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?”
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 —