Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (20 page)

It was a black Maserati.

The car was sleek, its window glass tinted and impossible to see through.
Doesn’t mean it’s
his
Maserati
, Zoe told herself uneasily. But then the driver’s glass lowered, allowing her a brief but unobstructed view of the man behind the wheel. Her heart skittered and lurched in her chest.

He was smoking a cigarette. He took a final drag as the light changed and flicked the butt out of the window. An expensive watch gleamed on his wrist. He glanced briefly at her as he zoomed past, and she had a glimpse of hair the colour of straw and broad, powerful shoulders. He was alone.

Thank God, he didn’t recognize her.

Zoe shivered. Although she couldn’t see behind the sunglasses he wore, she knew his eyes were a cold, icy blue.

Erik
.

Her fingers closed over the mobile phone in her pocket. So her mum’s boyfriend had tracked her to central London already.
See you soon…
Fear gripped her heart with icy fingers. He was looking for his mobile; and he was looking for her, as well.

He wasn’t the sort of man to give up easily. Or at all.

“You okay?” Sharon asked, and glanced over at her. “You look like someone just walked over your grave, or something.”

“I’m fine, just hungry again,” Zoe replied, and managed somehow to keep her voice light as they crossed the street. “I could murder a plate of egg and chips right now.”

Chapter 28

On Monday, Sasha called in sick. On Tuesday, she was late and missed a meeting with Matt, the art director. On Wednesday, Valery summoned her the moment she arrived.

Holly exchanged glances with Kate as Sasha strode by, her face grim. “What’s up?” she whispered as she rolled her chair closer. “Why’s Sasha been summoned to the dragon’s lair?”

“How should I know?” Kate said with a shrug. “Valery doesn’t exactly confide in me, does she?”

Holly leaned around her cubicle wall and eyed her boss’s empty desk uneasily. She knew only that Sasha’s sister had suffered some kind of a setback over the weekend.

Poor Amanda…and poor Sasha. She truly felt sorry for her boss.

“It’s probably all those personal calls she’s been getting from her lover,” Kate mused, and giggled. “He must be pretty hot. After all, she was out Monday, shagging all day, I bet.” She lifted her brow. “Maybe it’ll put her in a better mood.”

Holly longed to set her straight, but said nothing. After all, she’d promised to keep Sasha’s secret. And she would.

“Business is down.”

Jamie Gordon’s blue gaze swept moodily over the linen-topped tables in his restaurant. Nearly a quarter of the seats were empty; only two weeks ago, every table was booked.

What the hell was going on?

“Maybe it’s because the place isn’t brand-new any more,” Holly suggested. She’d come in for lunch at Jamie’s invitation and was perched at the bar, munching on cheese and onion crisps.

He shook his head and dropped onto the barstool next to hers. “Our food’s the same, whisky’s still top-notch, the service is still excellent. Nothing’s changed — except for fewer rear ends in my chairs.”

“And Marcus’s brasserie around the corner,” Holly added.

“Brasserie Russo might account for a few empty tables,” Jamie conceded, “but not this many. Something else is going on. And I mean to find out what it is. Anyway,” he added, “enough of me. How’d your dinner with Alex go? Did he like the food?”

“He loved everything, especially the roasted olives. But we didn’t make it as far as dessert.” As Jamie’s eyes narrowed she hastened to add, “That’s not what I meant! Kate came back sooner than we expected, and Alex had to go.” Holly frowned. “Why didn’t you keep her out longer, anyway?”

“Some of us have to get up early,” Jamie retorted. “And there’s only so much of your flatmate I can take at one go.”

“I thought you liked her.”

“I do, well enough. She’s very attractive.”

“And?” Holly prodded.

Jamie regarded her levelly. “Look, I got Kate out of your hair for a couple of hours. You didn’t ask me to spend the night with her.” He paused. “And you shouldn’t be spending the night with Alex either, for that matter. You barely know him.”

“Don’t start,” Holly warned, and brandished a crisp at him. “Not in the mood. Will you ask her out again?”

“I already have. We’re going to the cheese festival a week on Sunday, spend the afternoon together.” He quirked his brow. “And if things go well, possibly the evening, too.”

“Hmm.” Holly subsided into silence and bit into a chip.

“Where’s your sister?” he asked. “I’m looking forward to having lunch with you two.”

