Page 20 of Broken Beyond Repair

“Miss Mackenzie, I take it?” Beatrice said as she flicked the air stewardess away with her hand.

The warm voice that Sydney recalled from their phone call was replaced with a deeper, authoritative tone with a slight huskiness she hadn’t noticed before. It would be clear even in a whisper. She braced herself, anticipating it to be the woman’s disappointed voice.

“Yes. Please call me Sydney.”

“You’re late, Miss Mackenzie.”

Okay, she was going for formal.

Though she knew she wasn’t late, it was Beatrice who was in fact early, Sydney decided it wasn’t her place to argue semantics. High-profile clients always needed to be right regardless of facts. Instead, she offered a valid excuse.

“Sorry, the Mercedes battery was flat. I had to—”

“So what you’re saying is you failed to prepare for every eventuality.”

Sydney remained silent; although she couldn’t see the glare Beatrice was giving her from behind the sunglasses, she could certainly feel it.

“Doesn’t sound likethe bestto me.”

Changing the subject, Sydney asked, “Where is everyone else?”

“Were you expecting an entourage?” Beatrice covered a smirk with her forefinger. “Do I look like a woman who needs to keep an entourage?”

Sydney thought she didn’t seem the type of woman who could keep an entourage.

“There’s Jonathon, my bodyguard.” Beatrice pointed to the reception desk, where a stout, middle-aged man stood. “He’s taking a well-earned rest and flying on to…” Beatrice flicked her hand. “Oh, I can’t remember. May we dispense with the questioning, or is there anything else you’d like to know? I’ve had a long flight and…” She flicked her hand again, this time towards her cast.

“Of course.”

“Park me somewhere and summon me a coffee with cream, then load the luggage and return for me. Make sure my crutches are to hand or you’ll be carrying me.”

Sydney rolled her eyes as she went off in search of refreshments. She was used to demanding clients, though they were usually politer with their commands.

Returning minutes later with a coffee in hand she braced herself. “They only had milk, so I assumed you’d prefer it black.”

Beatrice slid her sunglasses down her nose and pouted at the cup of coffee before fixing a pensive stare upon Sydney. Her penetrative stare oozed power and confidence. Sydney could feel the weight of expectation burning from them. The woman lowered her gaze without so much as moving her head, taking all of Sydney in and leaving her feeling laid bare. As her eyes drifted back to meet Sydney’s, she narrowed them, revealing attractive fine lines underneath. She finally pushed her sunglasses back up with her forefinger and exhaled a dismissive ‘very good’.

Letting out a breath and telling her pulse to calm the fuck down, Sydney turned her attention to the suitcases.

Manoeuvring a broken-legged Beatrice Russell into a Mercedes Sprinter fifteen minutes later was no easy task. Allowing Beatrice to use her as a human crutch, Sydney managed to position the actress into the nearest luxury recliner. She reluctantly returned the airport’s wheelchair and hopped into the driver’s seat, where a pleasant aroma caught her nose. She sniffed her arm and inhaled a citrusy blend of jasmine and rose, followed by vetiver and patchouli. It was Beatrice’s scent.

A stark voice boomed from behind her. “If you’ve quite finished sniffing yourself, may we depart?”

Sydney tried not to startle—at least not visibly. “Of course.”

The divide between the front and back of the van slowly rose. She closed her eyes and tried not to wither inside from embarrassment.

Beatrice Russell was going to be a slippery customer that she was going to have to grin and bear until Gertie was repaired. Then she would be back on the open road— Gertie with a renewed energy; Sydney having had the life sucked out of her.

CHAPTER7

“What is that monstrosity in my driveway?” Beatrice squawked as Sydney assisted her from the Mercedes.

Sydney contemplated letting the woman fall for calling Gertie a monstrosity. She refrained from pointing out that it was thanks to that monstrosity that Beatrice was home at all.

“That’s Gertie.”

“Gertie! You named that chicken coop? Keep it around the back of the garage, out of sight. I do hope it doesn’t leak oil everywhere?”