I didn't sleep at all well that night, constantly turning over the details of that kiss in my mind. Eventually, I gave up, and got up early. I tried to take my mind off things by catching up with some mundane chores, telling myself that I'd need to be organised to deal with the next three months of looking after Henry. Truth was, I spent most of that morning making sure I was impeccably groomed, just in case he hadn't been drunk, and genuinely liked me. I even spent a good fifteen minutes flossing my teeth.
I wasn't due to pick him up till lunchtime for his interview, so I went straight into the office to sort out the Italy trip, and sort out the list of questions he'd be asked that day.
I read through them, checking the answers he'd been instructed to give. They were mostly innocuous, relating mainly to his role as Superman. Only one related to his private life, asking if he had a girlfriend. PR had written that he was to say 'no', and that he was looking for the right woman. I scowled slightly, before attaching it to an email, and sending it to him at henry@superman.com, smiling at the address.
"Hey Sarah, have you checked out the sites this morning?" Clive said, as he walked into the office. "Seems like you caused a bit of a stir. They're all asking who the mystery date is. Plus, and this is a biggie, they're not ripping you apart like they did the last one."
I clicked onto the gossip sites, only to be faced with pictures of us arriving and departing the restaurant. Our body language looked comfortable, even intimate. They actually weren't bad photos, and it was glad I'd got my hair done. I read through the comments, smiling at the outlandish guesses, and wincing at the hatefulness of some of the posters, who clearly had a bit of a crush on him. Not one person guessed correctly who I was.
"Genius move, taking him out like that," said Clive, "shut up the speculation about his orientation, and got him on every gossip site going. The kiss in the car at the end was inspired."
I froze.
Then I clicked through the pictures.
Sure enough, there it was, a grainy image of our clinch. I racked my brain to figure out how, and then recalled a motorbike going past. The paparazzi must have followed us.
A seed of doubt planted itself firmly in my mind. Maybe Henry had realised we'd been followed, and staged that kiss to get the studio PR off his back. I resolved to ask him about it later.
I'd just booked our rooms at the Grande Vizente, when my email pinged. Clicking it open, I found an email from Henry, requesting the removal of the girlfriend question from that day's interview. It was a cold, impersonal email, with no hint of playfulness. Sighing, I emailed 'Heat' to request the question be removed, and got on with booking flights.
I picked him up at mid-day, having braced myself to face him again. I'd decided not to mention our kiss, having spent the morning convincing myself it had all been staged for the cameras. "Hi Sarah, busy morning?" Henry said, after opening the door. He smiled warmly.
"Yeah. Sorted that hotel, and our flights on the 20th July," I told him, trying to gauge his mood.
"Excellent. Where have we gotta go for this interview?"
"Covent Garden."
The journey over was an exercise in surviving sexual tension. In the close confines of the car, I could smell his delicious scent, and was hyper-aware of him sitting next to me. "Are you alright Sarah? You seem very quiet," he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I paused. "Did you see the gossip sites this morning?"
"I did."
I took a deep breath. "Were you aware that we were being followed?"
He regarded me intently. "Of course not. Were you?" There was a trace of annoyance in his voice.
I shook my head, "no."
"Are you in trouble at work because of it?"
"No, my boss was delighted. He thinks we staged it, you know, for the photographer."
"I see."
That was it, no soothing words, no 'it'll be alright', just an 'I see'. Somehow it felt worse. I decided that he must have been drunk.
"Don't worry, it won't happen again," I snapped. I watched annoyance flash over his beautiful face. He huffed a bit, then turned to stare out of the window for the rest of the journey. I busied myself sending an email, mainly so that I didn't have to speak to him. I was cross with myself for breaking my own rules, and allowing an asshole actor to get too close.
We pulled up outside the offices, and slid out of the car. "You memorised those questions?" I asked. I never really trusted actors to put the grunt work in.
"Of course I have," he replied. "I always do my homework."
We walked into the Heat offices. I knew a few of the journalists there, as I'd often accompanied actors to their interviews and photo shoots. "Sarah!," squealed an excited, rather high pitched voice, "I knew it was you in those pics. Am I allowed to name you? It's only a matter of time before someone does."
I turned to see Susie Delaney beaming a smile. We'd known each other since uni, and were quite good friends. "Hi Suze, can we have a coffee after this interview? I need to give it some thought."
"Sure. You know where my office is. See you in a bit." She flashed a smile at Henry, then trotted off in her impossibly high Manolos.
"So are you gonna let her name you?" Henry muttered as we waited for the lift.
"Probably, with some edits. I can do damage limitation if she's on side," I replied.
