Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (29 page)

He smiled in the darkness. “Do you know her name?”

“No, I don’t. Sorry.” She reached out her hand and laid it deliberately atop the bulge in his pants. “Enough chat, love. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

And they did.

Chapter 42

The lunch rush was on at Gordon Scots. Despite Jamie’s complaints about the recent downturn in business, today the restaurant was heaving.

Every table was filled with City types — bankers, solicitors, traders, stockbrokers — and already, a long line of order tickets fluttered on the board. The line cooks were slammed. Jamie was in full chef mode — snappish, doing a thousand things at once — and everyone from the wait staff to the expediter did their best to get the customers’ plates out as quickly as possible.

So when Kate Ashby showed up twenty minutes into lunch service with Zara and Mark in tow, Holly was less than thrilled. Worse still, the hostess seated them at a table in her area. She could probably switch stations with Sergei; but he was just as slammed as she was, so she supposed she’d have to make the best of a bad situation and get on with it.

Nevertheless, Holly reflected darkly, she’d like nothing better than to grab Jamie’s Microplane grater and zest that fake smile right off Kate’s hateful, lying face…

Instead she pasted on an equally phony smile and said politely, “Hello, everyone. Welcome to Gordon Scots. What can I get you today? Our special is the chicken and leek pie—”

“Holly?” Mark said. His face was stamped with disbelief. “So you’re reduced to waiting tables now, are you?”

“We all have to make a living,” she said, her words tight. “What’ll you have?”

“Hmm… I think I’ll have…” he smirked and pretended to study the menu “…the humble pie and the cold comfort soup.”

As Kate and Zara snickered Holly tapped her pencil against the order pad. “Sorry,” she said sweetly, “but we’re all out of the humble pie. Too bad; you could certainly do with a big fat slice.”

His eyes narrowed. “Bring me the Angus burger and
frites
,” he told her. “Make it medium rare, if you please. And if you can manage to deliver my order without screwing it up, I might even leave you a tip.”

Holly swallowed a sharp retort along with her pride and took Zara and Kate’s orders — salads, no dressing, hold the bread basket — and stalked back to the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked as he threw a tea towel over his shoulder.

“I need an Angus burger, medium rare,” she said through gritted teeth, “with a side of arsenic and E. coli.”

He called out the order — minus the arsenic and E. coli — to the broiler man. “Is it Alex?”

“No, worse. It’s Kate and her work cronies. They’re having a good old laugh at how far I’ve fallen.”

“Don’t let it bother you.” Jamie thrust on oven mitts and bent down to retrieve a large pan of chicken and leek pie from the oven. “And please don’t do anything stupid like dumping a bowl of cock-a-leekie soup in their laps.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Holly said ominously.

She returned to the table ten minutes later with their orders. As she set down the plates Kate spoke up. “I interviewed Marcus Russo this morning, Holly.”

Holly set the plated salads down in front of Zara and Kate. “Marcus Russo? How’d you manage to blag an interview with him?”

“He said you’d set it up before you left. And he asked about you, oddly enough.”

Holly set down Mark’s plate and thrust the tray under her arm. “He asked about
me
? Why on earth would he do that?”

“Don’t know, but he wanted your mobile number. It was something to do with your article.”

How very odd
. “You didn’t give him my number, did you?”

“No, of course not,” Kate said, and raised her brow. “That wouldn’t be ethical.”

“And we all know how ethical you are,” Holly shot back.

Kate bristled. “You have a nerve! I’m a customer here, after all. Perhaps I should lodge a complaint about the shoddy service.”

“Perhaps you should,” Holly agreed, and turned to go.

Unfortunately, as she turned away, one of the bangles stacked on her arm caught at the edge of the tablecloth, yanking it halfway off the table…

Right along with Kate’s salad and Mark’s piping-hot burger and
frites
.

Kate let out a shriek of outrage as she was showered with salad leaves — liberally dressed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, of course — and Mark jumped to his feet, yelping and brushing hot
frites
from his lap.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Holly gasped, horrified. “I’ll bring you new plates—”

“Don’t bother!” Mark snarled. Grease stained his trousers and left him smelling like a fried potato. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t have serious burns on my legs, no thanks to you!”

