Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (42 page)

The real question was — could she pull this interview off before Alex threw her out of his office?

You
have
to make this work
, she reminded herself firmly.
Your new job as Valery’s assistant depends on it
.

“Ms Holland? Mr Barrington will see you now,” the receptionist told her five minutes later. “Shall I direct you to his office?”

“No, thanks,” Holly replied as she stood up on legs made suddenly of jelly, “I know where it is.”

The girl looked at her in surprise. “You do?”

Oops,
Holly realized
, Henrietta Holland’s never been here before
. “Well,” she said, thinking quickly, “it must be that door, there…” she stabbed her finger to the right “…the one at the end of the hall, because…” she glanced at the door, hoping to God it had a name plaque — it did! — “…it says ‘Henry Barrington’ on it,” she finished triumphantly.

The receptionist raised her brow. “Wow. You’re a regular Sherlock, you are.”

Holly ignored her and made her way cautiously down the hall in her new, high-heeled Kurt Geiger Mary Janes, until she arrived at Alex’s door. With a deep, shaky breath, she raised her hand to knock.

“Come in,” came Alex’s distracted voice.

She turned the knob to open the door and paused. Alex sat behind his desk, papers scattered everywhere, a frown furrowing his brow. He wore a dark grey pinstriped suit and a shirt with narrow blue stripes. His collar was loosened and he looked vaguely harassed…

And catch-your-breath gorgeous.

He barely glanced up as he said, “Have a seat, please. I’ll be right with you.”

Holly nodded and took one of the wing chairs in front of his desk. Her heart was doing a complicated hip-hop routine in her chest; she felt as if she really might faint.

Perhaps fainting wasn’t a bad idea. Alex would rush around his desk to see if she was all right, and he’d lift her gently in his arms to tenderly administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation—

“I apologize,” Alex said as he thrust his papers aside and glanced up at her for the first time, “but since I won the election I’ve been quite busy, as you can imagine.” He stood up halfway with a polite smile and thrust out his hand. An odd look passed over his face. “Henry Barrington, Ms—” he paused “—Holland, is it?”

Holly nodded and shook his hand, then sank back into her chair. She flipped open a steno pad and waited, her pen poised expectantly over the pad.

Alex leaned back in his chair and studied her. “I’m a regular reader of
The
Guardian
, Ms Holland, but, I must confess, I don’t recall seeing your byline before.”

Crap
. “That’s because I’m—” Holly cleared her throat, which suddenly felt as if it were lined with pea gravel “—I’m a new correspondent.”

“I see. And what’s your area of journalistic expertise? Law? Politics?”

Thank God she still had on her sunglasses, otherwise he’d see the panic in her eyes. “Finance,” she said quickly. “And fashion.”

He frowned. “I see. That would seem to be an odd mix. And truthfully, I fail to see how either of those areas qualifies you to interview me about my win for the Conservative Party.”

Good point
. “No one else was available. May we begin?”

He sighed. “Of course. My time is tight this morning, at any rate. I can spare—” he consulted his wristwatch “—fifteen minutes before my press conference begins.”

Holly took out her voice recorder and leaned forward to place it carefully on the edge of his desk. “So,” she began, aware that her voice was a trifle unsteady, “what made you decide to stand as a Member of Parliament?”

“It’s always been a dream of mine,” he said evenly. “I want to effect change, and the best way to do that is through listening to my constituency and representing their concerns to those in power, those who can actually make a difference.”

“What sort of concerns, exactly?” she asked.

“Well, there’s the problem of payday lenders. They charge exorbitant interest rates — particularly when you factor in compounding and the short-term duration of the loans — and they prey on marginalized people who can least afford it. If one payment is late, the loan becomes almost impossible to repay.” He frowned. “Then there’s the issue of teen homelessness, another problem that troubles me deeply…”

“Yet you nixed the reopening of the Chipping Barnet homeless shelter.”

There. She’d said it. It lay between them like a great steaming pile of dog poop.

“The Chipping Barnet shelter,” he said firmly, “is, and always will be, my top priority as MP. I promised to see to the reopening, and now that I’m in office, I fully intend to live up to that promise. My secretary is drafting a letter and a request for a meeting with the PM to discuss the matter as we speak.”

