Nola

I made it to Bond Street in a little over twenty minutes, and was heading towards the nearest car-park when I spotted Bianca Caparelli standing on the street corner, impatiently tapping her left foot. I pulled up beside her. She might only have been Darius's half-sister, but they shared the same olive skin, wavy dark hair and intense, long-lashed eyes. Clearly Darius had inherited more from his Italian mum than his English dad.

Bianca scowled when she saw me. Unfortunately that didn't make her any less gorgeous.

"Hi," I said, lowering the window. "I'm here to pick you up?" Damn it, even that came out as a question.

Bianca's scowl deepened. "Who the hell are you?"

She and Darius might share their looks, but Bianca had a lilting Italian accent, unlike Darius, who'd been born and raised in England.

"I'm Darius's new PA, Nola," I said as brightly as I could.

Bianca cast a disgusted look at my car. "You're driving this?"

I wilted. "What's wrong with my car?"

"Darius couldn't have provided something flashier?" Bianca rolled her eyes.

I decided to ignore that. "Do you need help with your bags?"

Bianca lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow, looking at me like I was an idiot. I took that as a yes.

Scrambling out of the car, I hurried to gather up the armfuls of bags from her shopping trip, trying not to react at the sight of so many designer labels. How the hell much money had Bianca spent this morning?

Bianca climbed into the passenger seat while I loaded her bags into the car, catching glimpses of clothes and shoes and velvet jewellery boxes. If she had this kind of money, why couldn't she get a taxi?

Why did she expect Darius to drop everything for her?

"Where am I taking you?" I asked.

Bianca rattled off an address in Bethnal Green, her fingers tapping away at her phone. It looked like she'd had her nails done recently.

I pulled away from the kerb and racked my brains for what to say to this woman. What did I know about her? She was a couple of years younger than me – only recently turned nineteen – and had been born to Darius's mum – whose name I couldn't remember – when she moved back to Italy and remarried. I wasn't sure how long she'd been living in England, or how close she was with Darius, or anything that might help me spark up a conversation.

Bianca glanced sideways at me. "Where did you get that dress?"

"Oh." I looked down, pleased that she'd noticed it. "I think it was Topshop?" I didn't want to admit that I'd cut the itchy label out years ago, and I'd had it so long I could no longer be sure where I'd got it.

Bianca curled her lip. "Darius lets you walk around wearing high street clothes?"

I swallowed. The restrictions Mike had put on what I wore, and the battering he'd given my self-esteem had led me to view clothes as things to hide inside, rather than an expression of my character. Darius hadn't mentioned a dress code, but I'd still wanted to make a good impression by ditching the shapeless jeans and tees in favour of a navy-blue dress that, miraculously, Mike had never criticised.

It had never occurred to me that anyone would care where I got my clothes, but apparently Bianca Caparelli did.

"You need to invest in some decent labels. Darius has an image to maintain," Bianca informed me.

No way in hell was I about to tell this woman that my bank account was almost empty.

Bianca gave me an appraising look. "Maybe do something more interesting with your hair too."

For fuck's sake, Nola, why is your hair all over my apartment? You shed like a fucking dog. Mike's voice roared into my head, and I flinched, my hands tightening on the wheel. Bianca was too busy looking at her phone to notice.

"I'll bear that in mind," I said, trying to push Mike out of my head.

"Have you just started or something? Darius hasn't mentioned you," Bianca said, flicking her hair off her face. A diamond ring sparkled on her finger.

For some reason, Darius not mentioning me made my stomach dip with disappointment. What did you expect? I silently asked myself. That he'd gush about his new, woefully untrained and underprepared PA to anyone who'd listen?

"It's my first day," I confirmed.

Bianca gave me another once-over, and I braced myself for whatever snide remark was about to come out of her glossy mouth. "I'm clubbing with some girlfriends this Saturday. You should come."

"Huh?" I'd expected almost anything but that.

