Fixing it for Henry

Chapter 1

I stood in front of the mirror cursing. If I didn't get a move on, I'd be late, which wouldn't go down well with Mr Hitchcock, my manager. I was starting a new project that Monday morning, so really needed to be on time, and playing my 'A' game. Irritated, I stuck my hair in a ponytail, and grabbed my bag, flinging it over my shoulder, and racing out of the door. Of all people, I should be the most organised, given that I was a fixer, or rather, a nanny for the top talent at Warner Brothers.

I'm the one who sorts hotel rooms, finds the stuff requested in star's riders, and generally wipe their noses. I'm a mixture of PA, mummy, and often, pimp. It was actually a great job, and I never had two days the same. My previous charge had flown safely back to LA the day before, and into the safe care of my LA equivalent.

Mr Hitchcock was already in the spacious office by the time I got there. "Morning Sarah. Looking forward to meeting your new charge?" I rolled my eyes. All the stars I looked after were pretty ordinary, although usually bearing extraordinary egos. I'd never met anyone so far that I'd want to be best friends with.

"You know the answer to that one Clive. So who have I got this week?"

"Actually you've got him for the next three months. He's filming here, and in Italy, all this summer. His names Henry Cavill. Played superman in man of steel. You must know who he is."

"Rings a bell. Probably just a pretty boy. At least I get a bit of eye candy while I'm working." I knew from bitter experience that film stars were pains in the butt, no matter how nice the outer packaging. Still, it was better to have a nice view while I was being treated like a dogsbody.

Clive sent the file over. I printed it off, and flicked through it. I was to get his London home ready, get it cleaned and stocked. I needed to sort him a car and driver for the duration of his stay. All easy enough. "Where's the rest of the file?" I asked. "There's no rider, no special requirements, doesn't even say what household staff he wants."

Clive glanced up from his screen, "I don't think he wants any. He might change his mind when he finds out what's on offer. Just work with what you have. His flight arrives tomorrow morning at eight. Don't forget to tip off the paps."

Part of my job was to make sure our stars were always kept in the public eye, and presented in the best possible light. I had one day to get everything ready, not a lot of time, but I've managed worse deadlines. I picked up the phone to start on my list of calls.

By the time Henry landed the next morning, I'd had his house prepared, his fridge filled, his measurements sent to the various designers who wanted to dress him, clothes collected and hung in his wardrobe, and a car and driver/security sorted. I was to meet him at the first class area of Heathrow at eight, and brief him on the way back to his Kensington home.

Now, I was used to the various actors that Warner Brothers employed. They were usually handsome, charismatic, and fit. I liked to think I was immune to pretty faces, they usually just covered up an asshole personality.

Nothing prepared me for the first sight of Henry in the flesh, striding down the corridor. His masculine beauty simply took my breath away. I stood frozen, clipboard in hand, just drinking in the sight of him. 'Im so screwed', I thought, as he beamed a devastating smile at me. "Are you Sarah?" He asked.

Even his voice was sexy.

I must have looked a right idiot, just staring at him. Eventually I mentally slapped myself, closed my slack jaw, and forced myself back to the job at hand. "Yes, I'm Sarah. Nice to meet you. Your car's this way. Please follow me. There are photographers at the entrance."

He groaned, "I look like shit after the flight." I braved a glance at him, fully aware that I'd blush.

"You look ok to me." I steered him through the mass of paparazzi, then had to wait while he posed for pictures with a few fans who had gathered.

"We really need to get going," I huffed. Reluctantly, he said goodbye to the people screaming out his name, and followed me out to the car. "Bob will be your driver and security," I told him. He smiled and shook Bob's hand, taking the grizzled, cynical driver by surprise. He was used to the asshole stars too.

During the drive to his house, I ran through all the services he could request, that would be accommodated by the studio. To my surprise, he refused most of them, only saying yes to a personal trainer. "I can arrange some company for you, either female or male, whichever you prefer." It was all part of the normal spiel that I had to give each of the stars I looked after. With the abundance of camera phones, we couldn't allow less than discreet liaisons for our charges.

"Certainly not," he bit back, startling me. "Sorry, but I won't be needing anything like that. I prefer my relationships to be a little more....traditional."

"Oh ok. Will you be having anyone joining you during your stay?"

