Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (13 page)

“Ah, yes. I’ve seen the tabloid stories about you and Mr. Gordon. That must be rather embarrassing.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s not true, so it doesn’t matter.”

“So you’re not?” he asked, amused. “Having an affair with Rhys Gordon, I mean.”

“No,” Natalie retorted, “I’m not.” She pressed the start button. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve a lot to do.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “Are you free for lunch? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“How’s Alexa?” Natalie asked pointedly. “She’s due in a couple of months, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said. His smile remained in place. “And yes, I take your point — I’m married. Still, there’s no reason we can’t have lunch together, is there?”

“There’s every reason!” Natalie exclaimed. She lowered her voice as someone walked past. “Alexa’s my friend, Ian, and I won’t do that to her. So please stop hitting on me. I’m not interested.”

“You’ve made that very clear.” He took a step closer. “But we really do need to talk. It’s important. We can do it privately, or we can do it right here—”

Just then Gemma stuck her head around the doorway. “Ian, there you are. Would you be a lamb and carry some supplies to the closet for me? The boxes are quite heavy.”

“Yes, of course.” He gave Gemma a thinly-veiled glance of irritation and turned back to Natalie. “We’ll talk another time, Miss Dashwood.”

Not if I can help it, you smarmy jerk
, she thought as she watched him leave.

A few minutes later Gemma returned. “Are those copies ready?” she asked crisply. “I have a few minutes to spare.” Before Natalie could answer, she added in a low voice, “I heard Ian asking you to lunch.”

“He makes my skin crawl.” Natalie shuddered as she gathered up the copies and handed them to Gemma. “And did you notice? He doesn’t wear his wedding ring, the cheating worm.”

“You want to watch him. He’s hit on every woman in the office under thirty — including me.”

“How did you get him to stop?”

Gemma smiled. “The direct method. I kicked him in the balls.”

Natalie gasped, and giggled. “You didn’t.”

“He couldn’t walk properly for a week. It was a month before he spoke to me. But he never bothered me again.”

Gemma turned on the GBC machine and together they worked in companionable silence to assemble the covers and spines for Natalie’s business plan.

Dashwood and James’s tearoom was festooned with birthday banners and balloons as Lady Dashwood blew out the candles on her birthday cake. “This is lovely! Thank you all so much.”

Natalie’s gaze swept over the faces gathered to celebrate her mum’s birthday. She’d arranged for the cake to be brought out on a trolley after lunch. Although her mother complained about the calories, she tucked into her slice with relish.

Natalie took her paper plate and sat next to Sir Richard. “Did you look at my business plan for the re-launch?”

“Yes. Alastair and I were quite impressed. Rhys says you’ve already had some good ideas.”

“Did he? I’m surprised he had anything good to say about me.” She took a bite of her cake, resisting the urge to lick the frosting from her fork.

Sir Richard stirred his tea. “He finds your spending habits deplorable, Natalie, as do I.”

“Oh, grandfather, don’t start!” she groaned. “Let me enjoy my cake without another lecture about fiscal responsibility. I’ve had enough of that from Rhys.” Her mobile rang, and she took it from her purse. “Excuse me.”

“Natalie? Rhys. I need you at the IT meeting in ten minutes. They’ll want suggestions on how to improve the Dashwood and James website; I want your input.”

She bit her lip. Ian designed the company website; he’d certainly be at the meeting. The thought of spending an entire afternoon in a conference room with Ian, a knowing smirk on his face whenever he looked at her, made Natalie’s stomach clench.

I really do need to talk to you. It’s important. We can do it privately, or we can do it right here…

“But I’m just having cake!” Natalie stalled. “I’m at mum’s birthday luncheon.”

His voice warmed a degree. “Tell her I wish her a very happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Natalie relayed the message; her mother beamed.

“This meeting may drag on,” Rhys warned her. “I have a lot of recommendations. Ian and his staff will be very busy.”

“Actually,” she hedged, anxious to avoid the meeting, “I doubt I’ll make it in time.” She turned away from Sir Richard and added in a low voice, “The tearoom at D&J was booked, so we had to go to…Croydon.”

“No, you didn’t. You’re upstairs; I saw the reservation on the schedule.” He paused. “Natalie, if you don’t get your arse down here in ten minutes,” he added curtly, “your career will be over before it’s begun.” He rang off.

