Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (35 page)

“There’s always a girl,” Keeley snapped. “Two minutes.”

“This is different.” Dominic raked a hand through his hair. “Her name’s Gemma,” he added in a rush, “and I really like her, maybe even love her, so I want to change the words a bit. And I want you to sing it with me at the Dashwood and James re-launch tomorrow…for the encore.” He looked at her expectantly. “Well…what do you think?”

“I think this is about saving your arse, that’s what I think. Your fans are pissed. You’re afraid they’ll pelt you with rubbish, so you want me to be a target for the lobbed tomatoes as well!” She scowled. “You have a bloody nerve—”

“It’s not only for me. Think of the publicity…for both of us! We’ll be together in public for the first time since—” He stopped. “Since I fucked things up,” he admitted. “Everyone will be there just to see how we get on.”

Despite herself, Keeley was tempted. Dominic was right; they’d make the cover of every tabloid in London. “We’ll split the royalties from the single 50-50,” she announced. “And I get a songwriting credit…the melody’s mine, after all.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dominic agreed.

A frown clouded her brow. “What about your father? He must be furious now that everyone knows who you really are.”

“You could say that. He’s disowning me.”

“Oh, Dominic,” Keeley said in dismay, “that’s so unfair! I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’m not. I’m not cut out for that aristo crap.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Guess I’ll never be Lady Locksley now, will I?”

“No,” Dominic agreed. “I hope you’re not too disappointed. Come on, then,” he urged, “let’s have a go at re-writing this song, shall we?”

“Rhys,” Natalie asked as she stood in the middle of his kitchen a half hour later, “where’s your basil?”

“My basil?” He glanced down. “Well, I hadn’t named him yet, but Basil should do. Would you like an introduction? He’s very friendly, if a bit headstrong.”

“We’ve met,” Natalie said, nudging him aside as she rummaged through the cabinets. “I thought he was quite pushy.”

“You ought to give him another go,” Rhys said as he came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Basil only wants to please.”

Natalie closed her eyes as Rhys nuzzled the curve of her neck. “What about the passata sauce?”

“I’ll make you forget all about the passata, darling.”

And he proceeded, in a breathtakingly inventive fashion, to do just that.

Afterwards, Rhys kissed her and said, “I want to go to bed with you every night, and wake up with you every morning. I want to see your knickers hanging from the shower rod. I want to argue about whose turn it is to change the loo roll.” He kissed her shoulder. “And Basil’s in complete agreement.”

“If that’s a proposal,” Natalie said indignantly, “it’s the most crap proposal I’ve ever heard.”

“And how many have you had, exactly?” Rhys inquired.

“None,” Nat admitted, “but every girl imagines it. Will he ask for her hand in the middle of a crowded restaurant, or on a beach in Goa, or atop a double-decker bus—”

“Atop a bus?” Rhys echoed. “The exhaust would give the poor sod a headache.”

“Well, at least he’d get points for trying. Your proposal, on the other hand, is completely unromantic.”

Rhys rolled over on one elbow and regarded her steadily. “Well, I’ll have to do better, won’t I?”

“You should whisk me off to Paris for the weekend, then surprise me with a diamond ring in my chateaubriand—” she paused and wrinkled her nose “—no, bit of a mess, make it a glass of champagne instead – then take me on a long, moonlit ride on a bateau down the Seine. That’s romantic.”

“It’s not very original,” he countered. “Bit touristy, too. I have a better idea. I’ll whisk you away to a chip shop on my motorbike. It’s cheaper, and much more practical. I’ll put the ring in the mushy peas.”

She smiled sleepily and snuggled her head against his shoulder. “I love mushy peas,” she murmured. “And I love you.”

And before Rhys could find the words to respond, Natalie was asleep.

The telephone woke Natalie early Saturday morning. She rolled over and reached for Rhys, but he was gone. Abruptly, she sat up. She glanced at the alarm clock as she reached out to answer the shrilling phone. It was barely six a.m.

