Читать книгу The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy - Katie Oliver - Страница 29
ОглавлениеThe meeting with Phillip Pryce began in the conference room promptly at ten a.m.
“The British public love Natalie,” Phillip enthused to Rhys, Alastair, and Sir Richard. “They can’t get enough of her, or of her—” he cleared his throat “—affair with Rhys Gordon.” He winked at Natalie.
“Ah, yes,” Rhys said inscrutably, “that.” His glance flickered to Natalie, who was blushing furiously, and back to Phillip. “Complete bollocks, of course. Good thing Dominic’s Wedding-gate has eclipsed us in the tabloids for the moment.”
Natalie forced a smile as laughter erupted at his words, but inside she was indignant, and a tiny bit hurt. How quickly Rhys dismissed their time together yesterday! Had it meant so little to him?
After all, she’d never told anyone about her guilt over her father’s death, only Rhys. She pressed her lips tightly together and forced her attention back to the discussion.
“I’ve designed my line around Natalie,” Phillip was saying. “It’s targeted at young, on-trend women, available exclusively at Dashwood and James.” He looked expectantly from Rhys to Sir Richard and Alastair. “If you gentlemen concur, that is.”
Rhys leaned forward. “What price point are we talking about? Your pieces are normally rather expensive.”
“About half the cost of my regular line…but still consisting of quality construction. The average secretary or bank teller can afford my clothing, even on a budget. And,” he added after a dramatic pause, “I want Natalie Dashwood to represent the new line. She’ll model in all of the print ads.”
Natalie blinked. “But…I’ve never modelled in my life.”
Phillip waved his hands in dismissal. “No matter, you’re a natural! Slim, gorgeous, photogenic—and everyone adores you. They’ll flock into D&J to buy my clothes, I assure you.”
Sir Richard drew his brows together. “We need to see some examples of your work before we reach a decision, young man.”
“Yes,” Alastair, who until then had been silent, agreed. As he toyed with his pen, his gaze strayed to Rhys. It struck him, not for the first time, that Gordon reminded him of someone…but the thought, elusive and quicksilver, evaporated as quickly as it formed. “Let’s see your ideas, Mr. Pryce.”
“Of course. Jacques, please,” Phillip called out. His assistant strode to the easel with a portfolio under his arm.
The sketches he displayed were exciting – a striped bateau top paired with a flounced skirt of floral and plaid; a vest with a crested pocket worn over a full-sleeved poet’s shirt. Each sketch was more original and appealing than the one before.
“Have you a manufacturer in place?” Rhys asked.
Pryce nodded. “Everything will be produced in Nepal at half the expense of my regular line. What do you think?”
Rhys tapped a finger to his chin. “I like it. Sir Richard, Mr. James? Natalie? Are you all agreed?”
They voiced their shared enthusiasm for the idea.
“Have you any samples made up?” Natalie asked.
“Yes.” Jacques disappeared and returned with a rack of clothing. Phillip passed the garments around for inspection. Natalie examined the flounced skirt. The seams were finished, and the plaid repeats matched perfectly. There wasn’t a fault to be found in the quality or construction of any of the pieces.
“All right, Mr. Pryce,” Rhys said, “it looks like we have a deal. We can’t pay much up front – after all, you’re new, and we’re taking a risk – but you’ll get a generous share in the profits, provided the collection sells well.” He glanced at Natalie. “And I have it on very good authority that it will.”
Natalie returned to her desk and realised with surprise that it was nearly noon. “Gemma,” she called out, “where’re you going for lunch?”
“I’m not,” Gemma called back crossly. “I have a gazillion copies to run for Rhys. They have to be ready by the time he gets back, and the bloody machine keeps jamming.”
“Oh. Well in that case, I’ll eat what I brought, then. Unless you want me to go out and get you something…?”
“Thanks, no. I started a new diet today – all the green tea, kale, and cabbage soup I want. Unfortunately, it’s turned my pee chartreuse.”
Natalie left her desk and went into the kitchen. As she bent over to retrieve her lunch from the fridge, she heard someone come in. Oh, sod’s law, please let it not be Ian—
“Hello, Natalie.” Amusement coloured his voice. “You’re looking very well.”
She straightened abruptly and turned to see Clarkson lounging in the doorway. “Sorry, I haven’t time to chat.” She clutched her lunch bag. “I’m working through lunch.”
“Well, I won’t keep you, then. When can we talk?”
“We’ve nothing to talk about,” Natalie snapped, and moved to brush past him.
His hand shot out to grip her arm. “You need to be a bit nicer to me, Natalie.”
She didn’t like the subtle threat in his voice. Her heart beat as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings in her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said as he glanced down the hall and drew her back into the kitchen, “that you and I are having lunch at that new bistro round the corner. My treat.”
She yanked her arm free. “I’ve just told you, I haven’t time for lunch, and I don’t go out with married men, especially not when they’re married to my best friend—”
“You’ll make an exception. Or I’ll go to Rhys and tell him you nicked fifty pounds from petty cash this morning.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” she retorted, “right now. And I’ll tell him why I did it. My car broke down, and I hadn’t any cash or credit cards on me to pay the tow-truck driver. I’ll return the money this afternoon.”
“But you haven’t returned it yet, have you?”
Natalie met the dark amusement contained in his eyes. “I won’t be threatened, Ian. In fact,” she added, “Rhys might find more fault with you for attempting to blackmail me. It might even be enough to get you sacked.” She brushed past him.
He gripped her elbow and said in a low voice, “I have information about your father, Miss Dashwood. He committed suicide when you were ten, didn’t he? Shame, that.”
Natalie paled. “Yes, it’s common knowledge that he killed himself. Why would you even bring that up?”
“Is it common knowledge that he embezzled money from Dashwood and James to support his mistress?”
She stared at him. “What? I don’t know what you mean! My father would never do something like that—”
“Oh, but he did. And I have proof.” He smiled, gratified to see the uncertainty and fear flicker across Natalie’s face.
“What sort of proof?”
“I see I’ve got your attention at last. We’ll discuss it further tonight, at the Connaught, since you can’t make it for lunch. Shall we say, eight o’clock, in the Coburg bar?” His smile faded. “We’ll have a drink, and finish our conversation.”
Natalie took a deep, shuddering breath. “What do you want? Why are you doing this? You bastard—”
“That’s not very nice, Natalie. You have a lot to learn about how this all works.”
And he released her arm, turned on his heel, and left.
