So, here we are. Best pals, always there for each other when we need to vent and have a good rant. OK, so that's maybe not all there is to it. Yes, there's an ongoing flirtation and if I'm honest I do enjoy the attention Adam bestows on me.
He asked me out on a date soon after we met but I refused. I'm not attracted to him that way. Not that I've a problem with redheads - look at Prince Harry after all - but I like my men tall, dark and handsome. The brooding type. I know, what a cliché.
Anyway, at the time he just didn't do it for me, all that wearing his heart on his sleeve. I found it off-putting although if I'm honest he's grown on me with time. But I still think we're better as friends and not complicating things with sex. I just want to concentrate on my career. Adam goes along with it, I don't think he minds. He's always got a girl or other on the go. He still keeps asking me out, and I keep knocking him back, but it's become a bit of a joke between us. I don't think he would know what hit him if I ever change my mind and say yes. Not that that's likely to happen.
"So, the Dutch dick got your job," Adam commiserates. "Well, you could wipe the floor with him. Based on the incompetence I've just witnessed up there, he might not be staying long." Adam rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Can't even send a frickin' email."
Fiercely loyal to me as ever, Adam continues to diss Van Hoogen on everything from his lack of basic IT skills to his choice of tie, until somehow he gets me laughing.
"Really? I thought his tie was nice," I joke.
"Yes, for a news reader," Adam jibes. "Anyway, what's he like?"
"Cocky," I smile. Holding that thought, I head back to work.
CHAPTER FIVE
My head is throbbing. What a morning. The coffee's jangled my nerves and I can’t settle down to work. It's lunchtime, and I decide to get out for some fresh air. I'll have to make it quick as I've so much work to do thanks to Van Hoogen.
Outside the office, I dart between the standstill traffic on the Strand towards Prêt à Manger. It's packed as usual. I order my favourite. If ever I deserve a treat, it's today.
At the checkout, I get the feeling I'm being watched. When I turn and look around I can't believe my bad luck. My nemesis, Nicholas Van Hoogen, is sitting alone at a table in the corner. If I had seen him earlier, I wouldn't have come in. I mentally kick myself for not paying attention. As it is, there's no way I can avoid him on the way out.
He smiles when he sees me notice him, and waves to me to come over. I mime back that I'm not sitting in, then he's on his feet coming towards me.
"I hope you're feeling better, Holly?" he says, touching the crook of my elbow gently.
Looking into those steely eyes of his, I find myself nodding, meekly. I'm like a clockwork dummy. Wind me up and take me home. What is this man doing to me to render me dumbstruck at every opportunity?
"Holly ..." The way Nicholas softly says my name, it's almost a whisper but somehow leaves an echo in my head. "Let me walk back with you. I want to ... what is the saying ... pick your brains? I hope that's ok."
I want to remind him that I'm on my lunch break but it's obvious that this is a man who gets what he wants.
"It's such a beautiful day, why don't we sit over in that little park by the office," and without waiting for an answer, he leads the way. I'm sure my body language is telling him no, but he is not accepting it. I follow, a couple of steps behind. He turns around to see where I am.
"You know what, I'm going to take this back to my desk. I have a lot of work on," I snap at him and shrug, lips pursed, "as you well know." Oops, that sounds more sarcastic than intended, but if Van Hoogen picks up on it he doesn't flinch.
He shakes his head. "I don't approve of eating at the desk, Holly. It is unhealthy. As your boss I insist you take a proper break." His tone is playful and his eyes are dancing. It is becoming clear I have no say in this. It's not that I have authority issues but I feel like I'm being coerced. Everything's spinning out of my control today, and Van Hoogen is the eye of the storm.
"Come," he reaches out and I'm instinctively drawn towards him. Maybe he's genuinely just being friendly. As Tara would say, not everyone thinks in our warped fashion. Then I remember the lift incident and the scene in his office earlier. I'm not imagining this. Whatever his motives, his effect on me is magnetic.
We walk in silence in the direction of the park. I use the opportunity to gather my thoughts. I'm uncertain whether he's a friend or a foe. While my natural reaction is to blame him for stealing my promotion, it occurs to me I probably need to suck it up and move on already.
