Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (7 page)

For all the world as if she was afraid Holly might come back and snatch it away again.

A stack of mail waited in the slot when Holly returned home that evening. She withdrew the envelopes and flicked through them with mounting dismay. British Gas. Student Loan Association. Car payment. Car insurance…

Which reminded her, the Skoda was acting wonky. Which meant it probably needed repairs, she reflected grimly, which meant spending more money she didn’t have.

It was sad, really — she used to look forward to getting the mail. The post was always full of pleasant surprises like magazines and free samples and college catalogues. Now, with her finances in a tailspin and her father refusing to bail her out, going through her correspondence was an ordeal.

All the Royal Mail brought her these days was bills.

Holly let herself into the flat and tossed the post down on the hall table. She needed a second job…and fast.

A noxious smell greeted her.

“I’m making us dinner, Hols,” Kate called out from the kitchen. “My tofu stir-fry and homemade tzatziki are coming right up.”

Holly winced. ‘Coming right up’ was apt, in more ways than one. The last time Kate made Tzatziki, it was a curdled mess. She had no illusions that tonight’s would be any better.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Holly said. “I suppose I should stockpile the falafel, though — since I won’t be able to afford to eat soon, much less pay my share of the rent.”

“Why? What are you talking about?”

She popped a cucumber slice in her mouth. “I’ve got too little incoming, and too much outgoing.”

“What about your dad? He usually helps you out.”

“He told me in no uncertain terms that my free ride is over. I’ll have to get another job.”

Kate turned to stare at her. “Quit
BritTEEN
, you mean?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I’ll need a second job.”

“Sasha doesn’t allow moonlighting,” Kate reminded her. “If she finds out, she’ll sack you.”

“I know. And I can’t afford to lose my job.” She looked up with a frown. “You won’t tell her, will you?”

Kate turned back to her tzatziki. “Of course not,” she said cheerily. “We’re mates, after all, aren’t we?”

Chapter 10

Just before noon, Alex Barrington arrived at
BritTEEN
’s reception desk.

“Hello,” he said to one of the three girls behind the counter. “I’m here to see Ms Holly James.”

Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Yes, of c-course,” she stammered, and reached for the phone handset, knocking a pencil jar askew in the process. “I’ll c-call her n-now,” she mumbled, and blushed a virulent shade of red as she scrambled to gather up the pens and pencils rolling every which way.

“Thank you.”

Holly arrived in Reception a few minutes later. “Hello, Alex. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Only two minutes,” Alex said, and eyed her above-the-knee skirt with obvious approval. “And well worth the wait, I might add. You look very fetching today, Ms James.”

“Only today?” she asked, and quirked her brow. “So I didn’t look fetching when I interviewed you?”

“I’m sorry, but you only looked moderately attractive that day.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we go?”

Holly smiled and took his arm, charmed by his light-hearted mood. “Yes, let’s do.”

Alex glanced back at the reception desk as they left. “Thank you. Sorry about your pencils.”

“It’s okay. My f-fault. And you’re welcome,” she murmured, her eyes behind their glasses still riveted on Alex.

“Poor girl,” he murmured as he followed Holly into the lift. “She has a regrettable speech impediment.”

“Oh, Alex — Eleanor doesn’t have a speech impediment.” Holly glanced at him and smiled. “It’s you.”

He looked at her blankly. “Me?”

Holly jabbed at the ground-floor button. “You have a devastating effect on women. You render them speechless.”

“Is that so?” He considered this, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I don’t seem to have that effect on you.”

“No,” she said lightly. “You’ve no effect at all.”

He linked her arm through his. “I’ll have to work on that, then, won’t I?”

As the hostess led them to a table at the Brasserie Holly covertly studied Alex. His back was broad, and his shoulders nicely filled out the grey worsted suit he wore.

She had a sudden, wild desire to grab him by his brown grenadine tie, pull him towards her, and run her fingers through that dark, floppy hair of his—

“Follow me,” the hostess said, and handed them menus as they seated themselves. “A waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy your lunch.”

Alex studied Holly. “How’s your day going so far, Ms James?”

“Holly, please.” She opened her menu, still fuming over Zoe’s comment. “Actually, something happened yesterday…something that really cheesed me off.”

