Читать книгу The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy - Katie Oliver - Страница 22
ОглавлениеNatalie sank into one of the chairs arranged in front of Rhys’s desk. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured, stricken. “How did things get so bad?”
He leaned back in his chair. “A lot of reasons…over-spending being only one of them.” He glanced pointedly at Natalie, and she flushed. “But mainly because Sir Richard wants things done as they’ve always been done.”
“He’s stubborn,” Natalie admitted. “I’m sure it’s hard for him, keeping pace with technology. His grandfather started D&J as a market stall in Portobello, did you know that?”
“Yes. And I know Dashwood and James received the royal warrant from Queen Elizabeth in 1956, which it still carries today.” He drew his brows together. “That’s something to be proud of. That’s why it’s imperative we keep these doors open.”
“Grandfather despises change.”
“Sir Richard is old, and tired,” Rhys said. He laced his hands behind his head. “Like Henry, he should have retired long ago. But with your father gone, there’s no one to take over. Of course…” He eyed her. “There’s you.”
“Me?”
“God knows why, but Sir Richard trusts you implicitly. You might be the answer to D&J’s troubles.”
Natalie stared at him in astonishment. “But I don’t know the first thing about the stores, or how they’re run.”
“Of course you do. You told me yourself you worked here every summer, in every department.” Rhys picked up his pen and toyed with it. “You can start with your grandfather. Show him some department store websites, and explain how D&J would benefit from a more robust presence on the internet. See if Dominic will do a television advert for the store, as a favour to you. I’ve no doubt he would.”
After slamming her door in Dominic’s face and telling him in no uncertain terms to piss off, Natalie wasn’t so sure. “Well,” she said slowly, “I know a few people. Poppy Simone, Keeley…”
“Poppy Simone…the supermodel?” Rhys was suitably impressed. “Good. We need to attract younger customers.”
“Maybe she’ll model a few outfits.”
“That’s an excellent idea. Of course we can’t afford to pay anything at this stage.”
“Oh, she’ll do it for me,” Natalie assured him. “I’ve known her and Pen for yonks.”
“Pen?”
“Her sister, Penelope. Pen’s very arty; she designs her own jewellery. Poppy’s the goofy one. Perhaps I can persuade Pen to design a few pieces for the store.” She beamed at him. “I never knew work could be so much fun!”
“It can be, if you’re motivated. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
The unexpectedness of the question left Natalie blinking. “I…erm, yes, I am.”
She imagined sitting across from him in a posh restaurant, sharing smouldering glances across a candlelit table as he fed her prawns and ripe, juicy strawberries…and then she imagined him leaning forward to kiss her, murmuring, ‘Miss Dashwood, you bewitching creature, you taste enticingly of strawberries…’
“I’ll have Gemma order takeaway,” Rhys announced. “Chinese, or Indian if you prefer. We can discuss our plans in the conference room.”
Her visions of candlelight and chateaubriand in a romantic French bistro vanished abruptly, replaced with takeaway cartons, plastic cutlery, and grease-spotted bags. A business dinner…why on earth had she expected anything more?
“I don’t like Indian takeaway.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly like a petulant child.
“Then Chinese it is.” Rhys leaned forward and pressed his intercom. “Gemma, order in some shrimp lo mein for me, and—” he paused to glance inquiringly at Natalie.
“Garlic broccoli,” she murmured sulkily.
“—garlic broccoli for Miss Dashwood, please. And spring rolls. You can leave once it arrives. Thanks.”
“Are you quite sure we can afford it?” Nat snapped.
“I think we can just about manage.” He lifted his eyebrow. “I see you get cranky when you’re hungry.”
“Blimey.” Natalie sat back, and despite her irritation, regarded him with grudging admiration. “How do you do it?”
He thrust on his glasses and begun tapping at his laptop. “Do what?” he asked.
“Well, you…you make things happen. I came in here ready to throttle you; instead, we’re about to plan D&J’s future together over spring rolls and plum sauce.”
He shrugged. “I just get on with it.”
The food arrived, and once the cartons and spring rolls and packets of soy sauce and mustard were sorted, they went to work.
“Gemma said you went shopping with your sister this morning,” Rhys said as he expertly wielded his chopsticks. “Did she find a wedding gown?”
