Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (18 page)

Sasha’s eyes narrowed.

Uh-oh
, Holly mused,
looks like Sasha has her sights set on Will Tennant, too.
She smiled to herself and settled back with her barely touched drink, ready to watch the drama unfold.

“Sasha!” she called out, and waved. “Over here.”

A moment later, her boss slid onto a seat at the table. “Thanks. The place is heaving tonight.” She flicked a glance at Holly. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“It’s not usually my thing,” Holly agreed, and pushed the basket of chips at her. “Kate and Will dragged me along.”

“Really?” Sasha said, feigning disinterest. “Yes, I saw them a moment ago, dancing together.” Her eyes strayed back to the dance floor. “Are they seeing each other?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

Sasha reached in her purse and withdrew a twenty-quid note. “I’m for a drink. What’ll you have?”

“Oh, nothing, thanks. I’m staying sober tonight, since Kate’s drinking enough for the both of us.”
Besides
, she nearly added,
drinking with your boss is just a bit too…weird
.

As Sasha made her way through the crowd to the bar Kate and Will returned, breathless and laughing.

“Will’s a great dancer,” she informed Holly as she plunked into her seat. “Don’t believe him if he tells you he’s not.”

“I’m not,” he said, and turned to Holly. “It’s the alcohol talking. Would you like to dance?”

“Oh, I’m not nearly drunk enough. Thanks, though.”

“Get me another pint, Will?” Kate asked him. As he nodded and went off in search of more alcohol, her gaze landed on the expensive handbag on the table. “Whose is that? It looks like Sasha’s.”

“That’s because it is,” Holly said. “I invited her to sit with us.”

“Crikey,” Kate moaned, “why’d you do
that
—?”

Sasha returned to the table, a G&T in her hand, and regarded Kate with a wary expression. “Hello. Mind if I join you?”

Kate shrugged. “I’m not bothered.”

But as the evening wore on it became painfully apparent that Kate was indeed bothered…because from the moment Sasha joined them, she and Will could barely keep their eyes — or their hands — off each other.

They danced. They talked. They laughed…and with every shared glance, every slow dance and every touch, Kate grew more moody, more silent, and more drunk.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Holly told her in the ladies’ bathroom. Kate was looking a little green. “Come on — let’s take you home.”

“No,” Kate said mulishly. “I’m not letting that bish Sasha win. I hate her.” Her face crumpled. “I
hate
her, Hols. Will likes me, I know he does… We were having such a good time, until
she
showed up. She’s ruined everything!” She went pale, and groaned. “I don’t feel so good,” she whispered. “Oh, God — I think I’m about to…”

Holly got her to a toilet just in time, and held Kate’s hair back as she knelt in front of the loo and threw up.

“Oh, crikey, I feel like shit, Hols,” she gasped. Sweat beaded her forehead. “I just want to
die
…”

“Shh,” Holly soothed as she handed her some loo roll, “it’s okay. When you feel a bit better, I’ll take you home.”

When Kate was able to stand, Holly slipped her arm around her waist and led her back to the table to fetch their handbags, and to tell Will and Sasha they were leaving…

But Will and Sasha were already gone.

Chapter 26

Somewhere, a phone was ringing…and ringing…and
still
ringing. Holly groaned and nestled deeper under the covers, pulling the pillows over her head in a futile attempt to drown out the sound. Why didn’t Kate
answer
the damned thing?

Then she remembered her flatmate was probably in no condition to answer a phone this morning — not after all the pints she’d downed last night. Scowling, Holly thrust her hand out and groped around on the nightstand for the alarm clock. Ah, there it was. She shoved the pillows aside and peered over at the digital readout. It was ten past eleven. Ten past
eleven
?

With a gasp of horror she threw the covers back. It was Saturday, and she had to finish writing the homeless article today. There wouldn’t be time tomorrow, not with Jamie due to come over and help her cook dinner for Alex…and in the evening, Alex would arrive, expecting to consume said dinner…

The phone stopped ringing just as she reached it. Blast.

She showered, washed her hair, and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt — clean, but sporting a permanent Bovril stain — in record time. After locating her laptop and notes and making herself a coffee, Holly sat down to write.

“Holly,” Kate croaked as she emerged from her bedroom, pillows clutched to her chest, “I think I’m dying. Truly.”

