Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (12 page)

With a shrug she pocketed the phone. There’d be time enough to study his texts later. It was never good to stay longer than a night or two at a mate’s flat. Otherwise you became a bother. And she didn’t want that.

Maxine and Dan’s bedroom door was still closed. She went in the kitchen and took a bit of Cheddar and an apple and wrote a quick note of thanks on an Indian takeaway menu. She propped it up on a coffee cup on the table and shouldered her rucksack, then slipped out of the door and down the stairs to the street.

After settling herself on a low wall around the corner, she pulled Erik’s mobile out and scrolled through his photo collection. She frowned. There were dozens of pictures of young women, all pretty but looking a bit tired and grubby, as if they’d been living on the streets…

The phone screen suddenly came to life in her hand. She nearly dropped it. Shit…someone was calling Erik’s mobile.

With hands that shook so badly she could barely hold the phone steady, she looked at the screen.

It was
her
mobile number.

“Mum?” she whispered, and reached out instinctively to press “Answer”.

But she hesitated. Wouldn’t her mother, frantic with worry, have tried to call before now? Of course she would.

She had a sudden, chilling thought. What if it were Erik? What if he’d grabbed her phone that night by mistake, just as she’d grabbed his?

It rang twelve times before it finally went silent.

A moment later, the screen indicated there was a voicemail waiting. Holly, her throat tight with fear, held the phone to her ear and played the message back.

“I’d hoped you might pick up,” Erik said. His voice was soft, but undercut with steel. “Don’t worry, poppet. We’ll see each other again soon. Very soon.”

The words, so innocuous, filled her with dread.

He knew she had his mobile; he’d tried to trick her into answering his call by using her own phone. With shaking hands she turned the phone off and dropped it back into her rucksack.

Erik was clever, and he was definitely looking for her.

And she knew he wouldn’t stop looking until he found her.

Holly James paused outside the doors to the
BritTEEN
office building on Monday morning and glanced across the street. There was no sign of Zoe; the bench where she slept was empty. Holly hadn’t seen her since she’d stormed off on Friday afternoon.

She had a sudden, troubling thought. What if something had happened? What if Zoe never returned to that bench? Never mind that Holly couldn’t write the girl’s story; worse still was the possibility that she might be in some kind of real trouble.

Oh, well, I’ve problems enough of my own right now
, she reminded herself grimly, and pushed through the revolving doors into the lobby. “Morning, Frank.” She waved her identification badge at the security officer.

“Morning, Holly.” He eyed her bandage-wrapped ankle and frowned. “What happened, love?”

“A dog named Caesar happened. But it was the squirrel’s fault. Anyway,” she sighed, “wish me luck. I have a meeting with the Dragon Lady first thing this morning.”

He winked. “No worries. You’ll slay ’er, Miss Holly, just like old St George.”

“I doubt it, but thanks,” she called out as she hurried — as fast as her still-sore ankle would allow — across the lobby to the lifts. The doors were just closing. She earned a couple of dirty looks as she thrust her hand between the doors and squeezed inside the already crowded car. Ignoring them, Holly took out her mobile and scrolled through her messages.

There was nothing from Alex. No surprise, really. She supposed it was good; he hadn’t texted to say he was suing her — but it also meant he still wasn’t speaking to her.

When she stepped out of the lift onto the thirty-seventh floor, Holly paused outside the glass doors that led to Valery Beauchamp’s über-chic corner office suite. Just like Valery, everything in her office was hard and shiny and functional, from the Mies van der Rohe chairs to the black onyx desk. The furnishings were made, not for comfort, but purely for style.

Holly took a deep, steadying breath. She was petrified.

You were only ever summoned to the editor-in-chief’s office if you’d done something (1) Really Good or (2) Really Bad. Of course, in Holly’s case, allowing Alex’s off-the-record comment to be published fell under the category of Really,
Really
Bad. Once her meeting with Valery was over, Holly might be over as well…as in unemployed.

Her fledgling career would be finished before it had begun.

Chapter 17

“Good morning, Holly.” Sasha, immaculately dressed in a pale grey trouser suit and black Prada pumps, brushed past her and pushed one of the doors open. She paused to glance with obvious distaste at the Ace bandage wrapped round Holly’s ankle. “What on earth happened to you?”