“What’s going on?” Jamie asked as he approached the table, his voice low but pleasant. “Is there a problem?”

“You could say so.” Kate glared, first at Holly, then at Jamie. “Your…waitress,” she spat out, “is incompetent. She’s just dumped our food in our laps — on purpose!”

“My trousers are ruined!” Mark snapped. “They’re Paul Smith!”

“This bloody balsamic vinegar won’t ever come out of my dress!” Kate wailed.

“It was an accident.” Holly turned to Jamie. “One of my bangles got caught in the tablecloth. I feel terrible—”

Jamie turned his back on Holly and his full charm on Kate. “I apologize for this. Of course you won’t be charged for your meals. And you can both send me the cleaner’s bill for your clothes.” He produced three cards and scribbled a note on the back of each one. “I sincerely hope you come to Gordon Scots again soon,” he said as he handed the cards out. “Whisky and appetizers are on the house the next time you come by.”

They thanked him stiffly and left, throwing Holly black looks, and stalked out of the restaurant. Holly followed Jamie as he strode back to the kitchen. “You handled that really well. God, I feel terrible. I don’t know what happened—”

He turned to face her and spoke with glacial calm. “This is my business, Holly. This is how I make a
living
. It’s not something I do for a lark. I can’t have you dumping food in my customers’ laps every time you get upset or don’t like something someone says.”

“But…it was an accident!” she protested, astonished. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t you believe me?”

“Whether I believe you or not doesn’t matter. It can’t happen again,” Jamie informed her acidly, his blue eyes dark with anger, “or I promise you, Holly — next time, you’ll be out the door on your arse.”

She blinked back angry tears. “That’s completely unfair—”

“No, what’s not fair is me, barely making ends meet as it is, losing three customers in one go thanks to you and your childish behaviour,” he bit off. “I’m docking your pay to cover the cost of their meals. And I’ll hear no more about it, if you don’t bloody mind. I’m far too busy for this. Now get back to work.”

He turned away to pick up two plated steaks from the garnish station and slammed them down on the pick-up counter.

“Orders up!” he snapped. “Get a move on, or I’ll sack the lot of you, and no mistake!”

The minute her shift ended at three o’clock, Holly untied her apron and flung it aside. She stalked out of the kitchen and cast a glare in Jamie’s direction, but he ignored her.

Bastard
.

Holly paused at the door, dismayed to see it was raining. She pelted through the downpour holding yesterday’s
Telegraph
over her head and got in her car. If she hurried, she’d have time to go to the flat and pack up the rest of her stuff before Kate got home.

She’d have a quick look around as well. You never knew what might turn up…perhaps that photo of Zoe, she mused, tucked away in a hidey-hole somewhere…

But although she searched everywhere — under the sofa cushions, inside Kate’s toothbrush cup, atop her dressing table — Holly had no luck.

There were no photos, no notes, no incriminating files; nothing to prove Kate’s complicity in Holly’s firing.

Well, Kate Ashby was a sneaky cow. No surprise there.

She decided to look through the stack of shoe boxes in Kate’s wardrobe before she left. Although the rest of the flat was a tip, her shoes were neatly tucked in boxes and sorted by type — flats, pumps, strappy heels — with a photo of each shoe pasted to the front.

Holy
crap
, but Kate had a lot of shoes.

Balancing a pile of boxes precariously against her chest, Holly dumped them on Kate’s bed and began going through them.

There were sneakers, kitten heels, boots, low-heeled pumps, and stilettos. But to Holly’s dismay, there wasn’t a photo of Zoe anywhere to be found—

“What in the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

Holly whirled around, a pair of hot-pink stilettos in hand and a guilty look on her face. “Kate! What are you doing here?”

“I took the afternoon off. And I
live
here. What,” Kate demanded again in outrage, “are you doing? Are you stealing my bloody shoes?” She came forward and snatched her prized stilettos from Holly.

“No, of course I’m not! I don’t even
like
your shoes.”

“Then what are you doing?” Kate asked as she tossed the shoes aside and rested her hands on her hips.

Holly sank down in the midst of the shoe carnage on the bed and scowled. “I thought perhaps I’d find Zoe’s photo.”

