Boot Camp Bride Read Free

teeth so brilliant white that Charlee and Poppy were temporarily dazzled. ‘Vanessa wants you wannabes in the side room over there.’ She pointed with the invitations in the direction of a small room off the main art gallery. ‘The catering staff’s been hit by the same sickness bug as Editorial. You and the others are to serve the champagne and canapés.’
    ‘What? Even me?’ questioned Poppy, joining in with the conversation and giving the PA a quelling look.
    Momentarily wrong-footed, Sally checked her list of guests and then came back with a flustered, sycophantic: ‘Are you here as Miss Walker, daughter of the proprietor and friend of Mr Fonseca-Ffinch. Or an intern and employee of What’cha! ’
    ‘Don’t be such a fuckwit, Sally. Figure it out for yourself.’
    Acting daughter-of-the-boss, Poppy sashayed into the crowd air-kissing people as she headed towards an exhibition of photographs from the award-winning book: The Ten Most Dangerous Destinations on the Planet . She picked up a glass of champagne clearly expecting Charlee to follow her, but Charlee suddenly thought better of it. Poppy’s position at What’cha! was ambiguous to say the least and she could wrap Sam Walker round her French manicured finger. But Charlee didn’t have that luxury. She sighed and her earlier euphoria evaporated, leaving her depressingly aware of her lowly status.
    She should have known there was no such thing as a free lunch - or a baksheesh invitation to an exclusive book launch, come to that. Realising she’d been sold a pup, Charlee headed for the side room Sally had indicated, the glitter, glamour and promise of the evening receding with every step. She entered the room just in time to hear Vanessa’s uplifting team talk.
    ‘I don’t care how many episodes of Ugly Betty you’ve seen, or what your pathetic little dreams are. Tonight is not about promoting yourselves or your dubious writing talents.’ There was a general shuffling of feet as this venomous barb struck home. Like Charlee, everyone present had aspirations and hoped one day to write their own column or at least be given a by-line in the publication of their choice. An optimism Vanessa clearly did not share - if her scathing glance over the assembled interns was anything to judge by.
    ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Charlee began. Vanessa squinted at her short-sightedly, but after realising it was Charlee - a person of no importance, she ignored her and carried on.
    ‘Tonight you are invisible; here to act as cater-waiters. Do well and you’ll be rewarded. Screw up and you’ll be counting paper clips and kissing your Christmas bonus goodbye. If you’re lucky, you might get to hear the author’s acceptance speech and buy his book at the end of the launch. I’ve negotiated a generous staff discount,’ she added magnanimously, as Sally entered and gave them all a supercilious, pitying look.
    With a nod from Vanessa, Sally put in her two pennyworth, just in case they didn’t get it. ‘Anyone seen doorstepping the author or any VIP will be disciplined and summarily dismissed.’ She shot a little dart of wishful thinking in Charlee’s direction.
    Vanessa, hearing the siren call of chinking glasses and catching the flash of cameras as publicity shots were taken, clearly decided that she had bigger - and more important - fish to fry. With a ‘let’s get this over with’ nod to Sally, she left the interns under no illusion what she thought of them.
    ‘For the love of God, Sally, check out what each of them is wearing before you let them loose on the unsuspecting guests. Most of them look like extras from the “Devil Wears Primark”. I’ve never seen so many synthetic fabrics together in one room. A carelessly positioned candle and the whole place could go up.’ Her cold blue eyes treated them to one, last hypercritical sweep before she left the room, leaving a trail of her signature lung-clogging perfume in her wake.
    ‘Yes Vanessa!’ Sally almost