“It’s a long story,” Holly murmured, “involving a dog and a squirrel.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I
so
don’t want to know.” She turned to Ms Beauchamp’s personal assistant. “Imogen, please tell Valery we’re here.”

“No need,” Imogen replied, and stood up. “She’s expecting you. Follow me, please.”

She led them through the glass doors and into Valery’s office. Holly saw the editor-in-chief herself, seated at the enormous desk. She was leaning back, her slim figure nearly eclipsed by a high-backed leather chair, talking — or rather barking — into an antique French telephone.

“I don’t care what Farida says. Von Richter is over.” She paused. “When Maison Laroche washed their hands of Klaus, so did the entire fashion world. Sorry, must go, darling. Ciao.”

She rang off and gestured them inside.

“Well, Holly,” Valery said in her brisk, cut-glass accent, “it seems you’ve landed us in hot water with your interview.”

“Yes.” It came out as a croak. She cleared her throat. “I apologize. I don’t know how it happened. I swear I didn’t include Alex’s off-the-record comments in the copy—”

“How it happened doesn’t matter,” Valery cut in, “only how you plan to deal with it.” She eyed Holly expectantly.

“Well, of course, Alex — er, Henry — Barrington is very upset,” Holly stammered. “One can hardly blame him. He’s threatened a lawsuit—”

“But he hasn’t filed one yet. Typically these things move very quickly, so that’s a good sign. In the meantime,” Valery said crisply, “you’re to write an official letter of apology to Mr Barrington on company letterhead. I’ll sign off on it. We’ll publish a retraction in next month’s issue. And, Sasha?”

Sasha looked up from the proofs she’d been surreptitiously editing. “Yes?”

“Keep a better eye on the copy that comes out of your department. That is, after all, your job.”

Sasha managed a tight smile. “Yes, of course, Valery. I apologize. And I apologize for Holly’s error, as well.” She cast Holly a scalding look.

“Leave us, please. I want to talk to Miss James alone.”

“Certainly.” With a glare that plainly said she hoped Valery was about to eat Holly for breakfast and spit her bones out on the onyx desk, Sasha stood and strode out of the glass-enclosed office. The doors closed silently behind her.

Valery crossed her legs and leaned back. “How is your article coming along? I understand you intend to profile a homeless girl.”

Oh, yes,
that
article…the one I haven’t even started on yet
, Holly thought. “Well, I’m still trying to persuade the…er…subject, to — see my vision, as it were.”

“You mean she won’t do it.” Valery eyed her shrewdly.

“Yes,” Holly said, “I mean, no, she hasn’t agreed yet. But I’m sure she will.”
If I ever see her again, that is
…

Valery said nothing, but a tiny frown marred the perfection of her exquisitely groomed brows.

Holly bit her lip. “I’m doing some research until I can convince her. For the article I thought I’d shadow her. Hit the streets. Sleep on a bench. Eat from rubbish bins. That sort of thing,” she finished vaguely.

“I want Will Tennant to do the photography. He’s been pushing for a full bleed for the main fashion, of course, but I want to see what he does with your article first.”

Holly nodded. She knew a “full bleed” was an image spread across two pages and usually referred to the biggest fashion shoot in a magazine. “Will must be really good if you’re considering him for the main fashion shoot,” she added.

“He is. Like you, he shows a lot of promise.”

“I’ll speak to Matt,” Holly assured her. Matt Holland was
BritTEEN’s
art director and Will’s supervisor. She’d seen Will once or twice in the hallway; he always had a Nikon slung around his neck. The rumour mill said he was gay. Or possibly bisexual…

Valery leaned forward. “I do hope you follow through, Holly. I can’t abide someone who doesn’t finish what they start. And I don’t like to be disappointed.”

“No,” she agreed, and swallowed.

“Your article,” Valery said, “is exactly what I want to see more of in our pages. There might even be a promotion for you, if I like the finished product.” She toyed idly with a pen, her eyes not leaving Holly’s face. “You remind me of myself at your age. Bright, driven, keen…keep it up, and you have a promising future ahead of you.”

Holly blinked. A promotion would be the answer to her prayers. “Th-thank you,” she stammered. “I’m honoured to hear you say that—”

“Just don’t disappoint me.” Valery paused. “Sasha is an excellent editor, but she lacks your drive, your originality. I suspect she’s marking time here until she lands a rich husband.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Sasha’s very…career oriented,” Holly said cautiously. “Fashion is her life, after all.”

