“Okay. Move over.” Kate Ashby tossed her bag down and began to yank open desk drawers. “I doubt there’s anything here. Holly’s working on the interview at home, so her notes won’t be here.” She straightened. “I’ll go home and see what I can find. Perhaps she’ll leave her document open—”
“Never mind that,” Sasha said impatiently, “just find her notes. Look for something — anything — that we can use against her. An off-the-record comment, for instance.”
Kate looked at her doubtfully. “Holly told me she uses a mini-recorder to do interviews, as a back-up if she misses something in her notes.”
“There you are. Perfect. Find something, anything, that Holly — or, more importantly, Henry Barrington — wouldn’t want in print, and slip it into the interview.”
“But, Sasha — if we print an off-the-record comment, BritTEEN could be sued for libel.”
“That’s what libel insurance is for.” Sasha strode back into her office.
Kate followed her. “But…what about your job? You could get sacked for this.”
“I won’t get sacked,” Sasha said, “because only you and I know about this. And you’re not telling anyone, are you?” She flicked a glance at Kate and sat down behind her desk.
“Why do you have it in for Holly, anyway?” Kate asked, curious. “You’ve always said that if things ever go pear-shaped, you’ll marry money; so why do you care if she gets your job, then?”
“I don’t. She can have my bloody job, and welcome to it. I just can’t stand girls like her, that’s all.”
Sasha jerked her middle drawer open. Her position as Valery’s assistant was hard won, and often difficult, but it was hers. She’d always loathed the smart, clever girls in school, the ones who never struggled with maths or French the way she did, the ones who effortlessly earned top marks.
Instead, Sasha devoured fashion magazines and learned how to dress stylishly on a budget, how to use cosmetics to make the most of her features, who the top clothing and shoe designers were and what made their designs so sought after. She knew the fashion world like the back of her hand.
And she refused to let a pampered clever clogs like Holly James show up and take her hard-won success away from her.
Ever since Holly had joined the BritTEEN staff, Valery seemed to find favour with Sasha less and less, yet lavished praise on Holly.
And Sasha was bloody sick of it.
“Holly’s no threat to you,” Kate scoffed. “She hasn’t your experience, for one thing.”
“No, she hasn’t. And she’s never walked twelve blocks to a job interview, either, or shopped at Oxfam — not for fun, mind you, but because that’s all she could afford. She’s never lived in a bedsit in a dodgy neighbourhood, or eaten a jam sandwich for dinner because there was nothing else.”
Sasha clasped her hands tightly together, remembering. Had six-year-old Holly ever lain in bed, listening as her mother and a strange man went at it in the next room? Had she ever come home from school to find her mum passed out on the sofa, an empty bottle of gin lying beside her on the floor?
Of course she hadn’t.
“Still, she seems okay,” Kate added doubtfully. “She helped me get this job, after all.”
“She’s a posh little princess. She wouldn’t know hardship if it bit her on the arse.”
Kate opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. “My dad and Nat’s grandfather are partners,” Holly had said off-handedly, as if co-owning a major British department store were nothing special.
And even though she liked Holly, Kate felt, not for the first time, a tiny knife-twist of jealousy.
It wasn’t fair that while she struggled to make ends meet, borrowing money occasionally from a payday lender to cover her bills, Holly James worked, probably as a lark, so she could buy the latest handbag or an extra pair of designer shoes.
“Holly’s not posh,” Kate said, but her words lacked conviction. “Her family’s well off, that’s all. She can’t help that.”
“Perhaps not,” Sasha agreed, “but nor should her family name allow her any special considerations. Valery already thinks Holly’s ‘promising’ and ‘full of good ideas’.” She snorted. “Full of herself, more like.”
“But you’re Valery’s assistant, not Holly. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Sasha assured her smugly. “Once this interview with Henry Barrington hits the stands, Holly bloody James will find herself booted out of BritTEEN so fast her knickers will catch fire.”
“Oh, shit,” Holly mumbled as she sat up in bed and groped on the table for her mobile. She squinted at the number on her screen and groaned.
Her father was the last person she wanted to talk to this morning. Because just now, it felt as though a DJ was spinning house music right inside her head.
Maybe she’d had one too many vodka and grapefruits last night.
“Hi, Dad.” She blinked against the sunshine streaming through a gap in the curtains. “What’s up?”
“Your mother asked me to call and invite you down to Oxfordshire this weekend. We’re having a few of the neighbours round for a dinner party.”
She winced. “Oh. Okay. I suppose I could.”
“Don’t sound so enthused.”
“I am enthused,” Holly told him as she went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. “I’m not quite awake yet.”
“It’s nearly noon. Out late clubbing, were you?”
“I wish.” Holly took down a cup. “No, I was working.”
“You work the longest hours for the lowest pay of anyone I know—”
“Don’t start, Dad. Please?”
He sighed. “She’s invited John and Enid to stay the weekend as well. You remember — they lived next door when you were small.”
She didn’t, not really. “Right.”
“I can count on you, then? I’d like to spend some time with you over something other than a chequebook.”
John and Enid. Holly frowned. They had two sons, both grown. One was married, and the other was in banking or insurance or something equally boring.
She scanned the calendar on her mobile. “There’s nothing important going on. What time?”
“Shall we say seven? Get there a bit earlier and we can have a drink beforehand.”
“Great, I’ll see you on Friday.” As she ended the call Holly tried to picture John and Enid’s sons, and failed. One worked in the City and the other was…an architect? Actuary? Something with an ‘A’…
She plunked a tea bag in her cup and went back to her bedroom, noticing as she did that Kate’s door was firmly shut, and sat down at the desk. Her laptop was still open. She jiggled the mouse and the screen sprang to life.
She checked her email to see if there’d been any further response from Sasha about Alex’s interview, but there was nothing. Holly frowned. She knew she’d sent it. Perhaps she’d just have a quick look to make absolutely sure…
Yes, there it was. She’d