He looked quizzical. "Damage limitation? What can possibly be damaging about two people going out for dinner and kissing goodnight?"
"I'm your handler, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm paid to fetch and carry, organise stuff, wipe your nose, and supply you with anything you need. I can be your pimp, your dealer and your fixer. What I can't be is 'involved'." I kept my voice low, aware that we were in the offices of rapacious journalists.
He frowned, and looked thoughtful for a moment. As the lift doors opened, he flashed his movie star smile, "Oh yes you can."
Before I could answer, he was shaking hands with his interviewer, the infamous Greg O'Brian, who was one of the most militant gay men I'd ever met. I groaned inwardly, knowing full well it would be a tricky interview.
They were filming it for their website, as well as transcribing it for the magazine. Henry was shown to a chair set in front of a 'heat' backdrop. He sat quietly while a makeup artist brushed some powder over his forehead and nose. I prayed Greg would go easy on him.
"And here we have the man of steel himself, Henry Cavill everyone," Greg began, shaking Henry's hand. The first few questions were easy enough, Greg was sticking to his script, and not causing any problems. I began to relax.
"So Henry, the costume. It was quite a departure from the ones in the comic books?"
"Yes, the team decided on an updated version, to reflect a more modern day outlook." I glanced at Greg's assistants clipboard, to see that additional questions had been put in. I frowned at Henry.
"Did you have to wear a sock?"
I could see his confusion, "I'm sorry, what do you mean, 'a sock'?"
"To fill out that super suit." Greg started laughing at his own puerile joke. He gestured towards Henry's crotch.
"No, man," snapped Henry, visibly annoyed.
I stepped in. "That wasn't on the list of questions Greg," I snatched the clipboard from his assistants hand, and scanned it. "Nor are 'are you gay'? Who were you with last night? And how much did you make last year?"
"Sarah, stop being such a control freak. They're the things people wanna know, not 'what is the super suit made of'?"
"Interviews over," I announced, "if you can't be trusted when I deliver our top talent to you Greg, then you won't get any more exclusives."
"Very feisty, Sarah. Think I might just have to do some naming and shaming this afternoon, although it pains me to participate in a bearding exercise."
"Right, that's it," said Henry, pulling off his microphone. "I'm not listening to you talking to her like that. You don't have my permission to use the footage."
Greg put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Ok, I'll stick to the script. Just thought your fans would like some juicier questions. You've told the same superman stories over and over." Henry shot him a disdainful look, and walked out, with me close behind.
I struggled to keep up in my heels, as he stomped down the corridor to the lift. "Will you slow down?" I called out.
He turned to face me, fury written all over his lovely face, "Sarah, I'm gonna go home for a while, cool down. I suggest you go do your 'damage limitation' with your friend. I'll see you later on."
"You haven't got anything else scheduled for today. Just call me if you need anything. Otherwise I'll see you tomorrow at ten for the 'Men's Health' shoot."
"Fine," he barked, before pushing through the stairwell doors, clearly not wanting to share a lift. I sighed. I didn't blame him for being angry. Greg had been totally out of order. I watched him stride away, his sturdy, broad shoulders stiff with tension, as the doors swung closed behind him.
I made my way down to Susie's office, only to find Greg sitting in there looking a bit shamefaced. "I've already told her what happened," he began, "to save you the ag of going through it all again."
"Why did you just do that?" I demanded. "You know full well United Artists and Warner Brothers won't let you within fifty feet of any of their stars again once they hear about this."
"I wasn't necessarily going to ask those questions," he bleated, "I was gonna gauge how chatty he was, and if he'd loosened up enough, maybe slip one or two in."
"You practically asked him if he's got a small dick," I spat, "that was totally inappropriate, and you knew it."
Greg stared at the floor, in no doubt as to how much he'd screwed up. Eventually, Susie spoke; "it's done now. We'll scrap the tape. Do you want us to do some strategic identification of you regarding those pictures?" She was holding out an olive branch.
"Please. Something along the lines of me being a secretary, and it was a first date." I turned to Greg, "think you can manage that? If this is controlled, I might just be able to talk Henry out of mentioning this whole sorry affair to his agent. Capiche?" He nodded.
"We'll get to work on it straightaway. Just be aware that he's got some fans that'll be jealous no matter what. We can get the interns to monitor the forums, and try and calm down any rabid posts, but ultimately a lot of women are gonna be pretty envious." Susie was blunt and to the point.
"Did you know you were being photographed?" Greg asked.
I shook my head. "Neither of us did."
"So, this thing, with you and Henry.."