“Well, unless she steps up her game,” Valery observed, “it won’t be her life for much longer. And who knows?” She eyed Holly speculatively. “If you prove your worth, one day, her position might become yours.”

Holly, rendered momentarily speechless by Valery’s words, blinked once again. “Oh…thank you,” she breathed. “Of course, I’m not remotely qualified, but I’m so honoured—”

“Don’t overdo it, Miss James,” Valery cut in. “And don’t let me down. Now go.” She returned her attention to the mock-ups, contact sheets, and Post-it notes blanketing her desk. She picked up a loupe and began to study one of the contact sheets.

“Th-thank you, Ms Beauchamp,” Holly stammered. “I’m really sorry about…um, the mix-up. And I won’t let you down.”

Valery did not spare her a glance. “Rest assured, Miss James, your future employment here is contingent upon two things. One, I don’t want to see a lawsuit from Mr Barrington cross my desk. And two, since I’m taking a chance on your article, I expect to see a draft soon. And I expect it to be nothing less than stellar.”

And with that, Holly was dismissed.

Chapter 18

Holly spent the rest of the morning drafting a letter of apology to Alex — after all, how did you write a letter of apology to a man you’d almost kissed? It was beyond awkward.

Dear Mr Barrington
,

It was lovely to see you again. I’m so sorry about the vichyssoise incident; I do hope your phone dried out
.

As for the unauthorized publication of your comments in BritTEEN, I can assure you, (1) our readers loved your interview (it got a huge number of Tweets, all saying you’re really fit) and (2) it wasn’t my fault. To be fair, I probably should have refrained from drinking that second vodka-and-grapefruit…

Five attempts later, Sasha carried the approved letter upstairs for Valery to sign.

“God, she’s in a vile mood,” Holly confided to Kate as she came back from the printer and flung herself down at her desk.

“Who?” Kate barely looked up as she finished entering the staff meeting notes on her laptop keyboard. “Sasha, or Valery?”

“Both. Sasha, in particular.”

“Maybe she broke up with her mystery boyfriend.” Kate yawned and stood up. “C’mon, let’s go downstairs. I could do with a KitKat.”

When they emerged from the corner shop ten minutes later, Holly and her Diet Coke collided with a man on his way in.

“Shit,” he exclaimed, and shook cola from his arm.

“Sorry,” Holly apologized.

“It’s okay, no harm done.” He glanced up at her and paused. “Wait. Aren’t you…Holly? The girl who’s doing the homeless article?”

She blinked. “That’s me. And you’re the new photographer. Will Tennant, right? Hello.” She extended her hand — the one that wasn’t clutching a foaming can of Diet Coke — and smiled.

He was tall and lanky, with light brown hair and a five o’clock shadow along his jaw. His grip was firm. “It looks like we’ll be working together.”

She nodded. “Valery’s really impressed with you.”

“I’m Kate,” Kate volunteered, and thrust her hand out. “I work with Holly.”

He smiled politely. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“I was just telling Hols that we’re meeting up at the pub downstairs after work Friday. You’re welcome to join us. It’s usually a laugh.”

Holly shot her a suspicious glance. She and Kate
never
went to the pub with their coworkers after work…mainly because they couldn’t stand most of their coworkers.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds great.”

Holly caught sight of Zoe on the corner. She was smoking a cigarette and talking to the skinny blonde girl with the pink stripe in her hair.

“Excuse me,” Holly said. “I see someone I know. Nice to meet you, Will.”

He followed her gaze and saw the pair of girls smoking. “Which one is the homeless girl?”

“Zoe’s the one with the black mohawk.”

“Mind if I tag along?” he asked. “I’d like to meet her, since we’ll all be working together soon.”

Holly hesitated. “I don’t know. She can be pretty — erm, intense.”

“At least introduce me. I like to get to know my subject a little beforehand. It helps me get better shots.” He raised his brow. “Better shots, better article…”

“Okay,” Holly sighed, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As they approached Zoe threw her cigarette down and crushed it under her Doc Marten. After a nod to the blonde girl, she eyed them both with suspicion.

“Zoe,” Holly began, “this is Will. He’s a—”