His face betrayed a sadness. "No, no I won't." I decided to drop the subject, moving on to his itinerary, and travel dates. "So will you be babysitting me all summer?" He asked, smiling.

"Yes, I've been assigned to you for your entire stay in London, and while you're travelling to Italy," I told him. I was praying that I could get over his extraordinary good looks, and get my professional composure back. My palms were sweaty, and my body responding, just sitting next to him. I breathed in his lovely scent, and felt another blush rise up my already overheated neck.

"Well, we'll just have to get to know each other, Sarah, seeing as we'll be in close quarters for the next three months. I'll take you out to dinner tonight." It wasn't really a request, more a statement, but coming from him, it didn't sound impertinent.

"Ok."

He beamed his film-star smile, and settled back in his seat, while I ran through his schedule for the following few days. He groaned when I told him about a photo shoot his agents had signed him up for. "I hate those things. I know they're important, but I always feel awkward," he confided.

I laughed. "You're probably the most photogenic person on the planet. How'd ya think the rest of us mere mortals feel?"

"Oh I don't know, a beautiful woman like you must take an amazing picture.

'A charmer too. I'm really screwed here', I thought. "Thank you for the compliment, but I assure you I don't," I told him, rather primly.

He gazed out of the window for a while, as we sped towards Kensington, "I miss London. As much as I love LA, there's no place like home is there?"

"Even on a grey, miserable day like today?" I laughed. It was forecast to rain.

"Especially on a day like today," he grinned. "Bright blue skies every day become tedious after a while. Everything in LA conforms you know, perfect weather, perfect houses, and all the women look like models with the ubiquitous long blonde hair and fake bodies." He thought for a moment, "Yeah, I've missed London."

His house was lovely, modern, and nicely furnished. Bob placed his bags in the hall, and asked if Henry wanted them taken upstairs. "No thanks, just there's great. I'll sort them out in a bit." He turned to me, "The first thing is some English tea. I've missed it more than you'd believe. Join me?"

I followed him through to the kitchen, waving goodbye to Bob. I watched as Henry moved around his luxurious kitchen with a practiced ease, filling the kettle, and pulling out cups. He opened the fridge, and examined the contents. "I take it you filled it up?" I nodded, nervous, praying I'd not forgotten milk. "You've done a great job, thought of everything by the looks of it." I breathed a sigh of relief, then mentally slapped myself for caring so much.

He beamed a knicker-combusting smile. "Sorry, I shouldn't be surprised, you do this type of thing all the time don't you?"

"Yes, yes I do." It was a struggle to get the words out; I was so mesmerised by his looks that I could barely concentrate. To try and regain control, I pulled his file out of my bag, to run through some of the PR requests.

Now I work closely with the PR department. I make sure that our stars are seen in the right places, with the right people, and wearing the right clothes. Every detail is planned and scrutinised so that we're one step ahead of the celeb sites.

"They want to see you out and about in London. They'd like you to go out with your co-stars, maybe a family meet-up, and have requested that you get papped being a man-about-town. Think you can manage that?" I glanced up to see him frowning.

"Am I really controlled that much?" He asked. "I don't mind meeting my brothers, and going out for dinner with Armie and his wife, but the rest of it, is it really necessary?"

"You have an image to keep up," I explained. PR monitor public opinion, and they want to see more of you, preferably in a less formal setting. Don't worry, you'll have security."

"It's not that it's just..." He paused, "it's so false. I'm going to be catching up with friends while I'm here, so I'll make sure we go somewhere public. Should satisfy the pimps at PR."

"Hmm," I said, non committal. "Now, Tom Ford and Giorgio Armani will be dressing you. Their people sent over a selection. I hung it all in your wardrobe. Please don't wear anything else in public. Your workout clothing will be Nike, and nothing else." I ticked stuff off my list as I went. I was just about to run through his shooting schedule, when he interrupted me.

"I don't want to be rude, but I need a shower, and some sleep. Can I pick you up around seven?"

Embarrassed at bombarding him when he was clearly jet lagged, I nodded my assent."

"Where shall I pick you up?" He asked. I scribbled down my address on the back of my contact card, and handed it to him.

"Shall I book a restaurant?" I asked.

"Yes please. Wherever you like, I don't mind," he said, before yawning loudly. I smiled, and said my goodbyes, before letting myself out.

