Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (20 page)

“I’m terribly nervous,” she admitted. “There’s so much riding on this. I can’t screw it up.”

“You won’t screw it up, chickpea.” Phillip looked at her with steely resolve. “We won’t let you.”

“Ever worked in a stockroom before?”

Hannah James glanced up. Today was her first day of work at the store. A tallish boy with streaked blond hair – “Jago,” he’d told her – eyed her sceptically. His eyebrow was pierced.

“No.”

He took down one of the boxes stacked on the shelf. “Watch and learn, princess. Take a box off the pallet, scan it—” he demonstrated with a scan gun “—and throw it in that bin.” He grinned. “Think you can handle it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snatched up a box. “A wombat could do this.” She frowned as she struggled to operate the scan gun. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”

Jago grabbed the gun, scanned the box, and threw it in the bin. “Easy.”

Hannah snatched the gun back, determined to get the hang of it. “I just need a bit of practice, that’s all.”

“Oh, but a wombat could do it,” he reminded her. “Too bad
you
can’t.”

“It’s my first day,” she snapped, and glared at him. “At any rate, I don’t plan to work here very long.”

“Too right,” he agreed, “‘cause you’ll be sacked before the week’s up.”

Hannah reached for another box. “We’ll see about that.”

“Reckon we will, Posh.” He chucked an empty box into the waste bin.

“My name is Hannah. Hannah James,” she added pointedly.

“I know who you are, Hannah
James
.” He shrugged. “You’re Mr. J’s daughter. And you’re just as much of a pillock as I expected you’d be.”

Hannah glared at him, but he turned away to grab another box.

“So – you got a boyfriend?” he asked.

“No.” She glanced at him, then away again. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we broke up.”

“What happened? Did he dump you?”

“No! We decided to see other people. He’s going to university in the autumn.”

“Ah.” Jago nodded as he scanned a stack of shirts. “He dumped you.”

“Shut
up
.” Hannah eyed him. “What about you? Don’t tell me
you
have a girlfriend…?”

“No. I go to school at night, don’t have time.”

“Oh? What are you studying?”

Jago hesitated. “Cookery. I want to be a chef.”

“You need restaurant experience to be a chef.”

“I work Saturdays in my uncle’s chip shop, washing up and clearing tables.” He grinned. “I’m a dab hand at frying fish.”

Hannah glanced at him. “You work full time, go to school at night, and work Saturdays? When do you just hang out?”

“Sundays. Why, do you fancy hanging out with me?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she retorted. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

“I’m game if you are. I’ll even spot you lunch at me uncle’s chippy.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “I can hardly wait.”

He grinned. “It might not be dinner at the Savoy, but they’re the best chips you’ll ever have, Posh. I guarantee it.”

At the studio in north London early the next morning, Natalie choked down some toast and a sip of tea at the craft services table to calm her nerves. She saw the art director, the photographer and his assistants, a hair stylist, makeup artist, and – most unnerving of all – Rhys Gordon.

“Phillip, what’s Rhys doing here?” Natalie hissed.

“He’s the client, chickpea. Your grandfather sent him along to represent the store.” Rhys had his back to the activity around him, his ear pressed to his mobile.

“Natalie, over here, please.” The photographer, an American in a Yankees baseball cap, waved her over. He pointed to a spot in the centre of a white backdrop. “Stay on that mark while I shoot. Your light’s here—” he pointed to a cluster of umbrella lights “—and I want you loose, playful, relaxed. OK?”

Natalie nodded uncertainly. “Loose, playful, relaxed. Right.” She felt about as playful and relaxed as a frozen cod.

Rhys wandered over, mobile clapped to his ear. “How are you feeling?”

Natalie bit her lip. “Like a virgin on her wedding night. With twelve people standing round the bed, watching and taking notes.”

He grinned. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“So will my career as a model,” Natalie said, and turned away to find the loo before the shoot started.

When she emerged, Phillip grabbed her hand and led her to the dressing area. “It’s time to get changed. Jacques has everything ready.”

When she was dressed and done with hair and makeup, Jacques handed her a yellow umbrella. Natalie frowned. “What’s this?”

“It’s your prop for the first few shots. Pretend it’s raining.”

“I feel ridiculous, but OK.” She sighed and, affixing a playful, relaxed expression to her face, took her place in the middle of the backdrop, unfurled the umbrella, and waited.