Natalie squeezed Chinese mustard liberally on her spring roll. Gemma had a big bloody mouth. “She found the perfect dress at Vera Wang. I was going to buy it for her. But unfortunately—” she glared at him “—my credit was declined.”
“That must’ve been inconvenient…and embarrassing.”
“It was. I was furious, had a bit of a meltdown. Caro said the dress was too expensive anyway.”
“I’m glad at least one of you is sensible.” He caught the packet of plum sauce she flung at him. “Why not ask your designer friend – Pen, is it? –to recommend an up-and-coming designer to make your sister’s wedding dress?” he suggested. “A bespoke gown from a rising fashion star—”
“Yes! We could feature the dress in store ads, and offer a limited number for sale,” Natalie mused. “Women love limited editions. And not just wedding gowns! We could feature a new designer line each season.”
“Available only at Dashwood and James,” Rhys agreed.
“We could sponsor a yearly event,” Natalie went on, her excitement growing, “and offer makeup consultations and makeovers, and accessories – handbags, shoes – to go with the outfits. We could have a fashion show!” She looked expectantly at Rhys, her eyes shining. “Well, what do you think?”
“I like it…dependent upon the cost, of course. Draft me up a business plan.”
“Oh, it shouldn’t cost much; we’d only need to put up a marquee outside, provide light refreshment, hire a couple of DJs. We’d give a real boost to a fledgling designer’s career if we featured their clothing line in-store.” Excitement overtook her. She was actually enjoying this! “I’ll do up a marketing plan.”
Rhys frowned, which meant he was deep in thought, and probably not listening to a word she’d said.
Natalie bit into her spring roll. “Tell me a bit about your brother, the one who fancies Keeley. Is he a workaholic, like you?”
“Jamie? He’s a sous chef with a 60-hour work week and a girlfriend he rarely sees.” He paused. “So yes, I suppose you could say he’s a workaholic. But he’s more likeable than me.”
Natalie raised her brow. “I should hope so. You’re not likeable at all.”
He chucked a packet of Chinese mustard at her and said it was time they got back to work.
Hannah James flicked through the racks of new spring clothing with a satisfied sigh. A Saturday afternoon spent browsing in Topshop and H&M always cheered her up.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” she told her best friend, Jo. “I don’t see anything I like.”
As they emerged onto the pavement, Jo glanced at Hannah. “We could go to D&J…”
“No way. The clothes are vile. Even mum says they’re only fit for old ladies.”
“True.” They passed a music store, and Jo grabbed Hannah’s arm. “Han, look, isn’t that…it is! It’s Duncan!”
“Where?” Hannah froze and glanced through the window, past the guitars and amps and racks of sheet music, and she saw him.
He stood with a slender blonde girl, the two of them looking at a sheet of music Duncan held, oblivious to anyone around them.
“Who’s she?” Hannah demanded. “I’ve seen her before, somewhere—” she broke off as she saw Jo’s guilty expression. “You know who she is! Tell me.”
Jo sighed. “Her name’s Theodora, she’s a new sixth-former. Her friends call her Theo.”
“Come on,” Hannah decided, “let’s go. I don’t want to see Duncan…or Theo,” she added.
They were turning away when Duncan glanced up and saw them through the window.
“Oh God, he’s seen us,” Jo muttered. She waved. “Shit! They’re coming out. Sorry.”
“Jo, I swear, I’ll kill you for this!” Hannah hissed.
The door opened, and Duncan and Theodora joined them. “Hullo, Jo, Hannah,” he said, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping,” Hannah retorted. “What else?”
“This is Theo,” he said. “She’s a new music student. Theo, this is Jo and Hannah.”
Theo’s hair was looped and clipped into a messy up-do. She looked like one of those annoying French girls – chic, without even trying. She wore dangly eardrops and hardly any makeup. She didn’t need it; her skin was flawless.
Hannah was consumed with jealousy.
“We’re looking for sheet music,” Theo said, and smiled at Hannah. “I’m singing a solo for a vocal competition, so Duncan’s helping me find the proper music.”
“How nice.” Hannah cast Duncan a pointed glance and turned to Jo. “Let’s go. We’ve got shopping yet to do.”