Holly stopped writing and gazed at Alex in admiration. He was an impressive speaker. Alex Barrington was impassioned, committed, articulate…everything an MP should be. And he really
was
doing something about the homeless shelter in Chipping Barnet…and on his first day!

He was extremely easy on the eyes, as well. She thought that her heart might burst with pride.

“—and that sums up my views on the matters of most importance to me — and to my constituents as well, one hopes.”

With a guilty start, Holly realized she’d been so busy gazing at Alex with stars in her eyes that she hadn’t got a single word he’d said down on paper.
Oh, well
, she told herself,
that’s what the voice recorder is for, right?

As she scribbled madly away to capture those multi-syllabic words she could remember, Holly paused to reach up and — unobtrusively, she hoped — scratch a bit more under the edge of her wig. What kind of sadist designed these things, anyway? They were hot and itchy and miserably uncomfortable.

Gradually she realized that Alex had stopped talking. She looked up, puzzled.

He regarded her with a bemused expression.

“Is something wrong?” Holly asked, her heartbeat quickening.

“I was just thinking that it might be easier to take your notes if you took your sunglasses off.”

She thought fast. “Oh, I have a…an eye condition. I recently had surgery, you see, and my eyes are still very sensitive to light.”

“Ah. Yes, I see,” Alex murmured, although he didn’t look particularly convinced. “Sorry. Where were we?”

She cleared her throat. “You were just saying that a candidate—” holy
hell
, but her scalp itched “—has to be nominated by ten parliamentary electors—” she dug under the wig again with her finger “—in order to stand for the constituency.”

“Right. Good to know you’re actually listening, Ms Holland.” He smiled tightly. “Once that particular hurdle is met, and the nomination papers are submitted, the next step is to—” He broke off and leaned forward in his chair, his expression grim. “To ask your interviewer what in God’s name she thinks she’s trying to pull.”

She stared at him in confusion. “I-I’m sorry?”

He threw his pen aside. “Holly, I know it’s you. I knew it was you from the moment you opened your mouth.”

“You…you did?” she asked, flustered. “Oh, shit.” She rallied herself. “I mean, no, you’re mistaken! I’m Henrietta Holland, from
The
Guardian
—”

“No, you’re not,” he ground out. “You’re Holly bloody James of
BritTEEN
magazine.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Besides, I’d never work for a naff publication like
BritTEEN
—”

“I can see your hair,” he informed her icily, “your
blonde
hair, under that atrocious wig, the wig you’ve been scratching away at like a dog with mange. And I don’t know if you remember, but you wore that very singular piece of clothing—” he cast a telling glance at her marabou-trimmed sweater “—the first time you interviewed me.”

Holly said nothing. Argument, suddenly, seemed pointless.

“How dare you come in here,” he forged on, fuelled by anger, “dressed up like Lady bloody Gaga, making a mockery of me with this interview? I can’t believe you’d do this. I’m appalled. I really expected better from you, Holly.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not
mocking
you, Alex,” she said, horrified. “I’d never do that!”

He stood up abruptly. “I honestly don’t know what to think any more. Did you really believe I wouldn’t know it was you in that ridiculous disguise? That I wouldn’t recognize your voice the moment you opened your mouth? What the hell are you
doing
?”

“I was assigned to interview you,” she confessed in a small voice as she removed her sunglasses and met his furious gaze. “Valery wanted a follow-up piece.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you interview me…as yourself?” He leaned forward and pressed his hands, palms down, on the desk. “Why call yourself Ms Holland, and hide behind a wig and those ridiculous sunglasses?”

“Because today’s my first day as Valery’s new deputy assistant,” Holly said in a rush, “and you’re my first assignment. I tried to refuse; after all, you can’t interview someone who won’t even speak to you. But Valery insisted,” Holly finished miserably, “so I pretended to be Ms Holland from
The
Guardian,
because I know you like
The
Guardian.
And because I knew you’d refuse to speak to me otherwise.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” His words were grim as he came around the desk. “It’s time for you to leave, Miss James. Or should I say, Ms Holland,” he added acidly.