Wasn’t it bad luck to open an umbrella inside?

“Ready, Natalie?” the photographer asked, camera slung around his neck.

“Ready.” She managed a smile. “Let’s have a go.”

She stepped on her mark and took a deep breath. She twirled the umbrella playfully on one shoulder; she held it over her head and looked pensively up at pretend clouds. She tilted the umbrella down, up, and sideways, until she was bloody sick of the sight of it.

Modelling was nothing like she’d thought. Each shot took time; the photographer adjusted her arms or legs just so, instructing her to turn slightly or tilt her face to the left, all while she kept to her mark. The hair stylist ran out to fluff her hair a few times, and music blared in the background.

“Beautiful, Natalie,” the photographer said hours later, as she threw her head back and her arms out and pretended to laugh. “Perfect. And…that’s a wrap. We’re done!”

There was a smattering of applause.

“Well done, you!” Rhys said. “You were a natural.”

“The pictures look great,” the photographer told Natalie. “Poppy Simone couldn’t have done a better job herself.”

Natalie beamed. “Thanks.” As she turned away to pick up her mobile, her smile faded. Crikey – she’d forgotten to contact Poppy about the re-launch. “I need to make a call.”

“Go ahead. Come and see the shots when you’re done.”

She nodded distractedly and scrolled to Poppy’s number. She’d completely forgotten to ask if her friend could appear at the re-launch. She only hoped it wasn’t too late…

“Hi, Poppy,” Natalie said. “Good, how’re you? How’s Pen? Super. Listen, I’ve a huge favour to ask, it’s for the store—”

Five minutes later, she clicked off, her smile gone and her mind racing. She’d left it too late. Poppy was booked for a shoot in Sri Lanka and wouldn’t return to London until the day of the re-launch. She promised to come if she got back in time.

Natalie closed her eyes. Rhys would be furious. She’d pitched Poppy in the business plan as the re-launch’s biggest draw, second only to Dominic and the Destroyers, of course. Now the famous supermodel wouldn’t be there.

Her heart sank. How would she tell him?

“Natalie, there you are.” As if her thoughts had summoned him, Rhys appeared. “I wanted to talk to you, but we’ve both been so busy I’ve not had a chance.”

“If it’s about Poppy Simone, she can’t do it,” Natalie blurted out in a guilty rush. “She has another commitment.”

He frowned. “Can’t do what — the re-launch? Why?”

Natalie bit her lip. “She’ll be in Sri Lanka.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You said there was no question Poppy Simone would star in the re-launch fashion show. You hung your entire business plan on it.”

“I know. But I…well, I left it a bit too late to ask,” she admitted. “I forgot. I only just called her now.”

“What?” Rhys snapped. “Natalie, we discussed this well over a
month
ago! You assured me you’d taken care of it!”

“I meant to, but with everything going on, I forgot.”

Anger suffused his face. “We can’t afford a mistake like this. We need a big name to bring people in, and now all we have is Dominic – that’s
if
Klaus’s lawyers let us use him.”

Natalie blinked back tears. “I really am sorry—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Fix it. I don’t know how, and I don’t give a shit. But you’ll get someone else, and straight away. Otherwise,” he finished grimly, “the re-launch will be a failure, and your family can kiss Dashwood and James goodbye. And it’ll be on your arse if it fails. Not mine.”

He turned and strode angrily away, his intention to ask Natalie about her drink at the Connaught with Ian Clarkson completely forgotten.

Chapter 26

The print ad featuring Natalie in Phillip’s exclusive new clothing line appeared simultaneously in
Elle
,
Bazaar
,
Marie Claire
,
British Vogue
, and
Glamour
magazines, as well as in the London tube trains and stations.

If the tabloids hadn’t already invaded her privacy enough, now it was impossible to go anywhere without someone shouting her name, or taking her photo, or asking if she’d sign her autograph on a bit of paper.

“It’s insane!” Natalie complained to her sister at week’s end. “I just want to make it stop.”

“Oh, stop whingeing. You’re Britain’s ‘It’ girl, you’re all anyone’s talking about! I wish I had your problems,” Caroline said irritably.

“No, you don’t,” Nat said, and felt the beginnings of a headache. “You have
no
idea what I’m dealing with.”

