Read Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) Online
Authors: Katie Oliver
“Friend of Holly’s,” he supplied, and studied the homeless girl. “How long have you been on the streets?”
“Long enough.” She regarded him with narrow eyes. “Why do you care?”
“Just curious, that’s all. You know, you can eat really well in London for free, if you know how.”
She snorted. “Right.”
“It’s true.” He pointed to a skip bin behind a small Indian grocery store. “Take that bin, there. It’s full of stuff, like unsold produce, most of it still edible — and free for the taking.”
He turned and disappeared into the alley.
Holly and Zoe followed. There was a dull metallic clang as Will threw back the lid on the garbage bin and climbed up to rummage around inside. In a matter of minutes he’d unearthed a packet of day-old Naan bread, two sticky-looking jars of curry sauce, and a couple of cucumbers.
“There you have it,” Will said as he jumped down, pleased with his haul. “Dinner.”
“Won’t you get in trouble for taking that stuff?” Zoe asked, still not convinced.
“You can’t steal trash,” Will pointed out. “I’m only reclaiming someone else’s garbage. Did you know that something like eighteen million tons of food get tossed in landfills every year? And most of it’s edible. That’s a lot of waste.”
“How’d you even know about stuff like that?”
“I know,” he said as he met her eyes, “because I was a runaway myself, once.”
“You?” Zoe scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.”
“So, have you thought any more about what I said?” Holly asked Zoe. “Will you let me interview you?”
The girl’s scowl returned. “I don’t know…”
“We won’t publish your name,” Holly promised, “and Will can pixelate your photo, if you like—”
Zoe snorted. “I don’t even know what that
means
.”
“It means we can obscure your face,” Will explained. “Make it blurry, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His voice gentled. “No one will recognize you. I promise.”
“Please, just say you’ll do it,” Holly urged her. “We can take your story public, and make people more aware of the problem of homelessness—”
“People are already aware,” Zoe cut in. “They don’t give a monkey’s. Funding’s been cut for shelters; most can’t afford to stay open during the day any more. People step over us on the street like rubbish. The coppers wake us at all hours just to move us along. Believe me,” she finished, her words bitter, “there’s already plenty of
awareness
.”
“But if we don’t bring attention to the issue and put pressure on the local councils, nothing will ever change. This article could make a real difference,” Will pointed out. “Come on, let us hang out with you, just for a day or two.”
Holly nodded. “You can read the article before I turn it in. If you don’t like it, or you change your mind, I’ll toss it, and I won’t bother you again. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Once again, Zoe hesitated, and Holly was certain she’d refuse. But, “All right,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll try it.”
“Thanks!” Holly exclaimed. “That’s all I ask.”
“I don’t want anyone to know it’s me,” Zoe said firmly.
“They won’t. You have my word.” Will held out his hand to Zoe once again, and this time she took it. “You’re doing an important thing,” he told her quietly. “You won’t be sorry.”
Zoe snorted and turned away. “I already am.”
It was half past six when Holly let herself into the flat that evening. Kate was nowhere to be found. In fact, she realized suddenly, Kate hadn’t been around much at all of late. Must have a new guy…
Valery’s words echoed in her head as Holly kicked off her shoes.
I don’t want to see a lawsuit from Mr Barrington cross my desk
.
Well, Holly reflected as she tossed her handbag on a chair, at least Alex hadn’t filed a suit yet. And the promised article about homeless teenagers was…not in the bag, exactly, but, thanks to Will, at least Zoe had agreed to cooperate.
She sorted through the mail — a bill from British Gas, a wedding invitation, and a fashion magazine — then set the lot aside and went into the kitchen to find the takeaway menus.
Someone rang the downstairs buzzer. Holly set the pile of menus aside and pressed the button. “Yes?” she said irritably.
There was a lengthy pause. “It’s Alex.”
She blinked, startled.
Alex?
“Oh. Come up,” she said, and pressed the button to let him in downstairs. Panicked, she rushed to the hall mirror and frantically fluffed out her hair, then grabbed a tube of Purr-fectly Pink lip tint from the hall table and slicked it on.
Why was he here? Was he still angry? He hadn’t
sounded
angry…
A moment later he knocked, and she took a deep, cleansing breath and opened the door. “Alex! I didn’t think I’d see you today. Or ever, for that matter.” Her eyes widened. “You’re not about to serve me with papers, are you?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “I thought we might go out to dinner. We need to talk.”
