Read Online Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) by Katie Oliver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katie Oliver
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his dream was finally a reality. Thanks to his half-brother Rhys’s financial stake, Gordon Scots was open for business.
And now Marcus Russo, the popular, potty-mouthed television chef, was about to open a new brasserie right around the corner.
His mobile buzzed. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered as he saw Rhys’s name on the screen. “What’s up, bro?”
“I understand you have a competitor moving in.”
“Yeah. No worries. We’ve had great reviews and we’re busy as hell. Everyone loves the whisky bar.”
“Good. Nat wants you over for Sunday dinner soon. Oh, and she says to bring along one of your chocolate whisky cakes for afters.”
“Sure, let me know when. Give Nat my love. Talk soon.”
The deliveryman began unloading crates of fish from the truck. “That Marcus Russo may be one hell of a chef, but he’s a bastard to work for, and no mistake.”
Jamie glanced up from his inspection of a case of iced salmon. Russo, although notoriously abrasive and short-tempered, had half a dozen successful restaurants to his name, all boasting at least one Michelin star. He put aside the crate and reached for the next.
“I’m not bothered,” he said, and shrugged. “There’s room for both of us, I reckon.”
“Once I was five minutes late on a delivery,” the man said, and shook his head. “My truck was full up. He made me unload the lot, then refused to sign for the delivery. Had to load it all back on the truck. Right pissed off, I was.”
Jamie smiled slightly as he signed off on the delivery. “I bet you weren’t late again.”
“No,” he admitted, and handed down the last crate. “I wouldn’t hesitate to run ’im over with my truck, though,” he added. He slapped Jamie on the back. “See you Monday, mate.”
When Friday lunchtime rolled around, Holly pulled out her handbag and counted her money — barely eight pounds to her name; good thing she got paid tomorrow — and left her desk to run down to the corner shop. Her stomach rumbled as she emerged from the
BritTEEN
building.
Automatically her glance strayed to the bench across the street. Zoe had gone missing for the last couple of mornings. But today she was back, her rucksack under her feet and one arm stretched along the back of the bench, her face turned up to the sun. A skinny blonde with a neon-pink skunk stripe in her hair sat next to her, legs crossed, smoking.
If they noticed Holly, they gave no sign.
“Hey, Mr Singh,” Holly said to the tall, turbaned man behind the till as she grabbed three Cokes and a handful of chocolate bars and dumped them all on the counter. “Guess what? I might have my first feature interview soon. And I’ve got a mini-interview coming out in the next issue of
BritTEEN
.”
He rang up the items. “Congratulations.” He raised his brow as she added several Peperamis to the pile on the counter. “You’re very talented. And also very hungry today, I see.”
“No, it’s for someone else. Could you put everything but the Coke and the Peperami in a separate sack, please?”
Bags in hand, Holly waved goodbye and made her way across the street to join the two girls on the bench.
“Well, if it isn’t the boho queen,” Zoe remarked as her eyes swept over Holly’s outfit of a blue-striped Oxford shirt tucked into a butterfly-print skirt. “I like your bangles. Nice,” she approved. “Come from one of them posh shops?”
“No,” Holly said, admiring her armful of colourful wooden bangles as she held out a bag, “Camden market, two for five quid.” She turned to the blonde. “Hi, I’m Holly.”
She exhaled, releasing a plume of smoke. “Sharon. Ta.”
“We’re mates, Sha and me.” Zoe took the bag from Holly and rummaged inside. She withdrew a Coke and a Crunchie and offered the rest to her friend. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Listen,” Holly ventured as she sat down between the two girls, “how’d you like to be in a magazine?”
As she licked chocolate from
And now Marcus Russo, the popular, potty-mouthed television chef, was about to open a new brasserie right around the corner.
His mobile buzzed. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered as he saw Rhys’s name on the screen. “What’s up, bro?”
“I understand you have a competitor moving in.”
“Yeah. No worries. We’ve had great reviews and we’re busy as hell. Everyone loves the whisky bar.”
“Good. Nat wants you over for Sunday dinner soon. Oh, and she says to bring along one of your chocolate whisky cakes for afters.”
“Sure, let me know when. Give Nat my love. Talk soon.”
The deliveryman began unloading crates of fish from the truck. “That Marcus Russo may be one hell of a chef, but he’s a bastard to work for, and no mistake.”
Jamie glanced up from his inspection of a case of iced salmon. Russo, although notoriously abrasive and short-tempered, had half a dozen successful restaurants to his name, all boasting at least one Michelin star. He put aside the crate and reached for the next.
“I’m not bothered,” he said, and shrugged. “There’s room for both of us, I reckon.”
“Once I was five minutes late on a delivery,” the man said, and shook his head. “My truck was full up. He made me unload the lot, then refused to sign for the delivery. Had to load it all back on the truck. Right pissed off, I was.”
Jamie smiled slightly as he signed off on the delivery. “I bet you weren’t late again.”
“No,” he admitted, and handed down the last crate. “I wouldn’t hesitate to run ’im over with my truck, though,” he added. He slapped Jamie on the back. “See you Monday, mate.”
When Friday lunchtime rolled around, Holly pulled out her handbag and counted her money — barely eight pounds to her name; good thing she got paid tomorrow — and left her desk to run down to the corner shop. Her stomach rumbled as she emerged from the
BritTEEN
building.
Automatically her glance strayed to the bench across the street. Zoe had gone missing for the last couple of mornings. But today she was back, her rucksack under her feet and one arm stretched along the back of the bench, her face turned up to the sun. A skinny blonde with a neon-pink skunk stripe in her hair sat next to her, legs crossed, smoking.
If they noticed Holly, they gave no sign.
“Hey, Mr Singh,” Holly said to the tall, turbaned man behind the till as she grabbed three Cokes and a handful of chocolate bars and dumped them all on the counter. “Guess what? I might have my first feature interview soon. And I’ve got a mini-interview coming out in the next issue of
BritTEEN
.”
He rang up the items. “Congratulations.” He raised his brow as she added several Peperamis to the pile on the counter. “You’re very talented. And also very hungry today, I see.”
“No, it’s for someone else. Could you put everything but the Coke and the Peperami in a separate sack, please?”
Bags in hand, Holly waved goodbye and made her way across the street to join the two girls on the bench.
“Well, if it isn’t the boho queen,” Zoe remarked as her eyes swept over Holly’s outfit of a blue-striped Oxford shirt tucked into a butterfly-print skirt. “I like your bangles. Nice,” she approved. “Come from one of them posh shops?”
“No,” Holly said, admiring her armful of colourful wooden bangles as she held out a bag, “Camden market, two for five quid.” She turned to the blonde. “Hi, I’m Holly.”
She exhaled, releasing a plume of smoke. “Sharon. Ta.”
“We’re mates, Sha and me.” Zoe took the bag from Holly and rummaged inside. She withdrew a Coke and a Crunchie and offered the rest to her friend. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Listen,” Holly ventured as she sat down between the two girls, “how’d you like to be in a magazine?”
As she licked chocolate from
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