Bianca shrugged and put her feet up on my dashboard. Her legs were long and bare, her butt barely covered by a pair of denim shorts, her feet encased in black ankle boots.

Mike would have lost his shit if I'd worn shorts like that. I'd once tried wearing a miniskirt on a night out with him, and he'd accused me of trying to solicit attention from other men until I'd broken down in tears and cancelled the night.

Mike had still gone out, of course.

I'd spent the evening crying in bed.

"Give me your phone." Bianca snapped her manicured nails.

I looked at my own nails, bitten down and ragged at the edges. I'd always liked the idea of having long, beautiful nails, but I always gnawed them off before they had a chance to grow.

Bianca snapped her nails again and I handed over my phone. "Okay, I've put my number in, and I'm texting myself from your phone so, so I've got yours," she said.

I hadn't actually agreed to go out with her, but okay.

"Who's Mike?" Bianca asked.

I jumped and the car swerved in the road, earning me several angry honks from the car behind me.

"Sorry," I cried, though the other driver couldn't hear me.

"You've got a lot of texts and missed calls from him," Bianca commented, completely ignoring my reaction.

I held out my hand, but Bianca angled herself away from me. I couldn't reach her without taking my eyes off the road.

"Bianca, please, give me back my phone," I pleaded. "Don't open the messages."

Maintaining no-contact had worked for me for the last two weeks, and maybe in another two weeks, I'd have the courage to block Mike's number entirely. The thought of Bianca opening those texts, and Mike thinking it was me, made tears prick my eyes.

"Why not?" Bianca asked.

"Please," I cried.

I sensed her staring at me, then she tossed the phone into my lap. "Whatever," she muttered.

I'd probably just blown any chance of being her friend.

We passed the rest of the journey in silence, me focusing on the road, and Bianca bent over her phone, probably texting her friends about Darius's crazy new PA. When I reached Bianca's building, I parked outside and unloaded her bags while she tapped away at her phone.

"So . . . I'll see you later?" I said.

She didn't look up from her phone. "Yeah, sure."

Yep, I'd definitely blown it. I couldn't tell how much I cared. I wasn't sure that Bianca was my kind of person, but I couldn't spend the rest of my life without friends.

I drove back to the hotel, wondering again if I'd bitten off more than I could chew with this job.

Darius

Halfway through the interview, Rhydian signalled to me that he needed a break. He always got antsy when he had to answer questions for too long, especially if any of those questions were about himself. Joe and Nathan didn't understand it – they didn't know Rhyd like I did – but they'd long since learned that it was easiest to give him a break or two, to let him recollect himself.

I could use some fresh air myself. I stepped out of the room and headed down the hallway until I reached the stairs.

"Darius!"

I turned to see my publicist, Lesley, jogging after me – as fast as anyone could jog in heels anyway – and I stifled a groan because I knew exactly what she wanted to discuss.

"This isn't a good time," I told her as she reached me.

Lesley tucked short black hair behind her ears. "Really? Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

There was no point answering; she knew I didn't.

"Have you even looked at the options I emailed you?" Lesley asked.

"Haven't had time," I muttered.

"Bullshit," she said firmly, and shoved her phone under my nose. "Just take a look."

I swallowed down a rising wave of irritation. She was just doing what she thought was best for the band.

"You've got five minutes to convince me," I said.

Lesley beamed. "Great. My first choice is Lacey Schaffer."

"Who?"

She screwed up her mouth with annoyance, like I was deliberately being difficult, but I genuinely didn't know who the woman was.

"The blonde one in Summer Nights," she said, and shoved her phone at me again. The photo onscreen showed a carefully posed young woman, with blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders and framing her cleavage, her lips pouting slightly.

"Summer Nights?" I said.

Lesley sighed. "The band?"

"Don't know them, sorry."

"Well, trust me, they're hot right now. You two would look good together."

I glanced again at the photo. "Pass."