Her sister set two cups of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits on the kitchen table and sat down with a sigh. “All right, then, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I promised Rhys that Poppy Simone would appear at the re-launch. But I left it too late, and she’s booked for a shoot in Sri Lanka, and now we haven’t a single big name, other than –possibly – Dom’s, for the fashion show. Rhys is livid. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Oh, Natty,” Caro sighed, “you’ve gone and made a mess of things, haven’t you?”

“Yes, and I don’t know how to fix it. Who can I get to appear at the re-launch on such short notice? I’m not exactly friends with Giselle or Heidi.”

Caro stirred sugar into her cup. “You must know someone. Someone famous, I mean.”

“Not really, not unless you count Phillip.”

“Phillip? Isn’t he the designer who’s doing the clothing line for the store?”

Nat nodded. “His clothes are flying off the shelves.”

“I’m not surprised, they’re great. Everyone loves the ads, too.” Caro set her cup down. “Natalie, I just had a thought.”

“What? Ask Dominic to take me back? Not a bad idea, I suppose, since Rhys is sure to sack me. Maybe Keeley needs another backup singer—”

“No. Besides, you can’t sing.” Caro leaned forward. “There’s a model who’s the muse for a hot new fashion designer. She’s very popular with the British public right now.”

Natalie sniffed. “And who is this wondrous creature? Chloe Sevigny? Katy Perry? Do I know her?”

“You know her very well.” Caro grinned. “I’m talking about you, you berk!”

“Me?!” Natalie scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

Caro leaned forward. “Nat, the tabloids can’t get enough of you and Rhys. A photo of you on the cover guarantees a sell-out. Mr. Banks owns the newsagents round the corner, and he told me so,” she added. “And you said yourself that Phillip’s clothes are flying out of the stores.”

Natalie shrugged. “So?”

“So,” Caro said with rising excitement, “
you
can do the appearance at the re-launch! You’re every bit as popular as Poppy right now. You can model the clothes, sign autographs and pose for pictures. And perhaps Phillip could design something new, just for the re-launch.”

“I don’t know,” Natalie said doubtfully. “I’m not a celebrity, or a supermodel.”

“No,” Caro declared, “you’re not. Even better – you’re
you
! You’re real, and relatable. And you’re the best chance we have to save Dashwood and James from closing its doors forever. Maybe,” she added ominously, “our
only
chance…”

Early Sunday morning Natalie left her sister’s house and returned to London. She’d heard nothing from Ian, thank God. On the other hand, Rhys was furious at her, and rightly so. Her promise to get Poppy Simone for the re-launch had fizzled. She’d let him – and Dashwood and James – down.

She parked across from the Connaught hotel. She intended to march up to Rhys’s room and tell him her plan…and hope that he didn’t laugh in her face or throw her out on her arse.

But the front desk clerk informed her that Rhys Gordon had checked out that morning.

Disappointed, Natalie thanked him and turned away to leave. Rhys must have moved to his new flat, then. He hadn’t said a word to her, nor asked for her help. Hurt washed over her.

He hadn’t spoken to her, other than saying necessary things like “get me the Dawes file” or “I’ll be out of the office for two hours.” The temperature in the office dropped to Siberian levels whenever one of them was near the other.

It was awful.

She missed their banter, the easy camaraderie they shared. Rhys’s anger was like a wall of ice between them. It had to stop. And it was up to her to fix things.

Well, if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed…then Mohammed would bloody well go to Covent Garden. Natalie started the engine, and with a clash of gears, drove as fast as she dared to Endell Street.

“All right, bruv, where’s this go?” Jamie Gordon asked Rhys, his arms full of boxes.

Rhys glanced up from the kitchen table he was assembling. “The top floor.”

Jamie groaned. “I knew you’d say that.” He turned away and trod up the stairs to the third floor.

Rhys picked up the assembly instructions and returned to the task at hand.
Insert screw A into cross-brace.
He scowled as he dumped a bag of nuts and bolts onto the floor. “Why is it always bloody screw A that goes missing—”

He broke off as the doorbell rang. Who could that be? He wasn’t even moved in yet, for fuck’s sake… “Jamie!” he shouted. “Get the door, will you?”

There was no answer. Bloody hell, he was probably on the phone with his girlfriend yet again. He should’ve asked Ben to help. Rhys tossed the instructions aside and went downstairs.