and nothing—and no one—was going to stand in his way.
THE HOUSE WAS pleasantly full, closing in on crowded, a steady stream of curious neighbours, local businesses and carefully selected potential clients passing through to sample Amber’s spectacular canapés, have a glass of champagne and toast the Happy Ever After Agency’s launch. Harriet had watched Alexandra and Emilia turn on their cool, professional charm, while Amber tempted people with tray after tray of delicious treats, disbelief that it was really happening looping around her stomach. This was it. They existed. Their future was entirely in their hands—it was both thrilling and terrifying. Had they really thought when they’d first come up with the idea that it would actually happen? For so long it had seemed a nice pipe dream, not an actual plan.
No more dreaming. Things had just got serious and for the agency to work they needed clients and fast. This party was just the start. It had to be a success.
Leaning against the wall, Harriet pushed away the misgivings that liked to whisper in her ear; she could be at her desk right now, clocking off for the evening, earning a good salary, pension, benefits—safety. It was time she struck out and dared to do—to be—someone new. No longer the mousy little PA, more part of the office furniture than warm flesh and blood. Of so little significance that after three years Deangelo Santos hadn’t even said goodbye. She swallowed. She was a fool to be disappointed by the omission, a fool to care. Just because, occasionally, very occasionally, that keen stare had seemed to see her, seemed to know her, didn’t mean the connection she’d imagined was real. She might be a Jane Eyre type but that didn’t make him Rochester—which was a good thing. Harriet had never visited Deangelo’s penthouse suite but she was pretty sure he didn’t keep a wife hidden away there!
Enough. She had clients to woo and impress and moping over her old boss’s indifference would help nobody. She smiled even though there was no one there to see it, tilting her chin and pushing her shoulders back. Fake confidence if you don’t feel it was Amber’s mantra. It was one she was going to adopt.
Harriet’s own job for the evening was, by choice, greeting guests at the door, handing out brochures and booking in appointments and jobs. Small talk had never been her forte; she much preferred having an actual task to do. Besides, this was her job, just as networking and promoting was Alex and Emilia’s. She would be managing the office for all four of them as well as recruiting and placing the army of temps she hoped to have in place before too long, providing emergency PA cover herself if necessary. She liked the tidiness of admin work, sorting and solving problems, organising. She liked to be needed.
Outside this house there was nobody who needed her any more, nobody who even noticed her. Somehow, between school and now, she’d turned into the invisible woman. She would never regret the decisions that had taken her to this place. Never regret the years she had spent as her dad’s carer, the dates she had turned down, the potential friendships that had never come to fruition, the two fledgling relationships that had never progressed beyond possibility, the university place postponed until she had finally, regretfully withdrawn her application. She had no one but her father, and he had no one but her.
But now his dementia had progressed to a level in which she didn’t even exist. So where did that leave her?
Harriet summoned up a smile as a couple of guests passed her on their way out, copies of the agency’s promotional brochure in their hands. Stop being so self-pitying. She had her friends now—and more. She had a new way forward. Thanks to Alex’s inheritance she had a new job, a new home, a new purpose and with it a new resolve: that it was time to stop living on the sidelines, time to step out, actually try living not merely existing. To try and live a life that was more than work and responsibility, now that her father didn’t know who she was, now she no longer needed to spend every spare hour by his side. She would start by signing up for the evening language courses and the local book group and see about local volunteering opportunities. Not the wildest activities for someone just turned twenty-six, but a lot wilder than a night in alone with a herbal tea and a book.
And maybe while she was in this spirit she should stop skulking in the hallway with a tablet and a handful of leaflets and go and circulate as the other three were so effortlessly doing. She’d been to many work receptions while she worked at Aion, all over the world. She could do this... Resolutely she turned around but, as she did so, the old-fashioned doorbell rang its sonorous chime.
Pausing, Harriet