Lacey was beautiful, no denying it, but it was a forgettable sort of beauty. She looked like the million and one other girls who called themselves 'models' on social media, like she'd been produced on a factory line of sex dolls.

Lesley swiped to the next photo. "Julie Chang. She's one of fashion's most talked about models at the moment."

"Yeah, I've heard of her," I said, not even glancing at the photo. "I've also heard she's a spoilt fucking bitch."

"Does that matter? You won't have to spend much time with her," Lesley persisted.

"I don't want to spend any time with her," I countered.

"Helena Jarvis, then. She's tipped to win an Oscar this year."

I knew what Helena looked like, had even briefly met her at a party, but I looked at the photo anyway. She was pretty, in a more real way than Lacey Schaffer, but I remembered trying to strike up conversation with her at that party, and being met with a blank wall, not because she hadn't been interested, but because she was fucking boring. The woman didn't have a damn thing worth talking about.

"No," I said.

"How about her then?" Lesley went on, undeterred.

I glanced at the photo, then shot Lesley a glare. "Are you fucking serious?"

"What's wrong?"

"That's Penny Lang."

Lesley frowned, not getting it. "So?"

"She used to date Finn."

Lesley's face cleared. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I haven't, nor has Finn," I said.

Lesley leaned one elbow on the banister. "You do realise that was years ago."

"Doesn't matter." I was getting annoyed now.

Lesley slid her phone back into her pocket, hopefully sensing that she was pushing too far. "All I'm saying is to think about it."

"I'm not dating one of my friend's exes," I snapped. "I don't give a fuck how long ago it was."

"But it wouldn't be real. That's the point," Lesley argued.

"I'm not doing it."

Lesley sighed. "You've had an excuse for every name I've ever suggested."

"Then stop suggesting names," I said flatly.

She gave me a look that made it clear she wouldn't do that. "I'll get back to the drawing board," she said.

She patted me lightly on the shoulder, then she left me alone. Only I wasn't alone. As I straightened up, I realised that Nola was standing on the stairs below me, and I had no idea how much she'd heard.

Nola

I hadn't meant to eavesdrop. After I'd dropped off Bianca, I'd come back to the hotel, and had been jogging up the several flights of stairs to where I'd left the band, when I'd heard the sound of irritated voices coming from above me. One was a female voice I didn't recognise. The other was Darius.

I stopped dead, not wanting to interrupt whatever they were talking about, then realised that was a mistake because now, if anyone saw me, it would look like I was deliberately listening to a private conversation.

While I dithered, I heard a door opening and closing, and I ventured up a few more steps, hoping they'd both be gone, but my heart stuttered. Darius was still there, leaning on the banister, his hair falling around his face. He smiled when he saw me, but it seemed strained at the edges.

"Was Bianca okay?" he said.

"Yeah. I dropped her home," I said.

"Thanks."

"Any time."

That probably should have been the end of the conversation, but neither of us moved. Darius wasn't looking at me, and his posture was tense, his hands tightly clasped together, and maybe that was my cue to fuck off, but instead I inched closer to him.

"Are you okay?" I said quietly.

He gave me another smile, a little warmer this time. "Yeah. Bianca pulls shit like this all the time, but she's my sister. It's my job to take care of her."

I bit my tongue before I could point out that taking care of someone didn't necessarily mean indulging their every demand. I'd spilled my guts to Darius about Mike, but he was my boss, not my friend, and I needed to remember that.

Darius sighed and straightened up, pushing off the banister with both hands. "I should get back," he said.

I nodded.

As his PA, I was probably meant to follow him, ready to carry out whatever else he needed me to, but as he walked off, I stayed still, staring after him.

Darius had saved me that night.

He was still saving me now.

Maybe there was no catch to this job, after all, and Darius was just a genuinely, unbelievably good guy.

But as I finally followed him, I couldn't help wondering one thing. If Darius took care of everyone else, who took care of him?