Chasing Daisy

minibar and pulls out a Coke, then comes over and collapses on the other sofa. He cracks open the can and takes a swig.
    ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’ He offers it to me.
    ‘No thanks.’
    Silence.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ It’s he who speaks first.
    ‘What you said . . . About my father . . . Why did you ask that?’
    ‘Oh . . .’ Understanding registers.
    ‘How did you find out?’
    He takes another swig from his can, then slumps further down into the sofa and eyes me curiously across the coffee table. ‘I Googled you,’ he says simply.
    ‘Googled me?’ I stare at him, confused. ‘Why?’
    ‘To try to find out which famous person you worked for.’
    ‘But you didn’t find that out?’
    He looks perplexed. ‘No, I didn’t actually. What’s with that?’
    ‘Will, I thought you weren’t going to pry?’
    He shakes his head and leans forward, putting the can back on the coffee table. He doesn’t look at me when he answers. ‘Curiosity got the better of me.’
    So he was thinking about me . . .
    ‘I don’t get it,’ he says. ‘If your dad is Stellan Rogers, what are you doing working here?’
    ‘I like working here,’ I say firmly. ‘And I don’t like my father.’
    He steadily meets my eyes, but this time it’s he who looks away first. He rubs his jaw and sighs.
    ‘Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have done that.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it. But can you please keep it to yourself?’
    ‘Are you telling me Holly doesn’t even know about that one?’ He gives me a sardonic look.
    ‘No, she doesn’t, actually.’
    ‘Are you serious?’ He’s incredulous. ‘Daisy, what is it with you? Why are you so . . . mysterious?’
    I try to keep a straight face at that description, but I can’t. After a moment, his face breaks into a grin, too.
    I stand up. ‘I’m going to bed.’
    He sighs and rests his head on the back of the sofa, looking up at me. ‘Do you have to wear your hair up for work?’
    I’m wearing it down at the moment. ‘Yes,’ I reply, surprised.
    He continues to stare at me.
    ‘Why?’ I ask, my stomach fluttering.
    ‘No reason.’
    ‘Why?’ I ask again. ‘Do you prefer it up?’
    He leans forward and grabs his can from the coffee table. ‘No.’ He slumps back on the sofa. ‘I like it better down.’
    ‘Do you?’ I’m confused. I wouldn’t expect him to have an opinion about my hairdo, but I’m pleased that he does.
    ‘Mmm.’
    ‘Oh, right. Well, I’ll be off then.’ I make to leave.
    ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get back to sleep now,’ he says dolefully.
    ‘Serves you right for being such a nosey parker. Goodnight, Will.’
    ‘Goodnight, Daisy Rogers . . .’
    I return to my room, my head spinning. I half expected Holly to have arrived back by now, but her bed is empty. I doze in and out of sleep for over three hours before she finally emerges at four o’clock in the morning.
    ‘What time do you call this?’ I ask groggily.
    ‘Jesus!’ she exclaims. ‘You scared the life out of me!’
    ‘I was worried about you.’
    ‘Why? No need for that. Anyway, I thought you’d be asleep.’ She looks shifty.
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Well, I’m really tired.’ She changes into her nightclothes quickly, then climbs into bed, not bothering to go into the bathroom to remove her make-up or brush her teeth.
    ‘What did you get up to tonight?’ I ask, then snap, ‘Holly!’ when she doesn’t answer.
    ‘Hmm? Tired,’ she says sleepily. ‘Speak in morning.’
    But talking happens to be the last thing on our minds the following day, because after pressing the snooze button on our alarm clock three times in a row, our main priority is just getting to work on time.
    Now it’s ten o’clock: time to set up morning tea. I’m dozily arranging biscuits on a platter when Frederick speaks up.
    ‘Can you take that lot to the pits?’
    ‘Yes, Chef,’ I answer absent-mindedly.
    ‘Come on, chop, chop!’ He claps his hands, making me jump out of my skin. ‘What is it, Daisy? Another hangover?’
    ‘Hey? Oh, yeah,’ I fib.
    ‘You should stop going out with that one.’ He indicates Holly.
    ‘Me?’ Holly replies, huffily. ‘I barely had anything to drink last night!’
    ‘Didn’t you?’ I ask, surprised. But she stayed out with the lads for hours!
    ‘No.’ She looks away.
    ‘Get a bloody move on, would you?’ Frederick snaps again.
    ‘I’m on it, Chef.’ I quickly place the last few biscuits on the platter and hurry out of