Back outside, I took a deep breath. I was hot, flustered, and affected by this man, all very unusual behaviour for me.

Back at the office, Clive didn't even look up, "You're back early."

"He's jet lagged. I'll meet up with him again later. I've got some admin and calls I can be getting on with." I pulled out my phone, and booked a table at The Ivy. I liked it there, and the lure of being able to put it on expenses meant I couldn't resist. Glancing over, I could see Clive's eyebrows had shot up.

"If he's going to The Ivy tonight, make sure the paps know. It's a prime opportunity. Who's he going with?"

"Only with me. We've still got stuff to run through."

"Make sure you tip off the paps then, and Sarah? Try and look your best. The fans won't know that you're his babysitter, so might as well get some mileage."

I tried not to be horribly offended at the suggestion that I wouldn't pass muster as a celebrity girlfriend. Just to make sure, I booked a blowdry at the salon down the road that afternoon. If I was gonna be papped, I'd make damn sure I looked my best.

He arrived dead on time that evening. My breath caught as I opened the door. He was fresh from the shower, and dressed in a simple, fitted black shirt, and black trousers. "Hey Sarah, you look amazing," he murmured. I grabbed my bag, and followed him to the car.

"There might be photographers, so I thought I'd better scrub up," I told him. "I booked a table at the Ivy. Hope that's ok?"

"Great. I've not been there for ages, and I really want some English food," he said, flashing me that devastating smile, "and you scrub up beautifully. We can convince them that you're my new girlfriend. Get the studio off my back."

I should have been pleased, but inside I was a little disappointed. I wondered why he needed a fake girlfriend when he could take his pick of real ones. "If you're gay Henry, you can tell me. I won't be shocked or surprised. I do this for a living you know, so I often deal with closeted film stars."

"I'm not gay," he snapped, startling me. "Everyone seems to think I am, and I'm not."

"So why do you need a fake girlfriend then?" I challenged.

He thought for a moment, and was just about to start speaking, when we arrived at the restaurant. The moment we got out of the car, the flashbulbs went off, momentarily blinding us both. I felt his arm snake around my waist, his hand gripping my hip firmly. My body responded instantly, everything south of my waist tightening viciously. I leaned into him, closing the gap between us, as we posed for pictures.

After a few moments, we made our way into the restaurant, both a bit dazzled by the flashes. "You ok?" I asked him.

"A bit blind, but otherwise alright. You?"

"All in a day's work for me."

We were shown to a quiet little table at the back of the room. Sitting down, I glanced around. I recognised a couple of famous faces, but nobody as 'A' list as Henry was present. I turned my attention back to him. He was reading the wine list.

"Red or white?" He asked, not taking his eyes off the list.

"I prefer red, but I'm not fussed, if you prefer white," I replied.

He ordered a bottle of Merlot, and sat back to read the menu. "You were about to tell me why you needed a fake girlfriend," I asked. In a normal setting, it wouldn't be any of my business, but as his handler, I needed to know.

He groaned, "Ok, here's how it is. You imagine having this so-called pretty face," he pointed at himself, "and a good job, paying great money. Women fling themselves at you all day every day. Only here's the thing Sarah, they all want the image, the outer packaging. None of them have any idea about the man inside. I question their agendas constantly. You know, whether they're gonna sell their stories, spill to the press."

"What Superman's really like in bed..." I said. He laughed.

"Exactly. You imagine if I'd had too much to drink one night."

"Superman was superflop." I was catching on. He roared with laughter.

"It's never happened yet, but yeah, you get the picture."

"That's why we offer discreet escorts to our stars, so that kind of thing doesn't happen. They all sign watertight NDA's."

"I really don't want to use prostitutes, thank you," he snapped. I wondered if I'd offended him. "I'll find the woman I'm looking for one day. Until then, I'd rather not settle for second best."

"If you don't let anyone in, or assume all women have ulterior motives, then it's never gonna happen," I snapped back. Assuming all women would be after his fame or money was a bit rude, and made him sound like a typical pompous star.

We were interrupted by the waiter. After we'd ordered, I fully intended to start going through the work stuff that I'd brought. We still had quite a bit to do.

"I don't think all women are after my money or fame," he said quietly. "That didn't really come out right."