He leaned forward. “I’m intrigued. What happened?”

“I went out for lunch, and I saw Zoe — the homeless girl whose rucksack was stolen — and I bought her a muffin and a cup of coffee. And do you know what she did?”

“I’m guessing she didn’t kneel before you and clasp you round the legs and thank you profusely.”

“No.” Holly blinked. “Do you always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“All, sort of, lawyerly.”

“Well, I am a solicitor, after all. So it would seem to follow that I should talk in a lawyerly fashion.”

“There you go again!” Holly accused him.

“Sorry,” he said, and smiled. “I promise to speak normally from this point forward. Go on.”

“She criticized my outfit! Imagine having your clothing critiqued by a street person,” she told Alex indignantly as she studied the list of starters. “That’s like…like Mahatma Gandhi judging a cooking show.”

“I wouldn’t worry. After all,” he added, “she’s living on the street; yet you’re upset over a negative comment about your clothing. Rather puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”

Holly blinked. “You’re throwing my own words back at me, aren’t you?” She smiled slightly. “I guess I deserve it.”

“Unfortunately, as you pointed out when you interviewed me, homelessness is a very real problem. I’ve looked into the matter, and you’re absolutely right. With budgets slashed, there’s less help to go around at a time when it’s most needed.” He sighed. “But don’t get me started on my political soapbox. What will you have for lunch?”

Holly studied the menu. “The grilled sea bass, I think.” She laid the menu aside. “So have you decided to run in the next election, Mr Barrington?”

“Alex, please. And yes, I have. However, I’ll need ten parliamentary nominations in order to stand for my constituency.”

“Oh, you’ll manage that easily, no problem.”

He smiled. “Thanks for your vote of confidence. Now, tell me more about this very opinionated homeless girl.”

“Well, she knew my look was boho, and she knew who Alexa Chung was. Only a fashionista would know those things.”

“And what,” Alex asked, frowning, “is ‘boho’, exactly?”

She looked at him oddly. “You know — bohemian.”

He nodded. “Ah. Right. You know,” he added with a frown, “listening to you talk is like conversing with someone who’s fluent in a language I haven’t quite mastered. I understand most of the words, but some of them are entirely foreign.”

“Sorry. I promise, not another word about fashion, if
you
promise not to talk about law, or politics. Tell me about your crap day.” Holly sipped her water and regarded him expectantly.

“My crap day?” He paused to give their orders to the waiter — grilled sea bass for Holly, salmon for him — and turned back to her. “So far, my day’s actually been quite good.”

“No, I meant the other day, when I interviewed you. You called me that night, and said you’d had a crap day.”

“Oh. Yes.” He winced. “Well, I ended up with two new clients that afternoon. Both of them have proven to be very—” he paused “—difficult. And very high profile…”

“High profile?” Holly echoed, intrigued. “Ooh, do tell!”

He looked uncomfortable. “I really can’t discuss my clients with you. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”

“Oh, come on! You can’t say something like that and then leave me hanging,” she protested.

“No, I suppose not.” He sighed. “Let’s just say, one of my new clients is a temperamental — with an emphasis on
mental
— rock star; the other is a hot-tempered television chef.”

Holly leaned across the table and whispered excitedly, “Wow, so are you saying that Dominic Heath and Marcus Russo are your clients? That’s
so
cool.”

“No, trust me, it isn’t cool. It’s dreadful. Despite his difficult reputation, Marcus Russo is…even worse. And Dominic…” He paused. “He’s a nightmare in leather trousers.”

“He
can
be,” Holly conceded. “But under the laddish exterior, he’s actually not that bad.”

“Oh? You sound as if you know him personally.”

“I do,” she admitted, “but not very well. He and Natalie — she’ll be my sister-in-law soon — were together for two years. She blagged me an interview with Dom. That’s how I got my job at
BritTEEN
.”

“Small world. They broke up, I take it.”

Holly nodded. “He dumped Natalie to marry his ex-wife…who dumped
him
just before their wedding ceremony, when she caught him shagging the bridesmaid. It was all over the tabs.”

Alex frowned. “Oh, yes. I remember. Quite a stir it caused.”

“And Marcus Russo…he’s a Michelin-starred chef!”