"It's not a thing," I snapped, interrupting him. "I barely know him. We just both had too much to drink, that's all. It won't happen again."
"Now that would be a shame," Greg smirked. "Every man, woman and beast would want to jump that particular set of bones. Is he a good kisser?"
"Like I'd tell you," I said, throwing him a disdainful look. If it hadn't been for the fact that Greg's talent was steering the gossip blogs, I'd have cheerfully stuck two fingers up, and refused to ever deal with the idiot again. At least he owed me one, and with the threat of not allowing access to some of Hollywoods top actors ever again, he would behave himself for a while.
Back in the office, I checked the gossip sites, and set up some google alerts. I watched as Greg gently outed me, portraying me as a sweet little secretary, who Henry had set his sights on. I read through the comments, wincing at the ones stating that, in their opinion, Henry could do better, and smiling at the ones that thought I looked like a nice girl, and prettier than his previous girlfriend. I was interrupted by my phone ringing. I glanced at the screen. It was Henry.
"You let that pillock name you in the press?" He said, without preamble.
"Yes, in return for ripping up that tape, a grovelling apology, and a promise never to pull a stunt like that again," I told him. "Greg's an influential blogger. He's spinning this for me, and hopefully squashing it quickly before it becomes a big deal. Did you tell anyone what happened this afternoon?" I held my breath.
"Not yet, why?"
"Because it would really do me a big favour if you didn't," I told him.
"Machiavellian little thing aren't you?"
"That's why I'm a fixer," I replied. "Keeping a lid on stuff is what I do best." I could hear bleeps telling me I had other calls coming through, but I ignored them. "Are you out tonight?" I asked.
"No. Why?"
"Just wondered if I needed to put Bob on stand-by, that's all."
"Are you out?"
"No. I need to do some chores. If I'm not needed, I'll take a night off."
I could almost hear his smile down the phone. "I'll see what I can come up with. Wouldn't want your little charge getting himself into trouble, now would you?" His voice took on a sexy, purring quality, which lightened his threat to find something to keep me busy, and away from the ironing I really needed to get done. In spite of myself, I smiled.
"I'll see you later on," he purred, before ending the call. I sat, dazed for a few minutes, before my phone ringing jolted me out of my daydream.
The calls continued all afternoon. I pulled in every favour I'd ever been owed, to keep the celeb sites on side. In a lot of respects, it did Henry a huge favour, putting him at the top of almost every celebrity gossip site. It also fully squashed the Datalounge brigade, with their shrill accusations that he was closeted. As long as my real identity was concealed, it was a pretty decent result all round.
I was exhausted by the time I walked through my front door. I kicked off my heels, and threw down my handbag. The house seemed too silent, and lonely, so I switched on the TV, and flicked the channel onto the news. The noise was comforting, reminding me that I wasn't alone in the world, as I knocked up some beans on toast. I didn't have much food in, and no wine at all. My organisational skills seemed to run out when it came to my own well being. I sat down to eat, when I heard my handbag chirp. Pulling my phone out, my tummy flipped when I saw it was a text from Henry.
*Are you free this evening?*
I immediately text back, *yes, is there something you need?* I prayed he wasn't just after some work related item, or worse still, an escort. It was at that moment I realised that I wanted him to want me. I held my breath as I stared at my phone, willing him to reply, my food forgotten about. After a few moments, it chirped again. My hands shook slightly as I opened the text.
*I'd like to see you. Can you come over?*
I replied; *sure, just let me quickly eat, and I'll be there.*
I looked at my sad plate of beans, the toast going soggy from the juice. *don't eat, I'll cook*
I didn't need asking twice. I had a quick shower, threw on some clean clothes, and was out the door in ten minutes, all thoughts of chores forgotten. I wanted that man, and it appeared that he wanted me too.
During the taxi ride over, my confidence began to wane slightly. That little voice in my head warned against getting too excited, as he was still an asshole actor, and was probably just a bit bored on his own. By the time I'd got there, I'd convinced myself that it was probably just a work thing, and he wanted some scheduling organised, or a kind ear to listen as he ran through a script. He was starting filming the following week, so probably had pages of lines to learn. I mentally chided myself for dropping everything and racing over, even though it was my job.
It was one of the myriad reasons I'd never got involved with one of my charges. I had no choice but to see them, respond when they clicked their fingers. If you throw in the awkwardness of a one night stand, it would make my job a million times more difficult.
As the taxi pulled up outside, I scanned the street for nosy beggars. Satisfied that I wasn't being watched, I paid the driver, and hopped out. I scuttled up the path, to discover Henry waiting at the door, beaming a wide smile. "Thanks for coming," he said.