Love And Liability. Katie Oliver

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СКАЧАТЬ James raised a cautious hand.

      Sasha pressed her lips together and nodded at the assistant features editor. “Yes, Holly?”

      “What about a round-up of the staff’s worst Christmases ever? You know — missed flights, Christmas dinner disasters…”

      “Derivative—” Sasha sniffed “—and predictable. What else?”

      “Top five most-wanted Christmas gifts for teenaged girls?” Kate Ashby offered.

      “Boring.”

      “What about a celebrity round-up of favourite Christmas memories?” Mark suggested.

      “It’s been done.”

      “Favourite celebrity Christmas songs?” he persisted.

      “No.”

      “Favourite celebrity Christmases spent in rehab?”

      “Look, people,” Sasha snapped, “I know it’s barely July and Christmas is the furthest thing from our minds at the moment, but I. Need. Content.”

      Several more suggestions were put forward, only one of which — ten stocking-stuffer items suitable for teenage girls for under £10 — met with Sasha’s approval.

      “I want fresh ideas,” she announced as she prowled around the conference table, “not a rehash of the same old tired round-ups and lists. I’m thinking seasonal, but with a girly edge. I’m thinking fiction — perhaps a rollicking good ghost story? I’m thinking—”

      Her mobile rang. She glanced at the screen and said, “Excuse me, I have to take this. Five-minute break.” She strode out of the conference room, murmuring into the phone as she shut the door after her.

      Kate Ashby, Holly’s assistant and cubicle mate, leaned over and whispered, “Who’s on the other end of Sasha’s phone, I wonder? I bet it’s a new man.”

      “Ugh — who’d be crazy enough to date a nightmare like Sasha?” Holly whispered back.

      “Someone who’s into BDSM,” Kate murmured. “Think about it — Sasha would be a perfect dominatrix. Black leather bustier, a Swarovski-studded whip, her trademark black stiletto booties—”

      They fell silent as the door opened and Sasha, the features editor of BritTEEN magazine, returned.

      “As I was saying,” she began, launching back into her editorial vision for the Christmas issue, “I want a harder, less-girly edge in our articles going forward, and I want a fresh slant—”

      Holly affixed an absorbed expression on her face and zoned out to study Sasha. In her severe black dress and leopard-print shoes, Sasha Davis looked like a predator…

      …a very glamorous, expensively scented predator, to be sure, Holly reflected; but one vicious enough to rip your throat out with her perfectly manicured, blush-pink nails.

      “—so I’m assigning Holly to handle the interview.”

      Holly blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

      “I apologize for interfering with your customary wool gathering this morning, Holly,” Sasha said as she crossed her arms against her concave chest, “but I’ve just assigned you to interview Henry Barrington.”

      “Henry…Barrington?” Holly echoed. She knew the canned bio and name of every pop musician, every actor, and every aristo and quasi-celebrity in London. Yet she’d never heard of Henry Barrington, and she had no idea who he was or what he did.

      “He’s a well-regarded financial solicitor in the City. It’s rumoured he might stand for MP during the next election.”

      “But I haven’t time to conduct the proper research on Mr Barrington,” Holly objected. She wondered suddenly if Sasha meant to sabotage her by assigning her to interview a dead-boring City solicitor with political ambitions.

      No, Holly decided. Not even Sasha could be that petty and small-minded…

      “We need a human-interest piece for the next issue.” She fixed a gimlet eye on Holly. “And you’re going to do it.”

      “I don’t mean to argue, Sasha — but he sounds…well, dull. No one wants to read about legal briefs and casework. Besides, we usually feature actors, or pop singers, or—” she blanched at the laser-like glare that Sasha riveted on her “—or someone a bit more entertaining to the average British teenager,” she finished lamely.

      “So now you, inexperienced and barely out of uni, presume to tell me how to do my job, Miss James?” The room grew quiet.

      “I’m sure Holly didn’t mean to do that,” Kate interjected loyally.

      Holly flashed Kate a grateful smile before returning her attention to Sasha. “Of course I didn’t! I only meant that it might be difficult to find any entertainment value in an interview with a City businessman. Especially since you want our articles to be—” she curled her fingers into quotes “—‘harder edged’. Besides, teen girls want to read about—”

      “I know what teen girls want to read about.” Sasha’s voice was frighteningly calm. “Henry Barrington is your interview assignment. Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock sharp, at his office in the City. Be prompt. And don’t forget to ask the One Outrageous Question; I’ve emailed it to you, along with the address.” She leaned forward. “And make it entertaining.” Her narrowed dark eyes seared into Holly’s wide blue-grey ones. “Or, Miss James, you can find yourself another job.”

      And she swept out of the conference room on a cloud of expensive scent and cold fury.

      “Why does she hate me?” Holly moaned as they headed out of the door to grab a sandwich at the corner deli. “No matter what I do she finds fault.”

      “She doesn’t hate you,” Kate replied. “She hates everyone. I wonder who her new bloke is,” she mused. “She’s been getting a lot of personal calls on her mobile lately.”

      “I hadn’t noticed. I’ve been far too busy trying to source cranberries for the Christmas crafts article. Have you any idea how difficult it is to find fresh cranberries in the middle of summer?”

      “Yesterday she got a call and left halfway through the planning meeting,” Kate mused. “Valery was not happy.” Valery Beauchamp was Editor-in-Chief of BritTEEN magazine.

      “Well, she hasn’t sacked Sasha yet. But there’s always hope.” Holly glanced up at the menu board. “Tuna on wholemeal,” she told the counterman, “with extra salad cream. And carrot sticks, please, no crisps. And a diet Ribena.”

      She turned back to Kate. “I haven’t got time to research Henry What’s-his-name. And what’ll I ask him? I know the lyrics of every song the Arctic Monkeys ever did, but nothing about financial stuff. And the One Outrageous Question Sasha gave me — well, I can’t ask him that.”

      “What’s the question?” Kate enquired with avid interest when they were both seated.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