She looked me straight in the eyes. She had now fully shed the cold demeanour I first witnessed. She appeared interested.
We smiled at each other slightly awkwardly, before she added, ‘Thank you for today. Jose will see you out.’
I glanced longingly at the open bottle of champagne she had left on the side, wishing I could take it with me. Turning down a free, cold glass of Veuve Clicquot was criminal in my book, but this was my signal to depart, and I had my desk to clear at Selfridges today.
I reached for my bag and Jose gave me a curt nod as he held out my coat the way waiters do, and ushered me towards the stairs. I glanced across at Jimi as I bade Mandy goodbye. He raised his hand casually but didn’t open his mouth. He seemed arrogant.
Jose was at the door of the suite.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, opening it.
‘Thank you so much, Mr Marquez, I really enjoyed meeting you both.’
‘It was a pleasure, Amber.’ Jose smiled. This time it didn’t feel as though he found me slightly amusing. Instead, it was a smile which acknowledged I’d done a good job. ‘We’ll call Julie-Ann today and she will be in touch.’
Then he stretched out a soft, manicured hand and I held out my sweaty palm to meet it. Taking it, he moved his faceto the side of mine and gently kissed the air on either side of my cheeks. ‘Ciao, bella.’
I was taken aback to be getting a kiss after an interview, but supposed it was the Latin American way.
And he does smell so good.
As I exited the Corinthia and began walking up Whitehall towards Trafalgar Square, on my way to the Tube, a black taxi pulled up at the traffic lights beside me. At first, I thought my brain was playing tricks, but when I blinked and looked again, I could clearly see that it was covered in the tagline for Mandy’s YouTube channel, which was currently smashing audience figures.
Why is it that when you want something really badly, the universe shoves it right in your face?
‘What Mandy wants, Mandy gets…’ it said, in big bright-pink text, next to an image of her in a crisp white shirt held together over her chest by just one button. She was looking at the camera seductively, a coy smile dancing on her glossy lips, which were partly obscured by her raised forefinger, held lightly against her slightly parted lips in a pose which suggested Mandy had lots of secrets. Her long mane, with caramel highlights, was tousled to perfection and blew out away from her face, thanks to the close proximity of a wind machine or hairdryer being held just out of shot. I had been on enough photoshoots to know there would be a whole team of people just shy of the camera, each with a role to play to ensure every aspect of a publicity photo was perfect. Collar up, no unsightly creases, shimmering tan on every visible morsel of flesh, baby hairs smoothed with lacquer.
The taxi pulled off revealing a further image of Mandy emblazoned on its back, this time she was waving.‘See you soon, England!’ said the pink wording.
See you soon. I hope.
I crossed the road and into the Embankment underground station. As I glided downwards on the escalator, my phone rang. I hurriedly pulled it out of my bag thinking it was probably Rob wanting to know how the interview went, but to my delight it was an American number. Could it be Julie-Ann already? ‘Hello?’ I answered. The little bars indicating the level of reception were dropping by the second – three-two-one. ‘He-llo!’ I repeated. ‘Can you he—’ It went dead.Damn you, reception!
The end of the escalator was still a little way off. Panicked, without thinking straight, I turned around and began charging back up the escalator, my bag flying out to the side, knocking into people on the way past.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ shouted one man.
I knew immediately this was a bad idea, but I was committed to climbing the downward moving stairs now, and I had to make it to the top if only to save face. Panting, I strode upwards, taking the wide steps one by one, each steeper than the former.
‘Twelve, thirteen, fourteen …’ I reached the top, my legs shaking and my finger already on the little green ‘phone’ icon.Please answer, please answer.
‘Hi, Amber.’ It was Mandy. ‘Thanks for calling back. I wanted to discuss something,’ her voice purred as I caught my breath.
My heart was beating hard and fast.
‘Hi, Mandy. Is everything okay?’ It was a challenge to speak. I was so out of breath. Surely, I hadn’t just risked my life on an escalator for the sake of Mandy asking whether the Missoni PR office might gift her the new resort collection?You wouldn’t believe how many celebrities ask for freebies from their stylists, often putting us in the tricky position of having to beg someone on their behalf. It’s Awks with a capital A.
‘There is something about this potential position that we didn’t discuss,’ she said.
She’s right about that – the salary.
‘Julie-Ann will want you to sign an NDA before I can disclose the full details. I can’t say much, but – between us – I’m coming to the UK.’ My mind flashed back to the ‘See you soon, England!’ line on the back of the taxi. It made sense that UK streaming platforms and e-commerce sites would want to get in on the cash-cow that was the world of Mandy Sykes.
‘That’s great news. Do you need someone to get you ready for some promotional activity?’ I probed.
‘Honey, it’s not just the publicity I’ll need dressing for – I’m actually moving to the UK, so I’ll need my stylist with me twenty-four/seven. So, I’m asking if you’d be open to joining my in-house team and move in?’
I dropped my bag to the floor.
