A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Foley Sounds

"Goodness gracious, Laura!" Archie exclaimed. "You could've at least waited until we were back in London!"

As discombobulated as she felt, Billie couldn't help but to take heed of the hysterical notes at Billingsley's baritone. That surely didn't sound like generic righteous indignation brought up by a woman's loose morals.

"Why would I?" The publicist let go of the door and pressed her fist into her hip. "It's not like I expect any changes in my life in London, do I?"

There was a distinct challenge in her voice. Billingsley's hand flew up to his chest, as if seeking the proverbial pearls to clutch.

"What's up?" Dair asked, showing up behind the publicist.

Billie threw a panicked glance towards her only available escape route: crossing the actor's and the publicist's field of vision; past Billingsley; and considering Billie's proportions, possibly only if she nudged him aside a tad.

"Archie is here to wake us up for the trip," Moretti sing-songed, stretched her hand behind her, and tickled the underside of Dair's beard.

Billie jolted.

Dair was clearly planning to respond with some sardonic line, considering the cheeky squint and a shadow of a smirk; and then he paused, as if hearing something. He rocked forward, craned his neck, and met Billie's eyes.

She asked herself whether Billingsley would move fast enough, if she barked 'Coming through!' and dashed towards the stairs; or she'd have to shoulder-check the modern cinema's 'best dressed celebrity' and 'most prominent bachelor.'

"B-billie."

Laura followed Dair's gaze, and breathed out, "Shit."

Billie's cheeks flushed. Somehow, she'd only just noticed that Dair was barefoot, dressed in a soft white tee and pyjama bottoms, identical or the same as the ones from Nana Holyoake's cottage. Billie had been gifted the top, and she'd been sleeping in it ever since. Billie decided that the shirt was now destined for a donation bin.

"The car will be here in half an hour," Billingsley announced and squared his shoulders. "Make yourselves presentable. Ms. Harewicke and I will wait for you downstairs." He turned to Billie and offered her a looped arm. "Shall we?"

Dair's hand lay on Moretti's waist, and he nudged her forward.

"V-vai via, tantolina."

She dawdled, and he patted her lower back a couple of times.

Laura snorted and gave him a fake glare. "Pig."

"Ms. Harewicke?" Billingsley called insistently. It produced no result, Billie was still rooted in place; so the actor tried harder. "Billie?"

Dair's left eyebrow hiked up wryly. The publicist stepped out into the corridor; and now she and Billie needed to do a Laurel and Hardy skit to pass each other. They shuffled and cha-cha'ed. Billie caught the fresh, floral scent of the other woman's perfume. The hem of Laura's robe brushed at Billie's hip, and the latter winced away. Billingsley's arm was still hovering like the appendage of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

"Sorry," the publicist muttered.

For some reason that was the moment that made Billie's eyes prickle.

"That's–" Billie's voice broke. "That's alright. I j-just– I'm too wide–"

She'd almost made it across - she told herself she was imagining that she could feel Dair's gaze on the side of her face - and then the familiar warm fingers caught hers.

"C-caspita! That w-wont do!"

Dair tugged gently, Billie gawked at him; and she thought that Billingsley seemed to be protesting in the background.