“I’m here,” Hannah announced as she rushed in, her long, streaky-blonde hair hanging down her back. “Sorry I’m late. Mum sends her love. I left her wandering through the food court in Harrods, and then she’s having lunch with Dad.” She hugged Holly. ”You’ll never guess who I ran into.” She drew a tall, lanky young man standing awkwardly behind her forward. “Jago, you remember Holly. Jamie, this is Jago Sullivan. Jago, Jamie Gordon.”

Holly nodded hello to Jago and cast her sister a quizzical look. “But I thought you two broke up last year?”

“We did,” Hannah said as she un-shouldered her bag and plopped it down on a barstool, “mostly because Dad was so set against him. But also,” she added as she flicked an accusatory glance at Jago, “because someone neglected to mention the tiny fact that he was living with another girl.”

“I told you, we weren’t living together,” Jago retorted. “Not like that. We had a flatshare, that’s all.”

“Nice to meet you, Jago,” Jamie said, and held out his hand.

“Sorry, I can’t stay long,” Jago said, “but I’m on break. I work at Marcus Russo’s brasserie.”

“Oh?” Jamie eyed him with interest. “What’s it like, then, working for a Michelin-starred chef?”

“It’s grim,” Jago admitted. “I’m learning a fair bit — I was a fry cook at my uncle’s chippy — but I washed dishes for ages before they let me chop an onion or peel a potato.”

“Well, it gets better as you pick up experience…but you’ll always work long hours, and you’ll never get a weekend or a holiday off.” Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. “Now that I’ve depressed you completely, why don’t you join us for lunch?”

“I’d like that, but I can’t. Marcus’ll have my arse if I’m late.”

“Tell him to stop in, have a drink some time. I’d like to meet him.”

Jago shrugged. “He’s not round much. He’s filming a new telly programme. Anyway, I doubt he’d come. You’re his competition. And he doesn’t have much good to say about you.”

“Oh?” Jamie took a sheaf of invoices the bartender handed him and began to look through them. “And what does he say?”

Jago shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well, erm…that you’re young and don’t know what you’re about, mostly. That it’s a fluke that this place is a success. And he says that the salmon are quick frozen and the mussels are dodgy—”

Jamie threw down the invoices. Anger suffused his face. “What? The lying bastard! And is he telling this to all his customers as well?”

Jago’s discomfort increased. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but…yeah, he is. It was great to meet you,” he added as he turned away, “but I’ve got to go. I can’t afford to lose my job. Good to see you again, Holly. Nice to meet you, chef. And sorry if I flapped my gob too much,” he added.

“It’s okay, mate. I’m glad you told me. It explains a lot.” Jamie shook Jago’s hand. “If Marcus ever sacks you, we’ll find a place for you here.”

“Thanks.” Jago flashed him a grateful smile, kissed Hannah on the cheek, and fled.

Jamie was silent as Holly and Hannah studied the lunch menu. He couldn’t believe that over-inflated, egotistical twit of a chef had bad-mouthed him to such a degree. And to think he’d admired the bastard, growing up, and wanted to become a chef himself largely because of Marcus Russo’s example…

“Hey! Earth to Jamie,” Holly chided him. “You’re a million miles away. What are you having for lunch?”

…the salmon are quick frozen and the mussels are dodgy…
“What am I having? Marcus Russo’s arse,” Jamie grumbled.

“Oh, don’t let what Jago said about Marcus bother you,” Holly chided him. “Besides, it’s sort of flattering.”

He stared at her. “Flattering? How do you figure that? He’s trying to run me and my business straight into the ground!”

“Think about it.” Holly popped a crisp in her mouth. “Marcus is a famous chef, with Michelin stars and a bunch of restaurants, right?”

“Right…?”

“Why should he be bothered by you? You only have one restaurant; you’ve got no TV shows or cook books — yet,” she hastened to add when she saw Jamie’s black expression, “and you’re not very well known. But even so, he’s doing everything he can to bad-mouth you and poison your business.”

“And this is good how, exactly? I’m not following.”

“Don’t you see? He’s jealous of you, Jamie!”

Jamie blinked. “Jealous? Of me?”

Holly nodded. “You’re younger, better looking, and you’ve got a successful restaurant on your first go.” She sat back, her expression smug. “Marcus Russo is threatened by you. Now that we’ve settled that—” she handed him over the menus “—can we all please, please order some lunch? I’m absolutely
starving
.”

