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‘Anyway, we’re just glad to be here,’ Freya added warmly as she plonked a thriving pot plant, her personalised mug, a budget-sized box of tissues and a generous supply of chocolate for them all to share on the desk.
‘You’re right,’ Holly agreed, telling herself not to be so selfish and join in the celebration. She had to stop wishing and longing, and pretending she could steer her life to a happy-ever-after-ending in which a confident Holly Valiant won the hand of a prince instead of a frog. She could do what she liked through the column, but not that. The ‘Living with a Playboy’ feature was a fiction to boost reader numbers, which it had done, and that had to be enough for her. Except it wasn’t, Holly admitted silently as she exchanged spirited high fives with the other girls.
But hang on a minute, Holly thought as the celebration subsided. Wasn’t this expansion of the column and securing of their jobs the moment she’d been working towards? And wasn’t it essential to immerse herself in that work if she was going to forget being anxious about supper with Signor Sexy tonight? Her gaze fired as the other girls looked to her expectantly. ‘Chocolate?’ she said.
‘Tick!’ the girls chorused.
‘Bottle of fizz to celebrate?’ She was less sure of this one and was already planning to slip out and buy something.
‘Tick!’ Pixie said triumphantly, producing a bottle from behind her back.
‘I think we have everything we need,’ Holly confirmed. ‘Let’s kick this column into shape!’
And let me have something I can control to think about, she prayed fervently, instead of a whole lot of man that I can’t.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Mirror, mirror on the wall—’ Will someone cover the damn mirror!
Tonight’s the night. I am taking the playboy out to supper and I can’t decide what to wear. I realise that taking him out reverses the natural order of things—but then I am not the playboy’s natural order, if you take my meaning. I am more of a meagre side dish—the type of thing you order to try, and more often than not leave untouched. Me? Lacking in confidence? What makes you think that?
All right. I admit it. Every item of clothing I possess is on the bed, or on the floor. Carrier bags and sales tickets are scattered around like confetti, because, as it turns out, my wardrobe is full of nothing to wear. And, as I am constantly reminded by the playboy’s long-legged basque-wearing friends, sex sells. Not exactly my area of expertise. Consequently, I have decided that my next article for you will be a helpful piece on the subject of staying out of debt. At least that’s where my credit card provider told me I should be concentrating my thoughts.
I must admit the real crisis of confidence came when I tried to decide what to underpin my modest outfit with tonight. As I don’t possess a single basque, or hold-up stocking, should I chance a shocking-pink thong?
As my underwear is unlikely to receive an airing, that hardly matters, does it?
And the playboy? He’s acting as cool and as sexy as ever. Accompanying me to supper is nothing more than a workaday chore for him in order to keep in his sister’s good books. So at least I should be safe. And I should be glad about that—right?
TYPING up her column was a displacement activity Holly had hoped would take her mind off the fact that she would soon be sitting across a table from Ruiz—speaking to him, staring into his eyes—all the time pretending they were nothing more than friends. Her shopping had been more erratic than usual with her frantic purchases more suitable for a royal wedding than a casual supper in a local bistro and she was fast losing confidence in her ability to pull this off.
Closing the lid on her laptop, Holly glanced at the shoe box the unscrupulous Ruiz had left temptingly outside her door. It was on her bed now. She had been forced to bring it into the bedroom in case someone fell over it. But of course she couldn’t wear the shoes unless Ruiz allowed her to pay for them. And as that would take a whole month’s salary …
The dress she had finally chosen to wear was a sale-rail spectacular—A-line, with a flirty skirt and a high scooped neck. It wasn’t black, which was about the best that could be said for it, but at least it was the same soft blue as her favourite shirt. With her hair neatly brushed, lip gloss present and correct, and just a suggestion of smudgy grey eye shadow to complement the flick of black mascara, she was ready. And nervous.
What did she have
to be nervous about? Eating supper was a harmless activity.
Sharing food could be very sexy.
Fish and chips?
Mating rituals like eating supper together and how to avoid them was another good headline for her column, Holly concluded as she shifted anxiously from foot to foot in the hallway, waiting for Ruiz. But seeing as there was no escape from tonight, fish was out—ditto anything like spinach that might get stuck in her teeth. Thankfully, she had identified a healthy-food café where they could nibble on crudités and drink sparkling elder-flower water. Perfect. She would keep a clear head and as the café was brilliantly lit with sensible, hard-backed chairs Ruiz wouldn’t want to stay for long—
And when they came home?
She’d plead tiredness and go to bed. Alone.
Just when she’d almost given up on him, Ruiz stormed back into the apartment like an avenging angel in a cloud of cold air and warm smiles with Bouncer panting vigorously at his heels. ‘Ready?’ he demanded.
‘Ready,’ Holly confirmed.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he said as he bent down to remove Bouncer’s leash.
‘I thought the little café down the road—’
‘The one where we met?’ Ruiz sounded upbeat as his lips pressed down with approval of her choice. ‘Hang on while I fill Bouncer’s water bowl—’
