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If at first you don’t succeed—
GIVE UP
No!
No. That wasn’t what she meant to write at all.
So. Delete that and start again.
Okay …
You’d think it would be seventh heaven living in the Acosta family penthouse with all that space, state-of-the-art gizmos, and furnishings courtesy of a top interior designer, but actually it means not using anything in the kitchen in case you scratch, burn, or break it. And don’t get me started on the bathroom. Basically, I’m fed up with tiptoeing around. I might be living in the city, but I’m still a countrygirl at heart. *Think* Bigfoot with ten carrier bags on each arm blundering through the glass department at Harrods—and you’re still not even close. And then there’s the job at ROCK! Working at the hottest magazine in town should be a dream come true, right? Wrong. Things really couldn’t get any worse—until you come to my love life.
Love life still zero, though lustful thoughts are on the up, thanks to the man I met at the café called Ruiz, who looks like a sex god and who thinks I’m a ‘cute kid’.
Oh, good. I am a twenty-three-year-old ‘kid’ with breasts and a Brazilian.
The wax?
I always was the glass-half-full type of girl, and judging by the pressure on the front of Ruiz’s jeans he could fill that glass very nicely
indeed.
Not that she was looking for a boyfriend, but her readers didn’t need to know that where Holly was concerned it was a case of once bitten for ever shy. She had to light up the page not dwell on her mistakes, because it was all going wrong at ROCK! The job that should have been perfect for her, where she could be involved in things that mattered by working on the agony-aunt column, in however lowly a position, was on the line. She stared at the latest e-mail memo on her screen; it seemed she was about to be booted before she even got a chance to prove what she could do.
Latest figures dire. Agony column doomed unless reader numbers improve significantly. Need a diary feature to head the column—something juicy. Go, team! And remember: last in, first out. That means you, Holly.
Forcing her chin up, Holly flashed a promise-to-do-better smile at the staffer who had circulated the mail. What was Holly supposed to do to make things better—unless readers would be interested in the incredible -disappearing-sock story, or perhaps the find-a-white-bra-amidst-the-various-shades-of-grey scoop?
‘I’m on it,’ Holly assured the staffer on her way out of the office that night, adopting a seriously concerned expression. She was seriously concerned—for her job.
The staffer managed an even more seriously concerned expression. ‘Don’t want to lose you, Holly, but …’
The staffer was right. The column was dead unless someone came up with an idea fast.
Hiding behind other people’s problems instead of risking another Holly-picks-the-wrong-man-again screw-up had been an attractive proposition when she’d first come down to London, Holly reflected as she walked briskly through the Christmas shopping crowds to the bus stop. But now all she wanted was to take her new life by the scruff of the neck and make a success of it. Her days of hiding behind anything were over. And with no reader letters to answer hiding behind other people’s problems wasn’t an option, anyway. The sticking point with the failing agony-aunt column was that no one cared any more—people just moved on to the next relationship. It was uncool to admit you needed advice. She had to come up with something novel. If she failed she’d be back at that door with the peeling paintwork and steel mesh security panel to prevent it being kicked in, otherwise known as her first job disaster.
She’d been straight out of college and green as a cabbage when she rocked up at Frenzy, a well known magazine. Well-ish known, Holly amended, hailing a bus. She had thought herself really lucky to have such an exciting opportunity straight out of college, in what had turned out to be a badly lit call centre. ‘I’m supposed to be on the features desk?’ she had explained to the old man in carpet slippers who’d shown her around. It had turned out Holly’s desk was a length of chipped and yellowing plywood facing a peeling wall and she was to share said desk with around twenty other girls. The girls had been too busy speaking on the phone to notice Holly’s arrival, and at first she hadn’t been able to figure out why they were all working from dog-eared scripts and panting into microphones—until her mind had flicked rapidly through the pages of the magazine. Frenzy was quite raunchy, though nothing out of the ordinary until you came to the back pages where there were a lot of ads for services like Personal Tarot Readings, Massage By Britain’s Strongest Woman, or Chat To Chantelle In Perfect Confidence—
Oh …
‘Erm … I’d like to see my supervisor, please.’
And that had been the end of that.
She definitely wasn’t going back to some telephone sex dungeon, Holly determined as she arrived at the penthouse—or Acosta heaven, as she had come to think of her temporary lodgings. She was going to stay at ROCK! and make a success of the job she had. Once through the door, she carefully removed her shoes to preserve the immaculate gleam of the highly polished wooden floor. Shrugging her coat off, she draped it on a chair, shooting her bag, briefcase, newspaper, magazines and scarf into the mix. Just think. If she made a success of her career as a journalist she could own something like this herself one day …
Dream on, Holly thought, turning full circle in the huge marble-tiled hall. A vaulted glass ceiling with a fabulous view of the stars glittered overhead, while life-sized Roman busts that might have been originals from antiquity for all she knew stood on pedestals either side of the huge double doors. Not only was the cost of a place like this far beyond Holly’s wildest dreams, she would also have to learn how not to be clumsy. A lesson too far, perhaps? No wonder she felt on edge amidst this splendour—one sneeze and she could be bankrupt for life. But for now the penthouse was home, so she might as well make the most of it. Tonight was green face mask night. She did all her best thinking in the bath, so this soak was set to be a long one.
Fate played strange tricks sometimes, Ruiz thought, frowning thoughtfully as he put the phone down and sat back. After he’d been searching high and low for his sister, Lucia had called him up out of the blue, unprompted. He might have known if it was a question of loyalty to a friend, Lucia would break cover immediately. There had been a swift exchange of information and a deal had been brokered between them. Like Nacho, Ruiz was keen for his kid sister to make use of her qualifications rather than to waste her time hanging around the party circuit. Lucia would return to the real world if he agreed to maintain his silence on her current whereabouts. ‘But get home fast. On the next flight,’ he stressed.
‘So you don’t mind my friend Holly staying at the penthouse?’
‘Not at all.’ Fate was definitely playing into his hands, Ruiz reflected while Bouncer murmured with contentment as he rearranged his massive furry body on Ruiz’s feet. Apart from the dog’s future looking a whole lot rosier, Ruiz had asked enough questions to establish that the Holly he had met at the café and had felt an instant connection with was the same friend his sister had forgotten she had invited to stay. Confirmation of this had elicited several squeals of excitement from Lucia when she realised he had already met her best friend, while he was more than looking forward to a return match with Holly. And as for making up for his sister’s oversight—
‘There’s just one thing, Ruiz,’ Lucia said, interrupting these thoughts.
‘Which is?’ he prompted.