Alex nudged dispiritedly at his tumbler of water. “Yes. Nevertheless, it’ll be a headache to deal with either of them, much less the pair.” He leaned forward. “Enough about me, I want to know about
you
. Tell me all about Holly James.” He raised his eyebrow. “Sex on a first date? Yes…or no?”

“There you go again, throwing my own questions back at me.”

“It’s only fair.”

She toyed with her fork. “Well, it depends, of course.”

“On what?”

“On…things,” she hedged. “Like whether they — he, and she — are attracted to one another, or not.”

He reached out and picked up her hand. “And if they are?” he asked quietly. “Attracted to one another, I mean.”

Holly met his eyes. God, he was gorgeous, with those dark, penetrating eyes, and those lips, so firm and inviting, and so close to hers…

Just then, the waiter arrived with their lunches. “Who had the sea bass?” he enquired brightly.

“I did,” Holly said, and leaned back with mingled relief and disappointment. She waited as he set their plates down.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Alex observed after the waiter departed.

She picked up her fork and pretended to consider. “I think I’ll need a second date before I’m ready to give you a definitive answer.”

“Spoken,” he said with approval, “like a true politician.” He lifted his glass of water and waited until Holly did the same, then touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to a second date, Ms James,” he added huskily, “and quite possibly, a third.”

Chapter 11

“Have you ’eard, Jamie?” the delivery man called out as he backed his truck behind the restaurant and jumped down. “Your restaurant’s about to ’ave a bit of competition.”

Jamie Gordon wiped his hands on his apron. “Yep. I’ve heard.”

Opening a restaurant had been Jamie’s dream from the time he was a student at culinary school in Edinburgh. Seven years on, his dream was finally a reality. Thanks to his half-brother Rhys’s financial stake, Gordon Scots was open for business.

And now Marcus Russo, the popular, potty-mouthed television chef, was about to open a new brasserie right around the corner.

His mobile buzzed. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered as he saw Rhys’s name on the screen. “What’s up, bro?”

“I understand you have a competitor moving in.”

“Yeah. No worries. We’ve had great reviews and we’re busy as hell. Everyone loves the whisky bar.”

“Good. Nat wants you over for Sunday dinner soon. Oh, and she says to bring along one of your chocolate whisky cakes for afters.”

“Sure, let me know when. Give Nat my love. Talk soon.”

The deliveryman began unloading crates of fish from the truck. “That Marcus Russo may be one hell of a chef, but he’s a bastard to work for, and no mistake.”

Jamie glanced up from his inspection of a case of iced salmon. Russo, although notoriously abrasive and short-tempered, had half a dozen successful restaurants to his name, all boasting at least one Michelin star. He put aside the crate and reached for the next.

“I’m not bothered,” he said, and shrugged. “There’s room for both of us, I reckon.”

“Once I was five minutes late on a delivery,” the man said, and shook his head. “My truck was full up. He made me unload the lot, then refused to sign for the delivery. Had to load it all back on the truck. Right pissed off, I was.”

Jamie smiled slightly as he signed off on the delivery. “I bet you weren’t late again.”

“No,” he admitted, and handed down the last crate. “I wouldn’t hesitate to run ’im over with my truck, though,” he added. He slapped Jamie on the back. “See you Monday, mate.”

When Friday lunchtime rolled around, Holly pulled out her handbag and counted her money — barely eight pounds to her name; good thing she got paid tomorrow — and left her desk to run down to the corner shop. Her stomach rumbled as she emerged from the
BritTEEN
building.

Automatically her glance strayed to the bench across the street. Zoe had gone missing for the last couple of mornings. But today she was back, her rucksack under her feet and one arm stretched along the back of the bench, her face turned up to the sun. A skinny blonde with a neon-pink skunk stripe in her hair sat next to her, legs crossed, smoking.

If they noticed Holly, they gave no sign.

“Hey, Mr Singh,” Holly said to the tall, turbaned man behind the till as she grabbed three Cokes and a handful of chocolate bars and dumped them all on the counter. “Guess what? I might have my first feature interview soon. And I’ve got a mini-interview coming out in the next issue of
BritTEEN
.”

He rang up the items. “Congratulations.” He raised his brow as she added several Peperamis to the pile on the counter. “You’re very talented. And also very hungry today, I see.”