Outraged, she glared at her mobile before thrusting it in her bag. “Prat,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Celia Dashwood asked.

Natalie stood. “I’ve a meeting in ten minutes. I have to run.” She bent down to kiss her mother. “Happy birthday, mum.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll call you soon.”

Sir Richard smiled as she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “He’s not cutting you any slack, is he?” he murmured.

“No,” Natalie said grimly. “None.”

His eyes twinkled. “Well, we wouldn’t want him to be accused of favoritism, would we?”

“No. We wouldn’t want that.” Natalie waved goodbye and dashed towards the lift.

Chapter 16

An hour later, the IT meeting ended, and Rhys stood.

“All right, Clarkson, I’ve seen enough.” Rhys gathered up his notes. “Make the changes we discussed, and we’ll meet again next week. Thanks.” He clapped Ian briefly on the shoulder, glanced at his watch, and left.

Natalie moved to follow him. Relief that the meeting had lasted only an hour washed over her. And Ian hadn’t given her a glance, not with Rhys’s dizzying list of changes to implement—

“What did
you
think of the website?”

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Natalie looked up to see Ian standing before her. “Well, like anything, it could do with improvement,” she hedged. She realised with sudden unease that they were alone in the conference room.

“How very diplomatic. Your boss hated it.”

“Rhys can be a bit blunt.”

“A bit blunt?” Ian echoed. “He ripped it to shreds. We’ll be working late for a week straight.”

“It’s not personal.” She gathered up her notepad and pen and prepared to leave. “That’s just Rhys’s way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back—”

“Don’t rush off!” he chided, and blocked her way. “I thought we might have a drink after work. Have that talk.”

“Talk about what?” she asked, and cast him a wary glance. “We have nothing to say.”

“Oh, I have a lot to say. It concerns your father.”

Before she could reply to this cryptic comment, Rhys returned and told Natalie, “I need you to fax a release form to Dominic’s publicist straight away. I have another meeting in five minutes, and Gemma’s not available.”

“OK.” Relieved, Natalie brushed past Ian and followed Rhys to the door. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No problem. I’ll see you around…in the kitchen, or at the copier. You never know. But I’ve no doubt we’ll talk again.”

“Natalie,” Rhys said on Friday morning, “I’m meeting with Klaus von Richter at ten o’clock. I want you there.”

She paused, her skinny mocha latte halfway to her lips. “But…he’s the creative director of Maison Laroche!”

“Yes. Dashwood and James don’t carry much in the way of haute couture clothing. I think it’s time that changed.”

Promptly at ten o’clock, Klaus arrived and Gemma showed him into Rhys’s office. He wore black jodhpurs, a grey shirt, and black riding boots. Grey tinted aviators concealed his eyes.

He bent over her hand and resumed his ramrod straight posture. “I am charmed, Miss Dashwood.”

“Thank you,” Natalie murmured. She half expected him to click his heels together. “Would you like tea, or a coffee?”

“
Nein
,” he sniffed. “I want to know what this is about.”

“I’ll come straight to the point, then,” Rhys said when they were seated. “We’d like to carry a selection from your couture line in our flagship store.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“We’ll carry a selection of pieces from the clothing line,” Rhys continued, “and accessories as well – handbags, shoes—”

“I am not interested.” Klaus’s words were flat.

“But…why not?” Natalie asked, surprised by his refusal.

Klaus’s smile was chilly. “Maison Laroche is haute couture, Miss Dashwood, not ready-to-wear
Scheisse
.” He made a moue of distaste. “My items are bespoke, and definitely not made for women who shop in second-rate department stores.”

Natalie bridled. “Second rate? Dashwood and James is one of the oldest and most highly-regarded department stores in London—”

“Once, perhaps,” von Richter said dismissively. “Not now.” He lifted a brow. “Your store, my dear, is a has-been. It is dull and pedestrian. Rather like the English cuisine.”

Natalie glared at him. She longed to tell him to stuff his attitude up his condescending German arse, but instead said airily, “No worries. Lots of designers want to be showcased in our store. And truthfully, we’re after a younger, fresher vibe. Because let’s face it, Herr von Richter, Maison Laroche of late has become a bit…predictable.”

Rhys glanced at her sharply, but said nothing.