“Wait a minute,” she protested as she stood up. “You can’t throw me out! At least let me finish the interview. I’ll be sacked if I don’t get an exclusive.”

“Not my problem,” he said, and took her firmly by the elbow and steered her to the door. “You shouldn’t have lied to me, Holly.” His expression was hard. “You’ve made me feel like a fool, just like you made me look like a fool in front of Camilla; and now, thanks to your waste of my already very limited time—” he glanced once again at his wristwatch “—I’m running late. I have a press conference in five minutes, probably the most important press conference of my life, and I won’t allow you and your
shenanigans
,” he bit off, “to bollocks it up.”

“Bollocks it up?” she echoed, with equal measures of hurt and anger. “Well, far be it from me or my
shenanigans
to keep you from your press conference.” Suddenly furious, Holly shook his hand off.

“I haven’t time for this—”

“Actually, the only thing I
bollocksed up
,” Holly stormed, gathering steam, “was ever interviewing you in the first place! Because the fact is, you don’t belong in a teen magazine, Alex — you’re boring and conventional, and so far up your own self-important arse that you can’t see daylight any longer.”

His face was like granite. “Are you quite finished?”

“No, I’m not! I’m only just getting started. Jamie was right. You really
are
a prat. You ought to get right down off that stupid high horse of yours—” she stalked to the door and flung it open “—before you fall, and…and find yourself on the ground with the rest of us mere mortals. And don’t bother showing me out,” she added icily. “I know the way. I’ve been thrown out of your office before.”

“Yes. And with good reason, I might add.” His face looked like thunder.

“I apologize if I’ve wasted your time.” Holly pressed her lips together. “I’ll be going now, Mr Barrington…back to my unimportant,
silly
little life.”

She flounced out of the door, but her dramatic exit was spoilt somewhat when she wobbled on one damnably high heel and lost her balance. Alex grabbed her by the arm to catch her fall.

He glared at her, his face inches from hers. “Why must you always think the absolute, bloody worst of me?” he demanded. “I would’ve done anything for you, Holly.” He released her, and he looked, suddenly, defeated. “Surely, on some level, you must’ve known that.” He paused. “Or perhaps not.”

Her throat tightened at the finality of his words, ‘I would’ve done.’ Suddenly all the anger left her, leaving only sadness. “The truth is, Alex,” she whispered, “I never quite believed you wanted
me
, Holly James. After all, I’m not clever, or sophisticated, like all those other girls—”

“All
what
other girls?” he asked, mystified.

“All of them! Your female constituents are constantly clamouring for your attention, for a few minutes of your time…and Camilla, in particular. She’s posh, and clever, and she has far more in common with you than I do. Why on earth would you want to be with
me
?”

She scrabbled in her bag for a tissue and blew her nose. “After all, the very first time I interviewed you, you told me that I wrote nothing but salacious dreck.”

He looked uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have said that. I only said it because I was extremely annoyed by your question—”

“No, you were right. I
did
write crap, about boy bands, and starlets, and sparkly nail art. So today, when I finally had the chance to write a serious piece about the smartest, most wonderful candidate for MP in the world…what did I do? I screwed it up. Like I always do.” She sniffled again and whispered, “You must know that I’m incredibly proud of you, Alex. On…on every level.”

“Thank you,” he said, disconcerted. “Holly—”

“But the fact is,” she finished as tears began to slide down her cheeks, “you’re right. At the end of the day I’m just a silly girl who writes fluff for a stupid teen magazine. And that’s probably all I’ll ever be. And you’re a Member of Parliament, now. You…you deserve better, Alex.”

And before he could find the words to respond, Holly took off her wig and flung it in the general direction of the waste-paper bin, and with a small, half-choked sob, she fled.

Chapter 64

Holly fled down the hall towards Reception, her eyes half blinded with tears. “Where’s the lav?” she choked out as she paused at the front desk.

“First door on the left,” came the receptionist’s reply. “You can’t miss it,” she added, and raised her brow. “There’s a plaque on the door that says ‘Ladies’.”

Cow
.