workmen holding up the traffic ahead.
‘It was nice bumping into Henry earlier,’ Kelly murmured in a softer tone.
‘Yes, it was such a surprise. It’s been so long since we last saw each other. Over ten years, I think.’
‘He must look pretty different from when you last him, huh?’
Cassie smiled. ‘He certainly does. He’s going to draw me up a list of things to do out here. I can’t wait to see what he’s going to put on it,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders excitedly. ‘I got the impression he knows this place pretty well.’
‘Yeah. He’s pretty . . .’ she searched for the word . . . ‘worldly. A lot of the companies who sponsor his sort of gig are based out here,’ Kelly said, texting again. ‘I see him from time to time.’
‘I like the idea of a list. It’ll be good, I think – you know, give me a focus.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ Kelly said, patting her leg. ‘Bebe Washington will give you focus when you step through the door tomorrow. Trust me! There’s nothing like “two weeks till showtime” to show you what focus looks like.’
A look of terror washed over Cassie’s face as she wondered for the millionth time what she was letting herself in for. It was one thing Kelly putting her up out here – but giving her a job too? Hell, not even giving her one, making one up . Cassie didn’t have a scratch of experience in any industry. She’d been married since the age of twenty – had dropped out of her Sociology degree at Bristol in the process – and all she’d done since then was manage the estate and the shooting season. Which wasn’t to say it didn’t have its organizational demands, but it didn’t carry over well on a CV. Kelly knew as well as Cassie did that no one would give her a second look. They were both of them going to have to wing it.
But Cassie was worried. Kelly’s company, Hartford Communications, was one of the most prestigious fashion PR firms in Manhattan. She had Bebe Washington (womenswear), Maddy Foxton (accessories), Breitling (watches), Paloma Morriss (shoes) and Dilly (jewellery) on her books. She kept a tight ship, never doubling up on the categories, so that each account benefited from her sole attention on their brand in their market. And it worked. She had been known to move fledgling or struggling brands into profitability within six months, and revive ailing brands by placing them with the right ‘personalities’ and starting underground word-of-mouth campaigns that got everyone salivating. As a result, she could charge whatever fees she liked. She had become a one-stop shop for each market, and she was the envy of every other fashion PR on the East Coast, who struggled to juggle and place their competing accounts. Rumour had been rife in the industry that when the accessories slot came up (the predecessor Tilbury having been bought and amalgamated into the Richemont stable, thereby reluctantly bringing their PR in-house), there had been no fewer than thirty-six pitches, and that Kelly had interviewed them all individually. Maddy Foxton had been an outsider for the position, but her hand-dyed leathers in jewel colours and traditional artisans’ techniques had impressed Kelly. With her ‘patronage’, Maddy Foxton was now on the cusp of becoming a sensation.
All of which was great for Kelly, but none of which soothed Cassie’s nerves.
‘Here, you’re going to need one of these, by the way,’ Kelly said, opening a small enamel pill box and handing her two white tablets.
Cassie gasped. ‘Kelly!!’
Kelly dropped her shoulders and shook her head. ‘They’re ibuprofen tablets, Cassie! Painkillers. Just here, driver,’ she commanded, tipping the tablets into Cassie’s hand.
‘And why would I need those ? I’m not having a tattoo or anything like that, Kell. I don’t care if they’re “in”.’
‘“In?”’ Kelly echoed, wrinkling her nose and teasing her. ‘Did you really just say that?’
Kelly paid
‘It was nice bumping into Henry earlier,’ Kelly murmured in a softer tone.
‘Yes, it was such a surprise. It’s been so long since we last saw each other. Over ten years, I think.’
‘He must look pretty different from when you last him, huh?’
Cassie smiled. ‘He certainly does. He’s going to draw me up a list of things to do out here. I can’t wait to see what he’s going to put on it,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders excitedly. ‘I got the impression he knows this place pretty well.’
‘Yeah. He’s pretty . . .’ she searched for the word . . . ‘worldly. A lot of the companies who sponsor his sort of gig are based out here,’ Kelly said, texting again. ‘I see him from time to time.’
‘I like the idea of a list. It’ll be good, I think – you know, give me a focus.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ Kelly said, patting her leg. ‘Bebe Washington will give you focus when you step through the door tomorrow. Trust me! There’s nothing like “two weeks till showtime” to show you what focus looks like.’
A look of terror washed over Cassie’s face as she wondered for the millionth time what she was letting herself in for. It was one thing Kelly putting her up out here – but giving her a job too? Hell, not even giving her one, making one up . Cassie didn’t have a scratch of experience in any industry. She’d been married since the age of twenty – had dropped out of her Sociology degree at Bristol in the process – and all she’d done since then was manage the estate and the shooting season. Which wasn’t to say it didn’t have its organizational demands, but it didn’t carry over well on a CV. Kelly knew as well as Cassie did that no one would give her a second look. They were both of them going to have to wing it.
But Cassie was worried. Kelly’s company, Hartford Communications, was one of the most prestigious fashion PR firms in Manhattan. She had Bebe Washington (womenswear), Maddy Foxton (accessories), Breitling (watches), Paloma Morriss (shoes) and Dilly (jewellery) on her books. She kept a tight ship, never doubling up on the categories, so that each account benefited from her sole attention on their brand in their market. And it worked. She had been known to move fledgling or struggling brands into profitability within six months, and revive ailing brands by placing them with the right ‘personalities’ and starting underground word-of-mouth campaigns that got everyone salivating. As a result, she could charge whatever fees she liked. She had become a one-stop shop for each market, and she was the envy of every other fashion PR on the East Coast, who struggled to juggle and place their competing accounts. Rumour had been rife in the industry that when the accessories slot came up (the predecessor Tilbury having been bought and amalgamated into the Richemont stable, thereby reluctantly bringing their PR in-house), there had been no fewer than thirty-six pitches, and that Kelly had interviewed them all individually. Maddy Foxton had been an outsider for the position, but her hand-dyed leathers in jewel colours and traditional artisans’ techniques had impressed Kelly. With her ‘patronage’, Maddy Foxton was now on the cusp of becoming a sensation.
All of which was great for Kelly, but none of which soothed Cassie’s nerves.
‘Here, you’re going to need one of these, by the way,’ Kelly said, opening a small enamel pill box and handing her two white tablets.
Cassie gasped. ‘Kelly!!’
Kelly dropped her shoulders and shook her head. ‘They’re ibuprofen tablets, Cassie! Painkillers. Just here, driver,’ she commanded, tipping the tablets into Cassie’s hand.
‘And why would I need those ? I’m not having a tattoo or anything like that, Kell. I don’t care if they’re “in”.’
‘“In?”’ Kelly echoed, wrinkling her nose and teasing her. ‘Did you really just say that?’
Kelly paid
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