getting sick—
Enough Ruiz.
Enough! Enough! Out of my head now!
There was something she wanted to do before she left for work, and it did run contrary to rule number one: rely on no one but yourself. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Most of the mail for the agony-aunt column came in anonymously—and who needed help more than she did? She hurried to her laptop and quickly created an e-mail address for this one, very special purpose, and then, typing in the message, she pressed Send before she had the chance to change her mind.
So this is what it feels like to be a dedicated career woman, Holly reflected, ready for work, having applied more make-up than usual. Were her lips supposed to feel as if they were superglued together? Grimacing as she peeled them apart, she removed the overdose of gloss with a tissue, then reclaimed her nightclothes from the floor where Ruiz had flung them the night before. Resolutely shutting her mind to thoughts of how they had come to be on the floor, she tossed them into the washing basket, but then she couldn’t resist plucking out the top again on the pretext of checking if it had more than one button missing. She held it briefly to her face and inhaled, as if Ruiz’s spicy scent might still linger in the brushed cotton folds.
What was she doing? She wanted no reminders of last night. Dropping the top into the basket, she picked up the cryptic note Ruiz had left her about the cold weather and aimed it at the bin. She was ready for anything now—and positively buzzing with ideas for the column. Last night was another learning experience in her new London life, and this morning was a reflection of the woman she had become, i.e. tough Holly—tougher, anyway. Holly who could handle anything, Holly who had grown up overnight and who no one would ever accuse of being naïve again.
She carried that thought to the office, where she was relieved to be rushed off her feet. It gave her no time to think—except about Ruiz, who coloured all her thoughts. They were so busy on the agony-aunt column it looked as if they might have to recruit more people to handle the level of traffic the web site was attracting, not to mention the circulation boost the magazine had received.
All thanks to your column, Holly was told to her embarrassment. ‘We’re a team,’ she insisted as everyone from the neighbouring offices gathered round her.
‘And the team loves reading about your disastrous love life,’ someone commented, which made everyone else laugh.
‘Who doesn’t love to sit knitting at the foot of the guillotine?’ another colleague added with brutal honesty and an ironic laugh.
But it was just that bad, Holly thought, wishing she could write her own happy ending. Then one of the men from marketing distracted her by brandishing a copy of the magazine. ‘Your private life’s not your own any more, Holly. It belongs to all of us now.’
‘Great.’ She forced a laugh.
‘Listen up, everyone,’ one of the girls announced, reading from the monitor. ‘You won’t believe what some idiot has written.’
Holly knew. She knew immediately and only wished she could disappear in a puff of smoke, but it was too late as her colleagues had already rounded her up and were shepherding her towards the screen.
The girl started reading Holly’s message: ‘“I’ve just met a really hot guy, which is great. What’s not so great is that I slept with him on practically the first night when I know the relationship isn’t going anywhere. It certainly can’t now as he just told me he’s moving on. I know you’ll say I should forget him and move on myself. And I would. I really would, but I think I’ve fallen for him …” Can you believe anyone would be that stupid?’ the girl demanded, directing the question at Holly.
‘Don’t be harsh,’ Holly blurted, blushing furiously.
‘No, you’re right,’ the girl agreed when everyone had finally calmed down and stopped laughing. ‘That was bitchy of me. And we’ve all been there, haven’t we?’
When Holly’s colleagues finally calmed down and agreed with this, their team leader, who was in the best of moods for once, called for silence. ‘I’ve got some really good news for all of us. Since the playboy told our beloved redhead Holly that they were splitting, hits to the web site are threatening to crash the system.’
‘Hasn’t the “Living with a Playboy” feature almost run its course?’ Holly suggested desperately, not wanting to go any deeper into this. ‘Should we be thinking of going out on a high? Maybe trying to come up with a new idea for a fresh column?’ She was clutching at straws, Holly realised when she saw the disapproval on her team leader’s face.
‘Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t even think about finishing it. Most of the hits are on your page. Your love life is such a mess everyone feels confident writing to you.’
‘Oh, good. My life is a disaster, so everyone’s happy—’
‘Don’t be so naïve, Holly. This is fiction. Keep up the misery,’ the team leader advised. ‘It sells almost as well as sex.’
Everyone laughed except Holly, who had closed her mind to the problems of real life and was already constructing her next headline: Fall in love with his dog by all means, but don’t fall in love with him—especially if you expect the same level of loyalty and affection you get from his furry friend.
* * *
When she got back to the penthouse Holly’s heart almost stopped when she found Ruiz already back from work. He was lounging on the sofa in the living room with one jean-clad leg crossed nonchalantly over the other, the sleeves rolled back on his checked shirt—
Forearms bared meant action, Holly thought, feeling a jolt as her sixth sense kicked in. Ruiz had made no secret of the fact that he would be leaving soon for the polo match in Argentina. How soon? Very soon? She could sense change in the air. And then she saw what he was looking at. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded, swinging his laptop round so she could see the screen.
‘Fiction,’ she said flatly. He’d read her latest article, which was less than complimentary about him and even less kind to her. It was the type of relationship screw-up the team leader had asked for, and, because she was still stinging from Ruiz’s cold dismissal and the thought of him leaving for Argentina, for once she’d given her team leader what he’d asked for—no holds barred. ‘Don’t you like it?’ she asked Ruiz, aching inside.
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he said, closing the lid. ‘It’s up to your readers, though you make your feelings clear enough.’
Wait until he read tomorrow’s column, Holly thought, wondering briefly if she should tone it down, and then deciding not. ‘I’m a journalist, Ruiz.’
‘You mean you make things up,’ he said, his eyes dark and watchful.
‘You know I do. I’ve never made any secret of the fact that the “Living with a Playboy” feature is a fiction—a piece of light entertainment to increase reader interest in the agony-aunt column.’
‘A feature for which I am the inspiration.’
‘I have never made a secret of that either.’
Ruiz wouldn’t look at her. But he had always known what she was doing. She must appear as nonchalant as he did. The sex had been spectacular between them last night, but acting cool