“And who exactly are these designers clamouring to be carried in your stores, eh?” Klaus sneered. It was plain that he didn’t buy Natalie’s story for a minute.

She bit her lip. “Well, um…” Suddenly she had a brilliant idea. “I can’t disclose details until we reach an agreement. But we’re in talks with Phillip Pryce.” She saw Rhys’s frown deepen into a scowl at her fib, but she ignored him and forged ahead. “Poppy and Penelope are already wearing some of his pieces. He studied at Central Saint Martins—”

“I know who Phillip is,” Klaus said icily. “He interned at Maison Laroche, after all. I taught him everything he knows.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” she assured him. “But with all due respect, Phillip is an innovator, a fashion trailblazer…not a follower.” Natalie couldn’t resist adding, “Poppy Simone is modelling his clothes at our re-launch. And Dominic and the Destroyers are performing.”

“Poppy? That is indeed a coup, Miss Dashwood. But as for Dominic…” he shrugged. “I’m afraid he won’t be performing at your re-launch. He’s signed on with Maison Laroche to represent my new men’s fragrance.”

Natalie blinked. “
Dominic
is your new male model?” After the Wedding-gate disaster, how had Dominic Heath landed a contract to model for Maison Laroche’s men’s fragrance campaign? Modelling
so
wasn’t his thing.

But money was. Her eyes narrowed. Klaus must have offered him shedloads of cash. And with Keeley threatening to sue Dominic for mental anguish, he’d need every penny.

Klaus’s smile was smug. “Dominic is the face of
Dissolute
. The advertising campaign launches next week.”

“But he’s already signed a contract to perform at our re-launch,” she protested.

“Well,” Klaus said with a shrug, “it’s up to the lawyers, no? But there is a clause in his contract which strictly forbids him from working for another fashion house, label, or—” he paused smugly “—department store.”

“But he’s headlining Glastonbury next month! You don’t mean he’s cancelling his concert, as well?”

“No. His concert and recording schedule is a different matter altogether.”

Natalie felt panic rising, and struggled to keep her words calm. “But Dominic sells tickets, and he’ll pack people in at the re-launch. We had him first, and we mean to keep him.”

Rhys studied Klaus. “I’m sure we can work something out, Herr von Richter.” His words were polite but steely.

“Perhaps. As to the rest, I wish you luck. Phillip Pryce is talented, but untried. I hope you don’t regret your decision to feature him in favour of more established talent. You are taking a great risk.”

“Yes,” Natalie agreed coolly, “but fashion
is
risk, isn’t it? Today’s unknown might be tomorrow’s Next Big Thing.” She sighed in mock sympathy. “But I understand your hesitation. After all, Maison Laroche quit taking risks long ago.”

He stood, quivering with outrage. “You haf wasted enough of my time. Good day to you both.” And he stormed out.

Rhys looked at Natalie, his brow hiked. “That went well.”

“It did, actually,” she said defensively. “Well, except for Dominic not being allowed to do the re-launch. We’ll have to find a way around that. But at least I gave him something to think about. Phillip Pryce is younger and edgier; and Klaus is quite vain. He won’t want to be outdone by his own pupil.”

“I hope you’re right,” Rhys said, and crossed his arms against his chest. “There’s just one flaw in your plan. You haven’t talked to Phillip yet, have you? Or Poppy Simone.”

“Well…no.” She paused. “I haven’t actually asked Dominic yet, either. But I will do. Today.”

Rhys let out an exasperated breath. “See that you do. I’ll find out what our options are if Maison Laroche holds Dominic to his new contract.” He scribbled a note on his blotter. “We’ll go with your idea to use new, young designers,” he added as he tossed his pen down.

She looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. “We will?”

“Yes. Screw the haute couture houses. Dashwood and James will showcase new talent instead, one or two designers each season. We’ll all get plenty of publicity into the bargain.” He stood up. “Do you fancy lunch? I know a great little Italian place around the corner.”

“Only if you let me order for myself this time,” Natalie said warily. “And promise not to criticise me over dessert.”

“I promise.” Rhys came around the desk and headed for the door. “I want to discuss your idea in more detail.” He paused at the door, looked over his shoulder at her, and frowned. “Well, get a move on, Miss Dashwood. We haven’t got all day.”