She opened the door wider. “Okay. Come in.”
“How’s your foot doing?” he asked, and glanced at her bandaged ankle as Holly gestured him inside.
“Better, thanks.” Holly looked at her ankle ruefully. “It’s not the best fashion look, I know. Listen, Alex, I’m sorry about what happened,” she added in a rush. “You have to believe I’d never publish your off-the-record on purpose—”
“I know you wouldn’t.” He ploughed a hand through his hair. “Once I calmed down, I realized that. And it’s not as if my boss or any of my coworkers read
BritTEEN
. But if you didn’t do it, who did?”
“Oh, there’s no question,” Holly said as she went into the lounge to get her handbag. “It was my boss, Sasha. She detests me, and she’d love nothing better than to see me sacked.”
“But she must know that publishing my off-the-record comments would open
BritTEEN
up for a libel suit.” Alex followed Holly out of the flat and into the hallway. “So that makes me wonder — who else wants to see you sacked?”
She shrugged as she locked the door. “Who doesn’t? There’s more competition at
BritTEEN
than
The X Factor
. Mark despises me; so does Padma. And Kate would happily grind me under her L.K.Bennett pumps on her way up the magazine ladder.”
“Kate?”
“Kate Ashby, my flatmate. She’s very ambitious, although at the moment she does whatever needs doing that no one else wants to do. We both interviewed for my job.”
“But you got it.”
Holly nodded.
“Would Kate get your job if you got the sack?”
“Well…I hadn’t really thought about it, but, yes, I suppose she would.”
“So,” Alex observed as they emerged onto the street, “Kate has motive, means, and opportunity.”
Holly glanced at him in surprise. “You can’t mean to suggest that Kate would do something like this—? No, that’s crazy! We’re flatmates! We borrow each other’s shoes!”
He reached out to open the passenger door of the silver Audi A7 parked at the kerb — “Gorgeous car,” Holly murmured as she slid inside — and got behind the wheel.
“Think about it,” Alex remarked as he started the engine. “Kate’s got a motive — jealousy. You got the job she wanted. As for means — she’s your flatmate. So I’m assuming she has access to your laptop?”
Holly nodded slowly.
“There you go — opportunity. She could’ve easily gone into your laptop, opened up your file, and messed about with it at any time.”
“I suppose so,” she admitted, her expression troubled. “It makes sense, when you put it like that. But I can’t believe Kate could be so sneaky. Or so jealous!”
“Envy can do strange things to people.” He cast a sideways glance at her. “And you’re far too trusting.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like my dad.” She hesitated. “Did you get my letter of apology?”
He smiled. “I did.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because it was so unlike you,” he answered. “It was well written, professional, polished—”
“I’m professional and polished, when I need to be,” Holly said, indignant.
His eyes met hers. “You clean up very well, Ms James,” he murmured. “I’ll give you that.”
Holly felt her cheeks go warm. Was Alex Barrington actually
flirting
with her? “So, you read my letter. Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“I have. Let’s consider the entire unfortunate episode forgotten, shall we?”
“Yes!” Holly let out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. “Now — where are we going for dinner?”
“Gordon Scots,” he said, and manoeuvred smoothly out into the steady flow of traffic. “It’s new, just opened last week. The reviews say it’s the best Scottish food in London.”
Holly cast him a doubtful glance. “Scottish? As in turnips, and cock-a-leekie soup, and—” she winced “—haggis?”
“Scottish,” Alex corrected her, “as in pan-roasted salmon with lemon caper sauce, and thick-cut Angus beef, and warm apple tart with Drambuie ice cream—”
“Okay,” Holly cut in quickly, “you’ve convinced me. It sounds amazing. Lead the way.”
Scottish flags flanked the entrance to Gordon Scots. Ivy topiaries stood in tubs outside the periwinkle-blue front door; the interior consisted of navy and green Gordon plaid carpeting, with booths and tables and lots of mahogany and polished brass. The place was respectably busy for a Monday night.
“Welcome to Gordon Scots.” The hostess smiled at them warmly. “Is it just the two of you for dinner tonight?”
Alex nodded. “I have a reservation. Barrington.”
She scanned the reservations listing. “Ah, yes. Right this way, please, Mr Barrington.”