"Clearly." I replied. "Anyway, we need to run though your diary for the next three months. I need to organise a hotel in Rome while you're filming. You have a choice of three." I handed him the printouts. He barely glanced at them.

"I really don't mind where I stay. Will you be coming out there?"

"Yep. I'm assigned to you for the next three months."

"In which case, you can choose where we stay. Pick the best one."

I laughed, "I'll be at the Italian version of a Travelodge. Only the actors get the five star treatment."

"Well in which case, one of my requirements is that you're in the same hotel as me, preferably on the same floor." He smiled tentatively. I scribbled a note in my pad. I fully intended to book the Grande Vizente, which had an award winning spa, and a rooftop restaurant. I'd already pored over tripadvisor to find the top three hotels. With the studio paying, it'd be rude not to indulge. I prayed that they'd have two rooms available. I was about to move onto discussing his workout regime, when he interrupted.

"So you know all about me, down to what shoe size I am. It's only fair for me to know about you. Where are you from Sarah?"

"I'm from Hertfordshire originally. I moved to London after uni. Mainly because I'd got the job at Warner Brothers."

"What uni did you attend?"

I paused, before replying "Cambridge. I studied English. I interned at the head office, in the PR department, and was offered a job. A few promotions later, here I am."

He looked shocked. "A Cambridge degree? And you're wiping actors noses for a living?"

"I'm paid a hell of a lot more than I'd get as a librarian or editor," I pointed out.

"Even so. Wouldn't you prefer a job that actually utilised your degree?"

"Not if it meant living in poverty, I wouldn't, no." I was getting a little annoyed. "Anyway, this isn't about me. We need to sort your diary, if you don't mind?"

He ignored me. "Are you single, married?"

I ignored the question. "Rod McDowell has been assigned as your personal trainer. He operates from Equinox in Kensington Church Street. Bob will pick you up at 7am each morning to take you there." He groaned.

"I asked if you were single or married. Don't dodge the question." His voice was playful, teasing.

"I'm single, at the moment." I admitted. I was always bloody single. I worked strange hours, often in the bubble that surrounded the 'A' list actors and actresses in my care. It was almost impossible to meet nice men, let alone sustain a relationship. My last boyfriend had dumped me almost a year previously, fed up with me constantly having to drop him to run around after a particularly difficult actress, who'd had a fairly serious psychological issue, and didn't like being alone.

"That's good to know," he said, before smiling a sphinx-like smile.

Our food was exquisite, and we both ate heartily. Henry seemed to relax with me, and regaled me with funny stories from the Superman set. In turn, I made him laugh with some of the tales I often told about fun experiences I'd had while working on various shoots. The evening seemed to flash by, and all too soon, it was time to go.

The Paps got us again as we were leaving, Henry immediately grabbed my waist, and held me close as the flashbulbs blinded us. "Who's your girlfriend?" One of them yelled. Henry didn't answer, he just flashed his filmstar smile, and steered me towards the waiting car. We jumped in, and slammed the door. Within seconds, Bob had pulled away.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to my flat. I was almost sad to get home so quickly, as I'd enjoyed Henry's company, and found him to be a lot more fun than I'd expected. As we pulled up outside, I reminded him that Bob would pick him up at seven.

"So when will I see you again?" He asked.

"Tomorrow. I'll be accompanying you to the Heat interview," I told him. I was just about to hop out of the car, when his arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me close, crushing me to his chest. His eyes bored into mine, asking for permission, before his lips met mine, softly, slowly, before he deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed my lips, before pushing in to meet mine, shyly at first, before becoming bolder, more demanding.

I softened into him, lightly holding his waist, feeling the firm ripples of his precisely toned muscles. Eventually he pulled away, and stroked his hand down my cheek. "You have no idea how lovely you are, do you?"

I shook my head, mute. Everything about this man screamed perfection. He looked, tasted and smelt divine, as though the Gods had listened to a woman's pleas, and created perfection.

He planted another, chaste kiss on my lips, before pulling back. "Until tomorrow Sarah, and I honestly can't wait."

"Tomorrow," I parroted, breathlessly. In a dream state, I opened the car door, and got out. I took one last glance at him. He blew me a kiss.

I walked up to my front door in a daze, questioning myself as to whether or not that had actually happened. As his car pulled away, I touched my tingling lips, and came to only one conclusion; I was totally, utterly screwed.