‘Just a minute!’ I yelled, praying whoever it was didn’t have a key to the suite. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed a blue and gold blanket off the back of the nearest settee and wrapped it around my shoulders before sprinting across the room.

‘Hello?’ I said, swiping errant strands of pink hair away from my sweaty face as I cracked open the door.

A pretty redhead dressed all in black smiled back at me.

‘Hi, I’m Rachel. I’m here to do Juliette’s makeup?’

A sudden flashback to the itinerary on my desk on The Songbird hit me in the chops like a damp haddock. The makeup artist. I hadn’t cancelled the makeup artist.

‘Oh my god, I am so sorry,’ I said, adding another failure to Fran’s Fabulous Fuck-Up List. ‘This is my fault entirely but we’re not actually going to be needing you today.’

Her pleasant expression dissolved into confusion.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘There’s been a slight, last-minute change in plan,’ I said, trying to explain without explaining. ‘I’m her assistant, Fran, and I should have contacted you before now, but the short version is, Juliette isn’t going to need makeup after all.’

No lies or NDA-breaking admissions detected.

I held my breath as the redhead silently ran through an entire gamut of emotions, expressing them exclusively with her eyebrows, before settling on righteously pissed off.

‘Are you kidding me? Is she in there?’ she demanded, standing on her tiptoes to peer over my shoulder and into the suite. ‘This is completely out of order. I flew in from London for this, I dragged a suitcase full of makeup on a ferry. Let me speak to her.’

I held the door open to show her the empty suite. ‘She’s not here. I’m really sorry you’ve had a wasted trip, I don’t know how to apologize enough. You must be really frustrated.’

Rachel switched her attention to me, narrowing her eyes to give me the once-over.

‘Why are you wearing a blanket?’

‘Because I’m an idiot.’

‘Are you really her assistant?’

‘Yes. Or at least, I was. For two days.’

‘A new record.’ She thrust out her hand and reset her face. ‘Let’s start over. I’m Rachel Summers and I’m sure this isn’t your fault, sorry I lost my rag.’

‘Not at all,’ I replied as she trotted into the suite, pulling a suitcase almost as big as she was in behind her. ‘But I should have cancelled you earlier, that part is definitely my fault.’

‘I can’t wait to hear this story,’ she said, considering all her options before selecting a seat. ‘But just so we’re clear, I’m still invoicing for the day.’