Duncan glanced at her empty hands. “No luck yet?”
“Not yet,” she said breezily, “but something’ll turn up. It always does.”
“You know,” Jo confided later as they boarded the bus to go home, “Theo seemed pretty cool.”
“How can you say that?” Hannah snapped. “She stole my boyfriend, Jo!”
“But you broke up! And they’re not dating, they’re just friends. Duncan’s tutoring her—”
“Oh, I just bet he is.” Hannah flung herself on a seat in the back of the bus as it lurched forward. She clutched her carrier bags on her lap and stared, unseeing, out the window. He’d probably already had sex with Theodora. She was probably on birth control—
“Well, I thought she was nice,” Jo said stubbornly. “You’re overreacting.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“Why? Because I don’t have a boyfriend?” Jo asked her sharply. “Well, neither do you, now.”
“Oh, do shut up, Jo. Just leave me alone.”
“No problem.” Jo stood, gathered up her bags, and found a seat near the front of the bus.
When Hannah got home it was nearly seven. She closed the front door, hoping no one heard her come in. She didn’t want to talk, or answer a dozen questions.
But the rustle of the carrier bags gave her away.
Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway and smiled as he saw her bags. “Bought out the store, Hannah Banana?”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. “I’m not your Hannah Banana any more, dad, am I? I’m not six years old.”
Alastair, taken aback by her outburst, frowned. “Sorry, pet, I didn’t realise it bothered you so much.”
“I’m sick of everyone treating me like a child.”
“Well, then,” Alastair told her evenly, “perhaps it’s time you stopped behaving like one.”
Hannah glared at him. Wordlessly she grabbed up her bags and stormed past him, up the stairs to her room.
As Cherie came into the hallway, Alastair looked at her in consternation. “I can’t seem to put a foot right where Hannah’s concerned these days.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Welcome to my world, darling,” she said dryly.
Rhys took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s nearly nine, Miss Dashwood. It’s time you went home.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call a taxi.”
“No need, I drove. I even topped up the petrol in the Peugeot before I left this morning.” She got to her feet. “Besides,” she added primly, “taxis are a needless expense.”
“You’re learning,” he said, and smiled in approval. “Go home. And no more £11,000 chandelier purchases, mind.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, and gave him a cheeky smile in return. “I’ve no other weddings on the immediate horizon.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same. My best mate’s getting married soon, poor sod.” He hesitated. “Would you like to come along?”
Natalie gazed at him in mild surprise. He’d actually asked her out. She’d come in to Rhys’s office, ready to thrust a nice, sharp Sabatier between his shoulder blades; now she was contemplating an invitation to go to his best friend’s wedding.
How had that happened?
He added quickly, “I’ll understand if you’re busy—”
“No! I’d love to go,” Natalie said, equally quickly.
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “It’s next Saturday afternoon. I’ll fetch you at two o’clock, if that suits?”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll see you here on Monday, then, nine a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t. Goodnight, Mr. Gordon.”
“Goodnight, Miss Dashwood.”
After Natalie left, Rhys tapped a few more keys on his laptop, his thoughts elsewhere. On a pair of wide, grey-blue eyes, to be precise, and a pert little bottom encased in nicely-fitted jeans…
He closed his laptop with a snap. Don’t go there, mate, he warned himself grimly.
He’d gone and asked Natalie to Ben’s wedding. What in fuck was he thinking? Now he’d have to introduce her to Ben, and Sophie. At this rate, he’d be taking her round to meet his mum, and then he’d be the next poor sod to walk down the aisle…
Perhaps Ben was right. What he needed was a pint and a pretty distraction. A girl who looked nothing like Cat…
…or Natalie Dashwood.
He punched in Ben’s number. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve asked Natalie along to your blasted wedding,” he said without preamble. “Let’s go grab a pint.”
“OK.” Amusement coloured Ben’s voice. “Are we celebrating something?”
“The only thing I’m celebrating,” Rhys said as he gathered up his briefcase and gym bag, “is the end of another work week in this financial hellhole. Hurry your arse up. I’ll meet you at the Bull and Feathers in twenty. And if you’re late,” he added as he left the office, “you’re buying the first round.”