“What — hidden in my
shoe
boxes?” Kate echoed. “That’s daft, Holly, even for you.”

“It’s not daft to think you had a hand in switching that photo,” Holly retorted. “I know Sasha did it, but she needed an accomplice. You.”

“That’s absurd—”

“I bet
you
snapped that photo. I bet your fingerprints are all over it!”

“Really, Holly, you’re turning into a sad, obsessed nutter over this. I’ve told you, I had nothing to do with it—”

“Right, just like you had nothing to do with stripping off and practically shagging Alex on the sofa?” Holly flung back.

“I was drunk,” Kate said in her defence, “because I had two G&Ts on an empty stomach! And Alex told me the two of you weren’t exclusive when he asked me out to lunch.”

Holly felt a momentary flare of anger at Alex, but at least she knew now why he’d done what he did.

She glared at Kate. “Don’t you
dare
blame Alex for this. He told me you threw yourself at him, that while he was making coffee to try and sober you up, you stripped off and all but attacked him!”

Kate opened her mouth to protest, but she knew, hazy though her memory was thanks to all those G&Ts she’d downed, that Alex had told Holly the truth.

She’d got drunk and acted like a cheap tart. Worse — she’d got drunk and acted like a cheap tart with her mate’s boyfriend. Shame suffused her, and she looked at Holly and mumbled, “I know you must hate me, Hols. And I don’t blame you. I’m really, really sorry.”

Holly brought her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I thought we were friends, Kate. You were my first — well, my
only
— real mate at
BritTEEN
. I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Kate sighed and sat down next to her. “I know, and I’m really sorry, Hols.” She hesitated. “I’m not proud of it, but when Sasha first hired me, I agreed to help her find something to use against you. She was desperate for a reason to sack you. Alex’s “off-the-record” comment on your mini-recorder fit the bill perfectly. I transcribed it and added the comment to your ‘One Outrageous Question’ interview, just before it went to print.”

Holly stared at her. “Why? God, Kate! I helped you blag the internship. I put in a good word with Valery and Sasha. I even held your hair back when you drank too much that night at the pub with Will!”

“I wanted your job,” Kate confessed. “I got tired of being the go-to girl, tired of making crap money, and I was willing to do anything — at least at first — to get it. And,” she admitted, “Sasha knew I lied on my CV. I don’t know how she found out, but she knew I didn’t finish business school. She threatened to sack me if I didn’t help her get rid of you.”

“What?” Holly exclaimed, outraged. “That conniving cow!”

“But after I helped her that first time,” Kate went on, troubled, “I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t screw you over. I mean, you held my hair back while I threw up! And you made me tea, and watched
Corrie
with me the next day, and handed over tissues while I cried over Will. That’s a good mate. So I went in to work the next week and told Sasha I was done.”

“What did she say?”

Kate shuddered. “She was furious and swore she’d sack me if I breathed a word of what we did to you to anyone.”

“What about Zoe’s photo?” Holly asked. “Did you and Sasha have a hand in that, too?”

“No, I swear it. Well, Sasha might have done,” she amended, “but I didn’t. And I don’t know who did.” She paused. “But I’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”

Holly scowled. “More than anything.”

“I’ll do some nosing round at work,” Kate went on, “and I’ll find out who the last person was to see your article before it went to Valery.” A look of grim determination settled on her face. “I’ll get to the bottom of this mess, I swear — if only to prove to you that
I
didn’t do it.”

“You’d do that for me? Really?” Holly asked doubtfully.

“I would.” Kate gave her a tentative smile. “Can you ever forgive me, Hols?”

“I don’t know,” Holly said after a moment, her expression troubled. “I mean, I get why you tried to mess up my first interview — I know how intimidating Sasha can be, and I know what it’s like to want something so badly you’d do anything to get it — but then you tried to blag my boyfriend, Kate! How can I ever get past that?”

Kate hung her head. “I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I was drunk, and I acted like a complete cow.” She lifted her head and took Holly’s hands in hers. “I’d never do something like that if I was sober, Holly. You have to believe me.”

And the thing was, Holly realized, she
wanted
to believe Kate. “Will you promise me you’ll never do anything like that again?” she demanded.

“I promise,” Kate said, her words fervent.