Holly sighed. “No, you’re not. You’re just hung over. I’m not surprised, after all the lager you downed last night. You’ll just have to suffer through it.”

Kate staggered to the sofa and collapsed, exhausted by the effort. “Did I imagine it, or did you really hold my hair back while I threw up?”

“I did.”

“Oh, shit. And did I really tell Sasha that she was a ‘man-stealing slag’?”

“You did. Mostly, though, you just glared at Will and drank a lot. Oh, and you told Will he was gay, and a crap dancer. In that order.”

“Oh,
shit
,” Kate said again, and moaned and clutched her head. “I’ll be sacked now, no question.”

Holly eyed her laptop with longing. “I don’t think so. Will just laughed. And Sasha…well, she wasn’t paying much attention to you, to tell the truth.”

“No, I ’spose not,” Kate said, her words bitter. “She couldn’t take her eyes off Will. But it’s okay.” She reached back to adjust her pillows, giving one a vicious punch. “I refuse to get involved with another work bloke, anyway. It’s far too awkward when things go wrong. ‘Hello, Kate,’ she mimicked in a deep voice, ‘here we are, back in the workplace kitchen after a week-long shag-a-thon. Would you fancy a cup of office swill?’” She switched to a simpering, sweet voice and replied, ‘Ooh, yes, please, with milk and two sugars, you mingy, cheating bastard.’”

Holly smiled. “Too right. Look, I’d love to sit here and dissect your evening from hell, but I’ve got to get on with writing my article.”

Kate nodded and drew up her legs. “Seriously, though — thanks for getting me home last night. And thanks for holding back my hair while I chundered… You’re a good mate, Hols.”

She sounded vaguely surprised, as if she couldn’t quite understand how such a thing had happened.

Holly shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s what mates do.” She hesitated. “Kate…?”

“Yes?”

She opened her mouth to ask if Kate had sent that second interview email to Sasha, as Alex had suggested; but the sight of her flatmate, so pale and tired and faintly green against the pillows, changed her mind.

“How about a nice cup of chamomile,” Holly asked instead, “and a few episodes of
Corrie
? How does that sound?”

“That,” Kate said fervently, “sounds like absolute heaven.”

With Kate sorted, Holly shut herself in her room and sat down at her laptop — finally! — to study the photos Will had taken for the article. They were amazing — he’d captured the bleak, awful impersonality of the streets at night, and, as promised, Zoe’s face had been pixelated. They were all
so
good, it was difficult to choose only one.

Her mobile rang.

“Hello,” Holly said, annoyed at another interruption. “This had better be important.”

“Holly?” said Alex, taken aback. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll call you back later—”

“No, it’s okay,” she said quickly. “What’s up?”

“You can start your new part-time position at the law office downstairs on Wednesday. If you’re still interested, that is.”

“Yes!” She still owed her dad for the repairs to her Skoda, not to mention all the money she’d borrowed to pay the bills…

“It’s two nights a week, from eight until midnight, manning the reception desk. You’ll answer phones and do a bit of filing.”

“That’s perfect. Thanks so much, Alex.”

“And what are you doing on this lovely Saturday afternoon, Ms James?”

“I’m trying to get my article finished. Sasha wants it first thing Monday morning.”

“The homeless article, you mean?”

“Yes. I can’t work on it tomorrow, because a certain someone is coming over for dinner. So it has to be done today.”

“Ah. Then I don’t suppose that certain someone could convince you to have lunch, perhaps see a movie afterwards? I thought we might eat too much popcorn and drink too much pop.”

Holly sighed regretfully. “That sounds wonderful, Alex, truly — but I can’t.”

“What if I come over and rub your shoulders while you write?” he suggested, suggestively.

She closed her eyes, and imagined Alex massaging her shoulders with his warm, strong hands, leaning down to nuzzle her neck, kissing his way, slowly, up to her mouth… “No!” she said as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “We both know where that’ll go.”

“Well, yes,” Alex agreed. “That was the general idea.”

“No, Alex. I’ll see you,” Holly said firmly, “tomorrow.”

He sighed. “You can’t blame a chap for trying. Seven o’clock?”

“Seven o’clock,” she agreed, smiling. “Bye, Alex.”

Jamie arrived on Holly’s doorstep just before nine the next morning, holding several bags of groceries. “Here,” he said without preamble as he thrust the bags at her. “Put this in the kitchen while I go and get the rest of my stuff.”

