Kate shrugged. “Charm him! Make him laugh; get him to open up a bit. Then you can ask him the Question.”
“I don’t know…” Holly took a bite of her sandwich and took a dispirited sip of her diet Ribena.
“Look at the interview you got out of Dominic Heath! It’s what got you hired at BritTEEN, after all. No one’s ever been able to interview him properly. How’d you manage that, anyway?”
“I only know Dom at all because he and Nat were together for two years.”
“Nat? You mean Natalie Dashwood, his ex-girlfriend?” Kate demanded. “Crikey, Hols — you act as though you and she are bezzie mates! I didn’t know you ran round with ‘It’ girls and celebs in your spare time.”
“I don’t!” Holly said crossly, and bit into a carrot stick. “My dad is Nat’s godfather. And she’ll be my sister-in-law soon. So she’s practically family.”
“But she’s that department-store heiress, isn’t she? Dashwood and James? The stores almost went under last year.”
Holly nodded. She took a bite of her sandwich and reflected on the past tumultuous year. Her family had almost lost the stores; she’d learnt she had a half-brother, Rhys Gordon; and her sister Hannah became romantically involved with a working-class boy in the stockroom. Their father was furious and forbade Hannah to see him.
It was all very Romeo and Juliet…until a motorcycle struck and nearly killed Hannah, and all was forgiven.
Holly sighed. She’d had enough family drama to last a lifetime. Hopefully this year would be nice and dull.
“Wait a minute!” Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean—? Are you Holly James, as in that Dashwood and James?”
“My dad and Nat’s grandfather are partners. She’s like a sister. Only nicer,” she added. Her own sister was a pain in the arse most times. “She blagged me the interview with Dom right before they broke up.”
“Shit, Holly! If your dad owns half of Dashwood and James, why are you working for this second-rate teen rag, then?”
“I have to make a living, just like anyone else. I can’t ride on my parents’ coat-tails any longer. And besides — I love working at BritTEEN.”
And mostly, she did love it. Even though she was little more than a glorified intern, and even though her father was always on about getting herself a ‘proper job’, and even though Sasha was a nightmare in high heels who had it in for her…
Despite all that, she loved the work. Besides, writing for the magazine was a proper job, she thought indignantly. It wasn’t her fault that it didn’t pay much.
“Well,” Kate observed as she pushed her chair back, “this interview’s a good chance to prove yourself.”
“I suppose.” Holly sighed and stood up. “But it won’t be easy. Henry Barrington probably has bifocals and a receding hairline. There’s no way to make this interview entertaining.”
“Put your own spin on it,” Kate advised. “Find a way to make the story sexy.”
“Sexy?” Holly echoed. “Dividends and legal briefs are not sexy, Kate. I’m so screwed.”
But as she followed Kate out of the door Holly knew she had to find a way to make it work, or she’d lose her job.
Sasha Davis would see to it.
Holly noticed the homeless girl as she and Kate left the deli ten minutes later.
“I need the loo,” Kate complained as she hitched the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “That soda’s gone straight through me.”
“I’ll see you back at the office,” Holly replied. “I need to make a call.”
As she pulled her mobile phone out her attention strayed to the homeless girl once again. She was curled up on a bench across the street, her head resting on a battered rucksack, her feet tucked beneath her, and her eyes were closed.
Her hair was black, cut into a choppy shag that looked as if she’d done it herself with a pair of kitchen shears. It stuck up in a semi-mohawk on top. With a stud in one eyebrow and another in her nose, she looked seriously intimidating.
Holly guessed she was no more than sixteen, seventeen, tops — the same age as her sister.
Who was she? How had she ended up here, sleeping on a bench on Shaftesbury Avenue?
Oh, well — I’ll be late getting back to my desk if I don’t hurry, Holly reminded herself as she scrolled through to her father’s private number and pressed “Call”.
“You’ve reached voicemail for Alastair James. Leave a message.” Holly sighed and dropped the phone back in her handbag. She’d call him later. As she rounded the corner to head back to work she heard a shout ring out behind her.
“Help! Somebody stop him, please!”
Startled, Holly looked up to see a man running across the street, straight towards her. He dodged a minicab and a Fiat, clutching something against his chest, and the homeless girl pelted after him in hot pursuit. Holly realized he’d grabbed the girl’s rucksack. Acting purely on instinct, she sprinted forward to give chase.
“Stop, you!” she shouted.
He saw her and veered to the left. Hampered by her wedge heels, she plunged after him, weaving through the throngs of people on the pavement, gradually closing the gap between them. She was just about to tackle him when a lady walking a dog blocked her way. Holly darted sideways, nearly tripping over the dog’s leash, and fell.
“Are you all right?” the dog-walker enquired.
“I’m fine,” Holly replied breathlessly, with barely a glance at her bloodied knee. “I was chasing a man. Did you see where he went?”
“No, sorry. I was too busy keeping hold of Pip.”
Pip, a bulldog, sat on his haunches and regarded Holly with panting canine indifference.
“Did he take your purse, then?” Pip’s owner asked in concern.
“No. He took a homeless girl’s rucksack, and I was trying to get it back.”
The woman tutted and shook her head. “Stealing from the homeless? Shocking. Whatever is this world coming to? At any rate, he’s gone now.”
By the time Holly made her way back to Shaftesbury Avenue, a crowd had gathered on the pavement in front of her building. Curious, she pushed through the knot of onlookers to see what was going on. Astonished, she came to an abrupt stop.
The homeless girl had chased and tackled the thief and clung to his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“Get