“So,” Holly ventured when they were seated, “this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. You made reservations. You obviously planned to take me out to dinner tonight.”
“You really should be a barrister, Ms James. You have a keen mind. And you’d look much better than me in the wig.”
As they decided on their starters — a shared plate of prawns in whisky cream — a handsome young man in chef’s whites appeared at their table.
“Welcome to Gordon Scots,” he said with an engaging smile. “I’m Jamie Gordon, the owner. Is this your first visit to—?” He broke off, and surprise suffused his face. “Holly?”
“Jamie!” She thrust her chair back to hug him. “I had no idea this was your place! Congratulations.”
“Thanks. We just opened a couple of weeks ago.”
“It’s brilliant. I’m sure the food is, too. How’s Rhys?”
“Still running my life. He’s got a half-interest in the restaurant.” He grinned. “But Natalie keeps him in check. They’re getting married soon, you know.”
“I know! I got the invitation to the wedding today.”
Alex cleared his throat.
“Sorry,” Holly said guiltily. “Jamie, this is Alex Barrington. Alex, this is Jamie Gordon, my…” she frowned at Jamie “…my what, exactly? My almost half-brother-in-law?”
“Actually,” Jamie said as he shook Alex’s hand, “Holly doesn’t know this yet, but she and I aren’t related. It’s all a bit complicated.”
“Ah. Now I’m completely lost,” Alex murmured.
“So am I.” Holly turned to Jamie in confusion. “Rhys is our half-brother. So that makes us related. Doesn’t it?”
“It did. Until I found out that I was adopted when I was a toddler. I never knew until a couple of months ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That must’ve been a bit of a shock,” Holly said in mingled dismay and sympathy.
He shrugged. “It was, at first. But Mam and Rhys never treated me like I was adopted. So I’ve been luckier than most, I reckon.”
“Am I to understand,” Alex interjected, frowning, “that this Rhys you’re referring to is Rhys
Gordon
, the same chap who saved Dashwood and James from closing its doors last year?”
“That’s him,” Jamie said, his voice tinged with pride. “He put up half the money for this place.” He cast a keen glance at Alex. “So…on a date, then, are you?”
“No,” Holly said quickly.
“Not exactly,” said Alex.
“Well, if it’s not a date,” Jamie persisted, “what is it, exactly?”
“We’re here to talk about work,” Holly said, blushing as she picked up the menu. “I interviewed Alex for the magazine recently. Tell me, Jamie,” she added, anxious to change the subject, “you’re the chef. What do you recommend?”
“The salmon, no question,” he answered straight away. “It was fresh-caught this morning.”
“I’ll have that.” Alex glanced at Holly. “Ms James? What would you like?”
“Make it two salmon,” she told Jamie. “Is there anything else we should know?” she asked as she handed over their menus.
“Only that it’s karaoke night. Can I expect to see you and Holly belt one out for us later, Alex?”
“I think not,” Alex said. “I’m not much of a singer.”
Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Alex. Let me start you off with a complimentary whisky. We’ve some amazing single malts.”
“Just water for me,” Holly said quickly. “Watching my calories, you know.”
Jamie nodded. “Right. Well, back to the kitchen for me. It was good to see you again, Holly.”
“You, too.” He left, and she turned to Alex. “I only met Jamie last year — the family all get together in Oxfordshire once a year — and I adored him straight away.”
“So I noticed. I’m sure most women do.”
Holly raised an eyebrow. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Of course not,” Alex said. “He’s nice enough. Bit young to be a
chef de cuisine
, though, isn’t he?”
“He’s older than he looks. It’s his baby face, I suppose,” Holly remarked, and, at Alex’s disgruntled expression, couldn’t resist adding, “coupled with his charm and his incredible good looks…” She stopped. “Oh, come on, Alex, don’t look like that. He’s family! Well, no, he’s not,” she amended. “Anyway, don’t be silly.”
Alex sighed. “Sorry. It’s just been a shit day.”
“Poor you,” Holly said in sympathy, and leaned forward. “What happened?”
Alex waited as the server lowered a plate of prawns sauced with whisky cream between them on the table and set a napkin and glass of whisky before him. He took a tentative sip. “Marcus Russo picked apart the financial portfolio I put together for him like it was a child’s knitting project.”