Promptly at eight that evening, Holly reported to Jacqueline Winter’s law office for her new, part-time reception job.

“You’re to take messages and sign for any packages,” the regular receptionist, Grace, instructed her. “The answering service takes over at midnight. Can you work a switchboard?”

Holly eyed the multi-lined phone with misgivings. “No.”

Grace sighed. “Why do they
always
send girls with no experience?” She quickly showed Holly how to operate the switchboard and transfer calls.

“Remember to press the switchhook once, lightly,” she commanded. “If you press too firmly, you’ll cut the caller off.”

“Hit the switchhook once to transfer a call,” Holly repeated. It was hardly rocket science. “Got it. Thanks.”

“If you cut them off,” Grace warned her as she gathered up her things, “they get
really
annoyed.”

“I won’t,” Holly promised, and eyed the switchboard with determination. Who’d be calling a law office so late, anyway? This receptionist gig would be easy-peasy; the hardest part would be staying awake. She wished she’d brought a book along to pass the time…

Grace left.

The moment she departed, the phone lines lit up. Every single one of them.

“Yes, let me just transfer your call — hold on, what? I already did? — Oh, so sorry,” Holly apologized. She pressed the switchhook down…and promptly cut off the caller again.

As she listened to the angry buzz of the returning caller, her indignation flared. “No, sir, I assure you, I’m
not
a brain-dead chimp. There’s no need to be nasty!”

By the time midnight arrived, Holly cut off her last irate caller and went home, where she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Chapter 29

Well, it takes all bleeding kinds
, Marcus reflected darkly as he slammed the phone down on yet another false lead.

Detective Sergeant Watts had been right. He’d warned Marcus that every nutter in England would come out of the woodwork to claim the fifty-thousand-pound reward for information on his missing daughter.

Marcus had fielded calls from self-proclaimed psychics, mind-readers, and spiritualists who all swore they’d seen Poppy.

He hadn’t got a decent night’s sleep since finding out Poppy was missing. He alternated between fury at his daughter for putting him through this, and the very real fear that something horrible had befallen her. She was a good kid. She was smart, quiet, never any trouble.

What could have possessed her, then, to run away like this? To cause her mum and him such anguish, guilt, and terror?

Marcus switched on the kettle. If he was honest with himself, he knew that he was at least partly to blame. He was never home; he rarely spent time with Poppy, or Bethany, for that matter. It was always on to the next restaurant, the next publicity junket, the next cookery book. And with the new reality programme, he’d been home even less.

As the water reached a boil he switched off the kettle and took down a cup. Poppy’s running away was obviously a bid for attention. Things had to be very bad indeed for her to leave.

He was a piss-poor father if he couldn’t realize that. Marcus plunked a tea bag in his cup and vowed that when Poppy came safely home — and he refused to believe otherwise — he’d find a way to fix the sorry state of things between them.

He picked up the phone and began to make some calls. He’d get his daughter back. And when he did, he’d do his utmost to learn how to be a proper father once again.

“Come in, Holly.”

Valery’s expression was grim as she took the homeless article Holly handed her. “Close the door and sit down, please. We need to talk.”

Holly’s heart accelerated as she shut the door. It was true she’d been fifteen minutes late to the staff meeting this morning — she’d slept through the alarm; but the roadwork congestion on lower Shaftesbury was hardly
her
fault—

“We’re making some changes very soon,” the editor-in-chief said as Holly perched nervously on the edge of a chair, “and they’ll affect you. This is strictly between us.”

She nodded slowly. “I see. What sort of…changes?”

“There’s to be a personnel reorganization. You’ll be taking on additional responsibilities.” She studied Holly. “If you’re up to the challenge, there’ll be a pay rise in the near future, perhaps even a promotion.”

“Oh,” Holly breathed, “that sounds great!” God knew she needed the money. The part-time receptionist job Alex had got her helped, but it was hardly enough. “What about Sasha? How will the personnel reorganization affect her? Will she get a promotion, too?”

Valery gathered up a stack of paperwork and thrust it in a folder. “As you can imagine, Ms James,” she said abruptly, “I’m very busy. I’ll have more details next week, and we’ll speak then. Thank you. Please shut the door when you leave.”

Holly stood. She’d been dismissed. “Of course. Thank you, Ms Beauchamp.”