Boot Camp Bride Read Free Page A

clicked the heels of her fashionable shoes together, openly terrified that Vanessa would glance her way and find her wanting, too. After a moment’s silence, everyone began to mutter. However, working for Vanessa had turned Sally into one tough little cookie, because other than a tell-tale wobble she didn’t even blink in the face of such voluble resentment. ‘Here are your aprons,’ she gestured towards a table stacked high with white linen. ‘Put them on before you leave the room and then head over to the kitchens where you’ll be given name badges and further orders.’
    ‘Hang on a minute.’
    ‘Are you having a laugh?’
    ‘I’m not wearing this!’
    Apparently more frightened of disobeying Vanessa than upsetting a troupe of junior reporters, Sally swatted their objections away as if they were particularly bothersome flies. ‘Any complaints, take them up with Vanessa.’ At the mention of her name, the rebellion was quashed. But Charlee wasn’t giving in that easily. Believing that fortune favours the brave, she marched up to the table and took an apron off the pile. She tied it around her waist French waiter style with the bib folded under, leaving her new Jigsaw top clearly visible.
    ‘Look at it this way, guys,’ she addressed her co-workers, putting a positive spin on the situation. ‘At least we’ll be able to get up close and personal to some seriously famous authors and agents - do a bit of networking.’
    ‘You heard what Vanessa said about doorstepping, Montague,’ Sally screeched as a muted cheer went up from the demoralised troops. ‘You can’t … you wouldn’t dare!’ She stood in front of the door in an attempt to bar Charlee’s way out of the room. Such was the terror Vanessa engendered in her staff.
    ‘Don’t. Push. It. Taylor.’ Charlee enunciated with just the right degree of menace and none too gently moved her size zero bones out of the way. ‘You have no idea who you’re messing with -’
    ‘You’ll pay for this,’ Sally hissed. The other interns took Charlee’s lead, tying on their aprons with a smile as they realised the evening wasn’t a complete disaster. ‘I’ll make it my business to see that you do.’
    ‘Of that I have no doubt.’ Charlee shut the door and walked away, leaving Sally standing on the other side of the glass mouthing threatening words and looking like a fish in an aquarium demanding food. Pulling back her shoulders, Charlee put on her best smile, tied her apron more securely and prepared to rub shoulders with the rich and famous.
    She’d turn this debacle round and make the evening a success, if it was the last thing she did.

 
     
    Chapter Three
Rock, Paper, Scissors
    After an hour of smiling pleasantly and counting how many guests actually bothered to crack their surgically enhanced, botoxed faces with ‘yes, please’ or ‘no, thank you’, Charlee’s optimism was wearing thin. She glanced round the gallery and exchanged cheesed-off looks with her fellow cater-waiters.
    The award ceremony was drawing to a close and cosmopolitans and tiny chocolate brownies were being served. All very Sex in the City , but she felt less like Carrie Bradshaw and more like an invisible will-o’-the-wisp as she helped guests into their coats and watched them leave for trendy after-parties and members-only clubs. Even the author who’d won the Elfreda Walker prize - named after Poppy’s grandmother - had abandoned the table where he’d spent most of the evening signing copies of his book. Every time Charlee had walked past he’d been obscured by punters eager to buy a copy of The Ten Most Dangerous Destinations on the Planet .
    He must have raked it in this evening.
    Charlee wondered how many guests would actually read his book and not simply leave it on the coffee table gathering dust. A trophy from another champagne reception.
    And talking of champagne …
    She slid away from the yawping, air-kissing crowd and collected her clutch bag from the