The park is full of people on their lunch break. I can see various Cathwell colleagues are checking us out as Van Hoogen and I sit on a wooden bench. As the sun warms my skin and I relax, I have to admit to myself that hanging out with a tall, fit, Dutch guy on a sunny Monday afternoon isn't the worst problem in the world. Van Hoogen's attention is flattering and not entirely unwelcome. But for some reason, my natural confidence deserts me in his presence. I don't want him to think I'm always such a drip. He's my boss and of course I want to impress him. Uh-oh. The penny drops. Do I like this guy?
I open my salad box. Van Hoogen peers over. "Cobb Salad? Great choice, I had that too. My favourite!"
Oh jeepers. We're Prêt twins. "Want some more?" I offer him the salad box but he pushes it back. How the hell am I going to eat this? Not surprisingly, I've lost my appetite. I poke at the salad, without enthusiasm.
He's staring at me intently, noting every detail. "Oh I apologise. Please, go ahead, eat."
"Oh, don't worry," I reply, "I'm not really that hungry." I close the lid with a sigh.
"Well, then, Holly Martin, tell me something about yourself."
When he said he wanted to pick my brains, I thought he was looking for me to dish the dirt on the office politics or to discuss a client. There's something about how he's looking at me that says he's genuine. I decide to go with the flow.
Before I know it, I'm telling him about my mum and dad at home in Yorkshire, and my time at university. It turns out his mother is English and he has an aunt up north, so he knows the area. He appears impressed by my LSE degree. He says he studied in New York but doesn't explain how he ended up there. Here we are, sharing the details of our lives and I've forgotten how he ordered me to accompany him, and how awkward he makes me feel, and how he got my job.
The more we talk, the more I'm thinking how he seems like not a bad guy, and how interested he is in what I'm saying, and how he never takes his eyes off me the whole time. It's not awkward at all.
"And so, Holly Martin. The million dollar question. You haven't mentioned a husband or a partner or a boyfriend, so can I assume you are single?"
Cheeky bastard. Just because we're getting along, he'd better not ask me out.
I answer casually, "I'm not with anyone right now but there's plenty of time for all that later. At the moment I'm concentrating on my career." I bat his question right back at him. "So, what about you, Nicholas? Is there a Mrs. Van Hoogen?"
"Please, Holly, call me Nick."
He looks away. A couple of seconds of silence follow, long enough to tell me the mood has changed. Don't dish it if you can't take it. I could swear his voice cracks when he finally replies, "I have no wife."
The words hang in the air between us there, relative strangers on a park bench. And the moment is gone as the noises of London - traffic, people shouting into their phones, the birds in the trees around us - burst in breaking our spell. Nick rises to his feet and I follow. We walk back to the office, the conversation having turned more pedestrian.
CHAPTER SIX
I'm so relieved to get home that evening but stressed too. First, I have to tell Tara that I won't be able to go to the club with her as I'll be working half the night. Didn't get much done earlier.
After lunch, I was glued to my desk all afternoon. I may have looked busy, but I was incapable of doing anything productive. Trying to focus was difficult with thoughts of Van Hoogen zipping in
and out of my head. I've wasted so much time today I will have to make up for it tonight. It matters more than ever that I deliver the goods in the morning. Van Hoogen likes me, I'm sure of it. I want to impress him even more by proving how good I am at my job.
I turn the key in the lock and push the door. Stepping inside the dark hallway, I reach for the light switch but it's not working. Damn, forgot to buy a bulb again. I promptly trip over a holdall that Tara has left lying in the corridor. I curse loudly.
"You ok, babe?" Tara's head appears round the living room door. She has had her hair coloured again. The platinum blonde is even brighter than ever, with the ends dip-dyed blue. "What do you think of the barnet?" she asks, pointing to her hair and wrinkling her eyes and nose, a typical Tara mannerism. She looks stunning as always, in her unique quirky way.
