‘It’s because I’m the best,’ he’d coo every time he was assigned someone.
‘Or it’s because you’re the only man in the press office,’ Minnie would reply with a heavy sigh.
‘Oh, I see,’ Oliver would say mockingly. ‘We’re spouting the age-old myth that gay men always get ahead, are we?’
Minnie would remind him that a penis is still a penis, at least to a certain circle of celebrity PRs who, in all likelihood, probably couldn’t ascertain Oliver’s sexuality from his email signature.
The only people Rose had walked down the red carpet were those Oliver had turned down, which so far, was just Arianna Huffington and Alan Sugar.
The party had been limping on for hours when Rose realised she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. This was entirely accidental and would often happen on event days. She ventured over to the makeshift office they’d set up in what looked like a giant cleaning cupboard and spotted the box of sandwiches they’d bought for the photographers; there was one tuna and cucumber left, squashed up into a cardboard corner. She sat down on a fold-up chair that had been placed up against the wall on its own, looking on as Oliver laughed nervously on the phone outside the door.
‘I know, I know,’ he said in a far plummier accent than his own. ‘My assistant just screwed up the table arrangements, I’m so sorry.’ He paused. ‘Yes!’ he laughed. ‘Yes, she’s very young, you know how it is, Ruth.’
‘Rose! Where the fuck is Milo fucking Jax?’ boomed Liz from the corridor. Liz was the company’s events manager and one of the most terrifying people at Firehouse. With a head surrounded by vermilion curls and a voice that sounded like she’d smoked fifty cigarettes, she was the one who produced the parties from start to finish and on the nights themselves was often seen juggling clipboards, walkie-talkies, and various small bags of coloured powder she’d found in the bathrooms. She once fired an intern because they wore a backless top to the office.
Quickly brushing the crumbs off her dress, Rose stood up, leaving one half of her sandwich on the chair. ‘I’ll just go find him now, Liz.’ She asked, ‘What do you need him for?’
‘To make sure he’s going to the afterparty,’ Liz barked back. ‘If he goes, so will everyone else. It won’t look good for the brand if it’s just us and that daft Love Island girl there. Make sure he has a goody bag, so the sponsors don’t castrate me. Go.’
Despite trying to find Milo earlier for photos, Rose hadn’t seen him since he arrived. It was easy to disappear at parties like this: there were always secret areas Liz would corner off for celebrities of his calibre so they could have a moment of respite. Firehouse events were always private – but that didn’t stop various agents, publicists and plus-ones from bounding up to the most famous person in the room and asking if they’d record a video message for their sister’s daughter’s friend’s cousin.
The tables were mostly empty by now; everyone had filtered out into the bar, leaving behind jackets and dessert. One person – Rose couldn’t quite make out who – was slumped over a table, head buried in their arms. The woman next to them was talking very quickly, all dancing fingers and darting eyes, seemingly unaware that her friend could quite possibly be unconscious.
Rose went out to the smoking area, a small caged square that was the only private outdoor space at the venue. A selection of houseplants had been placed in the corner to make it look a little less like a prison cell, though it didn’t make much difference. It was easy to spot Milo; he was the kind of person you instantly noticed in every room because of how other people behaved around him.
Slumped against the wall, he was enclosed by a semicircle of three women. All of the women were talking animatedly, whether it was to each other or Milo wasn’t completely clear. But he wasn’t saying anything and, in all honesty, looked a little bored. His eyes widened when he clocked Rose and smiled, gesturing for her to come over.
‘Ah! My blooming Rose,’ he said as she approached him.
The three women didn’t acknowledge Rose’s arrival and continued talking.
‘I think they’re keen to get you to the afterparty now,’ Rose said over them.
‘Who’s they?’
‘My boss.’
‘Will Rose get into trouble if I don’t come to the afterparty?’
‘Most likely,’ she replied.
‘Then it looks like we’re going to the afterparty.’
He said his goodbyes to each of the women, kissing them all on both cheeks.
‘I’ll email Joss on Monday about the boots!’ chirped one of them.
‘Great, thank you so much!’ Milo replied, giving her a thumbs-up as he walked away.
They left the building through the underground car park, where Liz had texted Rose that a car would be parked waiting for him. The lift down there was small and entirely airless, meaning Rose’s body was suddenly inches away from Milo’s.
‘Christ,’ he said, tugging at his shirt as he leaned into the corner of the lift.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. Just not great in small spaces.’
‘Ah, yeah. This lift breaks a lot.’
‘What?’ His eyes were wide with panic.
‘I’m kidding. Sorry.’ She flushed red, annoyed at herself for making such a terrible joke. ‘I’ve never actually been in this lift before.’
‘You had me there, Rose. I’m a gullible person.’
‘Here was me thinking you were someone who wouldn’t scare easy.’
‘And here’s me thinking you would.’
Rose felt nauseous at how effortless it was for him to flirt with her. She wasn’t sure if he actually meant anything by the comment, or if he just said it for the symmetry, but she was grateful when their interlude came to a sudden halt as the lift doors opened and they stepped out into the dark, underground car park.
Milo didn’t say anything and headed straight to the car door that was being held open for him by a chauffeur wearing an actual top hat. Rose realised that her time with one of the most famous pop stars in the world was coming to an end and wondered why she felt like she’d failed at something.
‘Okay, it was nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘Would you mind taking the goody bag out at the party? Just so the photographers get a shot with the sponsor’s logo.’
He nodded, taking the bag from her, his fingers brushing lightly against hers.
‘Anything for you, Rose.’