“Wait!” Holly exclaimed. “There’s more? It looks like you’ve cleaned out Waitrose as it is.”

But he’d already turned and gone back down the stairs. “And good morning to you, too,” she grumbled as she set the bags on the kitchen table and began unloading things. “Grouch.”

Inside the bags she found everything from Greek and Spanish olives, garlic, assorted fresh herbs and a container of cherry tomatoes, to a carton of whipping cream.

Jamie returned carrying a rolled-up leatherette pouch that looked like a mini sleeping bag. “My knives,” he announced, before she could ask. “And a couple of pans,” he added as he plunked a sauté pan and a roasting tray atop the stove, “as I’m guessing you only have one banged-up skillet for fry-ups.”

Holly nodded sheepishly. “How did you know?”

Jamie handed her the lettuce. “Here, wash and dry this, and tear the leaves into a bowl.” He turned on the burner under the sauté pan and rapidly minced a few cloves of garlic with his knife. “You’re making salad, red-wine vinaigrette, pasta with pomodoro sauce, roasted olives with cherry tomatoes, and, for afters, raspberries topped with Vin Santo whipped cream.”

“Umm, sounds yummy. What are you doing?”

“Getting the sauce started.” He poured a generous glug of olive oil into the heated pan, swirled it around, then swept the minced garlic on the counter into his hand and tossed it in. He tore a handful of basil leaves into bits and added them to the sizzling pan as well. “Always tear your basil, don’t chop it.”

“Why?”

“Chopping turns the edges black. Not what you want. Here,” he added, and handed her the wooden spoon. “Stir the garlic and basil around for a bit and then dump in the tinned tomatoes.”

Already the kitchen smelled heavenly. “And then what?”

“That’s it. Season it with some sea salt and pepper, and a few flakes of red pepper, if you like.”

Holly sighed as she stirred the sauce. “You make it all sound so easy.”

“It
is
easy. Cooking’s nothing more than learning a few basics and following directions.” He found a bowl and plunked in the olives and cherry tomatoes. “Now we’ll get the olives ready. Put them in to roast about forty-five minutes before Posh Boy gets here.”

Holly cast him a sharp look but said nothing. She watched as he added some olive oil, a few cloves of garlic, and a generous grinding of pepper to the olives.

“Don’t have any herbes de Provence, do you?” Jamie asked. “I didn’t think so. What about rosemary?”

Obediently she searched until she found an ancient bottle of dried rosemary in the cupboard. Jamie grimaced but tipped some into his hand and crushed it, then added it to the bowl.

“Why’d you crush it?” Holly wondered, mystified. “And you didn’t add any salt.”

“Crushing dried herbs releases the oils, so you get more flavour. And the olives are already salty enough.” After stirring everything together, he set the bowl aside and wiped his hands on a towel. “Now let those marinate while we make the vinaigrette and the whipped cream, and we’re done.”

As Holly measured vinegar, olive oil, and a bit of Dijon mustard into a clean jar, Jamie began whipping the cream. As it thickened he added sugar and a little Vin Santo, and continued beating the concoction until it formed soft peaks.

She glanced down at Jamie’s clog-clad feet and winced. “Your shoes are hideous.”

“They may be ugly, but they get me through dinner service every night.” He spooned up some whipped cream and held it out to her. “Here, taste.”

Holly leaned forward to taste the sweetened cream, and closed her eyes. “That’s amazing,” she murmured.

Jamie smiled to see the look of pure pleasure that suffused her face. She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

There was an awkward pause. “Well…back to work,” she said, and turned away to finish the vinaigrette.

Jamie reached into the fridge and took out the raspberries. “Do you think Posh Boy will approve?” he asked as he rinsed the berries and laid them on a length of kitchen roll.

Holly rounded on him in exasperation. “Jamie, why don’t you like Alex?”

“I like him well enough.” He rinsed his knife and dried it off. “Sent him out free whisky, didn’t I?”

“Then why do you keep calling him ‘Posh Boy?’” Holly demanded.

“I dunno. I don’t quite trust him, I suppose. He’s too…smooth.”

“You need to stop being so protective. I’m not your sister, you know. You told me yourself—we aren’t related at all.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still watch out for you, does it?”

“No,” she sighed, “of course not. But you needn’t worry, Jamie, honestly. After all, tonight’s my third date with Alex.”