Page 27 of Broken Beyond Repair
“I’m going to make you pay for this, James,” Sydney muttered.
“I know, and it will be so worth it.”
CHAPTER9
Beatrice fanned herself with her notebook; the summer heat was unbearable. It was hard enough trying to sum up one’s life in an autobiography let alone doing it whilst baking in an oven, with one leg suffocating in a fiery blaze under a cast. It felt like acid was melting her skin.
A quick search on the internet reassured her that the jolts that shook her awake the previous night, along with the never-ending, thundering aches, the twinges that erupted randomly during the days, and the zings of electricity that zap her nerves repeatedly, were all normal healing signs.
It was a week since she’d sustained the injury, and her patience was already beginning to wear thin. It was going to be non-existent in the coming weeks, especially if the heat didn’t let up. Her LA hotel would have at least had the benefit of air conditioning; her home did not. With the amount of sweat her cast was producing, she was seriously concerned her leg would have rotted away by the time the cast was due to come off. The itching was something else.
She eyed her new assistant beavering away at the kitchen table. Sydney was a good-looking woman, even with her unusually large ears clinging for dear life to the sides of her head. Her brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail was doing nothing to disguise them.
She had to admit, Sydney wasn’t quite what she’d envisaged. A woman in her mid-thirties was a definite improvement on her previous PAs, and she held the energy of someone in their twenties. She had also proven herself to be competent; more than competent. In fact, Sydney was like no other assistant; she’d survived everything thrown at her in the last twenty-four hours.
Sydney was… quite remarkable.
It was strange that she wasn’t married, though, of course, going around in that ridiculous vehicle was hardly going to attract any normal companion, and with a job as a PA it was unlikely she would have time for one anyway.
Even so, Sydney had appealing qualities, especially of the domestic sort. Not only had she got her coffee right, but she’d also cooked the most amazing mussels Beatrice had ever tasted. Her first impressions of the woman were set when she logged in from the plane to her garage CCTV system to ensure the Mercedes left on time, only to find her new assistant lusting over her cars on the playback. The way Sydney touched them was the way Beatrice touched them herself, with an appreciation for the design, the contours, and the finish. She took it as quite the compliment. All the cars were built to her own specifications to suit her taste. It pleased her to see someone understand them as she did.
Her impressions were further elevated when she’d forwarded through the footage and found the woman using her own vehicle to start the Mercedes. It reminded her that she had told Mrs Clarkson not to worry about putting the vehicles on to their battery tenders and that she would do it before she left for the States. The woman wasn’t so steady on her feet anymore, and the last thing she wanted was for her to fall in the garage.
This new PA had initiative, and yes, she was remarkable, yet she had still to prove herself as reliable, trustworthy, and loyal. Traits that her predecessor was not blessed with. As soon as the news had spread that Beatrice and Peter were divorcing, the media declared that she was dating a male co-star. She believed that rumour came from Fleur herself, though she couldn’t prove it. She would have sacked her immediately had she been able to. Fleur had happened to walk into her dressing room, though, at the exact moment he brazenly propositioned her — with his tongue.
She envied people who built long-term relationships with a PA, ones that went on so well they became best friends. It was impossible to find an assistant to do their job properly, let alone move one into the friendship zone, and Beatrice could never be friends with someone who wasn’t competent. To have that connection with someone would make life a little less lonely, but seeing as her PAs only lasted on average six months, she’d given up trying to get to know them long ago. It was simpler to bark orders and bark louder when they weren’t carried out to her exacting standard.
With so many PAs in her rear-view mirror, Alison’s PA had suggested a change of agency to find some fresh blood. It was a drawback in her industry that everyone knew everyone. She knew she held a reputation for being unable to hold down a PA and hoped it was because she didn’t tolerate incompetence as opposed to being difficult to work for. Really, though, she didn’t care if it was the latter — she was past hoping she could make a friend. She was destined for a life of solitude whilst working in an industry that surrounded her with people.
If what Sydney said was true, that she never read any rumours in the press, Beatrice thought she might be able to have clean start with her. The woman clearly had good taste; they’d barely known each other for twenty-four hours when Sydney observed that red suited her. This she already knew, of course. Her iconic look was a red dress; it complemented her blonde, wavy hair and piercing blue eyes and highlighted her wide lips, which she always ensured were adorned in red lipstick when she was out in public.
That reminded her. She clicked her fingers at Sydney, then again louder when she didn’t respond.
“I need to stock up on some cosmetics whilst I’m home,” she said when the woman finally looked up. “I could be in the States for a few months when I return. You can find everything under my account with Harvey Nicks.”
She watched as Sydney riffled through the black book. That was a difference between her and other PAs. She always used her initiative first rather than disturbing her. She wasverygood.
Beatrice woke with a start to find her phone vibrating on her chest. Falling asleep on the sofa was becoming an afternoon habit since she’d broken her leg. Noticing Sydney was absent from her post, she swiped the phone to answer. It was Alison. Beatrice was hoping she would call to discuss the more recent additions to her autobiography. It was now pretty much up to date.
“How was what I sent you so far?” she immediately questioned, forgoing any greeting.
“It certainly covered the last thirty years of your career,” Alison said noncommittally.
“I admit I started with the easiest part. Is it informative?”
Alison hesitated. “Informative? Yes.”
“I sense a but. Be honest.”
“It’s just… there’s some disconnect. It’s monotonal, rigid, disjointed.”
“Okay,” Beatrice replied, bracing herself for more.
“The emotion is not coming across on the page. It feels soulless. Bring your barriers down, Bea, or this book is going to be worse than a wet weekend in Brighton. Pour your heart and soul into it and allow the emotion to tell the story. Tell the reader how things made you feel, how it affected your life, your relationships.”
She meant Peter. The jury was out on how she would include him. She knew exactly what she wanted to say where he was concerned, but there was Xander to think of. She couldn’t trash his father to the world as much as she desired to.
Alison continued. “You need to focus on getting those early years down; they’re what made you who you are today.”