"Yeah, looks great," I reply as enthusiastically as I can muster, making my way into the lounge. Now that I can see her properly, I immediately recognise the top she is wearing. My new top, I've worn it once. I'm too tired to raise the issue but she detects my irritation.
"Hope you don't mind, I borrowed your top. I'll leave it in the dry cleaner's tomorrow."
"Whatever." No, she won't. She never does. I'll find the blouse lying on a heap somewhere in a day or two. Tara's a total magpie and it's hard to find anything ever again in the trail of her mess. Sometimes I can't even see the floor for all her stuff.
I lift a pile of magazines from the sofa so I can sit down. Not for the first time, I comment, “Jeez, Tara, this place is like a squat. I hate sounding like your mother, but any chance you could tidy up round here some time?"
Anyone visiting for the first time would think we'd been burgled. Tara's personal style is Glastonbury meets charity shop, and that goes for interiors, clothes, and her questionable personal hygiene. But she has a heart of gold and is good fun to be around. I don't want to fight with her.
In any case, my comments are like water off Tara's back. "Ah, don't worry about that babe. You look like you need a glass of wine." Tara has a bottle already open, and makes a show of trying to find a clean glass.
I pull myself from the sofa and walk the short distance to my bedroom, an oasis of minimal, tasteful, tidy tranquility. The apartment's so tiny you can hardly swing a cat in it. I can't wait until I can afford my own place. When I get my promotion I can move out of this dump. And then it hits me again. It's not going to happen anytime soon. I can feel the tears spilling down my face. It's been building all afternoon and I'm sniffing and sobbing as Tara comes bombing in with my wine.
Tara hugs me and rubs my back as I recount the events of the day. She waits till I'm finished before giving her opinion. "You know what? It's shit you didn't get promoted, Holly, but you can't blame this Van Hoogen guy. It wasn't a done deal before he turned up, right? So maybe you just got your hopes up too quick." Ever the pragmatist, Tara always tells it like it is.
"Listen," Tara continues, "everything happens for a reason. Sounds like you've already made quite an impression on Mr. Vanderpump whatever his name is. He's got your knickers in quite a twist. You're going to work all night if you have to and you'll go in tomorrow and give him something other than your gorgeousness to think about. OK? Good." Tara takes the wine glass out of my hand and stands up. "You won't be needing this young lady, you've got work to do." Tara raises the glass and takes a sip. "Can I wear your black jeans tonight babe?" She wiggles her hips with a wink. They do look bloody good on her.
Tara might be really untidy and yes, she takes my things without asking but she's a good friend to me. I'd be lost here in London, if I didn't have her. She kisses me on the cheek and wishes me luck. I open my laptop and log on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day I'm exhausted but excited about showing off to Van Hoogen. The morning passes and I wait impatiently to be called. I watch as the others exit their meetings with the boss. None are looking very pleased. Trevor emerges, perspiring and red-faced, looking like he's just done ten rounds.
Then it's lunchtime. I stay at my desk and nibble on some fruit. Clearly Van Hoogen's leaving the best until last, I tell myself. The afternoon draws on. Finally, he calls me in. He gets straight down to business. There's no small talk at all and our lunch together yesterday seems like it never happened.
I take him through what I have been working on, my presentation for the Henderson pitch. What is it with this guy? He treats me like his BFF one day and the next he's a cold fish. Let's face it, the lift incident wasn't exactly professional. As I continue explaining my ideas, he says nothing, just listens, never taking his eyes off me.
"I've a graph here, I think you should take a look at. Will I run it through the projector?" I ask.
"No, no - no need for that, I'll come round," he replies. He gets up from his chair and walks around the desk to me. As he leans in beside me, I get the slightest hint of his smell. It's nothing as obvious as cologne but more an essence, a warm amber scent of skin.
We stay like that for a minute or two, him leaning over me, both of us staring at the screen, both aware that we're inside each other's personal space. Then he moves his hand to take control of the mouse on my notebook. His finger brushes against mine. It feels like an electric shock and he keeps it there, longer than he should, though it's only seconds.
"Thanks Holly, that will do."
Oh no it won't. Enjoying the moment, I long for him to touch me again but it's clear that my time is up.
He walks me to the door. “This is very interesting. Good work, Holly. I may have to contact you out of hours regarding this one, so please expect a call."
"Yes, of course," I reply.
He opens the door and as I step out he guides me, with his hand in the small of my back. It's such an old-fashioned thing to do, such a small thing but it feels so intimate. Every nerve in my body is yearning for more.
Oh Nick, please touch me, touch me all over.
My legs are like water and I wobble from his office back to my desk. I fall into my chair and exhale loudly.
"Well? Was it bad?" Lou enquires, hoping for some scandal.
"Yeah. Real bad," I reply, trying to keep a straight face. "Awful." But my smile escapes.
Lou looks at me as if I'm mad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s strange, there's no sign of Nick in the office for the next few days. I idly wonder where he might be. Feeling restless, I can't focus on work, even though I've got plenty to do. Nick's made sure that we all have.
I've arranged to meet Adam at our secret place for lunch. Prêt and the other chains nearby are always full of people from work so if we ever need a proper chat we go to a little café in an arcade behind Charing Cross station. It's a typical 'greasy spoon', and does the best bacon sandwiches and builder's tea. It's a couple of streets away but worth it for the peace.
When I arrive, Adam is there already but not at our usual table.
"You need to be careful," I comment, "I could get used to this."
"Nothing is too good for the lady." Adam bows his head and moves his arm in a sweeping gesture. I giggle, enjoying the familiarity of our usual joke.
"Well? So how are things going with Dick Van Hoogen?" asks Adam after we order.
"Bloody nightmare! He wants more and more but you can never tell if he's pleased or not. I don't want to have to impress him. I could do his job, you know?" Adam nods as I vent. "But I need to keep on the right side of him. I'm still sussing him out. Why should I care what he thinks anyway?" I omit that I'm already tied up in knots about the guy. I don’t think Adam would appreciate it.
"I'm sure he thinks you're good, Holly, how could he not," says Adam, stirring his tea. "His problem is, you're too bloody hot to handle." He wags his finger at me as if I've been naughty.
Oh Adam! I can tell him pretty much anything but I can't tell him about this. So, we collude in our little alliance against Van Hoogen. It's clear Adam hasn't changed his initial opinion of Nick.
"The word is, he's a to
tal ball-breaker," Adam adds loudly, and several people look round. I whack him to be quiet.
"Just as well I don't have any," I retort. "No? Not funny?"
Adam shakes his head at my rubbish attempt at humour.
He continues, "Yeah, apparently he'll eat anyone who gets in his way for breakfast."
I'd like to get in his way then. At the thought, I immediately feel disloyal to Adam.
"Well, I just have to grin and bear it, I suppose. Either that or leave the company." I don't think it will come to that, but something tells me there's drama ahead with Van Hoogen.
Adam's expression clouds over. "Leave it to me, Hols. There's something not right about this prick, just appearing like that out of nowhere. The skinny on him is well dodgy."
Adam seems convinced that Nick's a wrong'un. "Don't you worry, Hols. I'm going to get to the bottom of it, OK?"
I must look miserable, because Adam reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Here, you need cheering up. There's a gig on Saturday night in Camden, should be great, a group from Portland, Oregon. Kind of like Fleet Foxes. Why don't you come?"
"Sure, that sounds great," I reply, and it does. "I'll ask Tara too. I haven't gone out with her the last few times. Feel a bit guilty."
Adam puts on his huffy, little boy face. "I was asking you. Not Tara."
"So, Tara can't come?" I realise, too late, that Adam means just the two of us.
Adam sighs. "Of course, she can. I'll ask the lads from the house too. Here, there's a crumb ... there, just above your mouth … no there," and he points at whatever stray food is lodged on my face as I rub my cheek.
"Is it gone?" I ask.
"No, still there," he smiles then gently brushes above my lip with his fingertip. "That's it now," he says kindly. "You know Holly, I'd do anything for you."
Romance: Duplicity (Duplicity New Adult Romance Book 1) Page 2