Who on earth was calling so early?

She lifted the handset to answer the phone just as Rhys picked up the kitchen extension. “Yes?” she heard him say.

“Rhys, it’s Sir Richard. Hope I didn’t disturb, I know it’s early, but I wanted to catch you before you left. I know you’ll be terribly busy at the re-launch today.”

“It’s OK, I’m making coffee. What can I do for you?”

“The lawyers have drawn up the paperwork. All I need is your signature to move ahead. With the board’s approval, you’ll become a full partner in Dashwood and James, effective Monday.”

Natalie blinked, surprised. Grandfather hadn’t said a word about making Rhys a partner. Nor had Rhys.

She bit her lip. She only hoped Ian didn’t know…

“I can’t read it today,” Rhys said, “but leave it with Gemma, and I’ll take a look on Sunday.”

Natalie was about to hang up when Rhys added, “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve asked Natalie to marry me. I know it’s what you wanted.”

“It’s what I’ve wanted since you first came to work here. And has she agreed?”

“She didn’t exactly approve of my proposal,” Rhys said dryly, “but yes, she agreed.”

“Good. I know the stores will be in capable hands going forward, and Natalie will, as well.”

Natalie lowered the handset, stunned. So grandfather was making Rhys a partner. All Rhys had to do in exchange, apparently, was marry her. No marriage, no partnership. Two birds, one stone, wasn’t that the saying?

Numb, she pushed the covers aside and stood up. Must get dressed, busy day ahead…

“I brought you coffee.” Rhys came in and placed a mug on the nightstand. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “You’d best get a move on, today’s the big day.”

Natalie said nothing. She was far too shocked – and far too upset – to formulate words just yet.

“When the re-launch is over,” he added as he slid his arms into a shirt, “we can start planning the wedding.”

“Planning, yes,” Natalie said tightly, and stood up. “I’ll leave that to you, since you’re so good at it.” If he noticed the edge in her voice, he gave no sign.

He chose a tie and slid it around his neck. “Do you fancy a big wedding, or something smaller? Jamie can cater the food—”

“I have a better idea,” Natalie said, and stepped into a navy blue dress. “Let’s forget the whole thing.”

Rhys adjusted his tie. “Just bunk off and elope to a nice, sandy beach somewhere?” he asked, and grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

“No.” Natalie turned suddenly to face him, her expression hard. “No eloping. No sandy beach. No wedding.” She thrust her feet into a pair of kitten-heeled shoes. “Congratulations, Rhys, you’re off the hook.”

His hands stilled on the knot of his tie. “What?”

“I’m not marrying you.” She stood before the mirror and stabbed a diamond stud into first one ear, then the other.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She met his eyes in the mirror. “I picked up the phone earlier, and I overheard your conversation with grandfather. You’re to become a partner in the store. Congratulations.”

“It isn’t final yet,” Rhys said, irritated. “And what has that to do with our wedding?”

“Everything, apparently. One can’t happen without the other. No marriage, no partnership. Isn’t that the deal you and grandfather struck?”

His hands dropped to his sides. “There is no ‘deal’,” he said, his voice hard. “The partnership was Sir Richard’s idea. He’s asked me to stay on permanently. I haven’t agreed yet.”

“Well, now that I’ve agreed to marry you, and you’ve convinced grandfather to make you a partner, there’s no need to leave. You got everything you wanted.”

“Natalie—”

“—and you used me to do it.”

“
Used
you?” Rhys demanded, incredulous. “I asked you to marry me! How is that using you, exactly? Please explain.”

She rounded on him. “You’re only marrying me because it’s what grandfather wants. If you don’t, you won’t become a partner. That’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? A partnership?”

“You know, Natalie,” he said finally, his voice dangerously calm, “when you get it wrong, you really get it wrong. Marrying you isn’t a condition of my becoming a partner.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!” He reined in his anger. “I admit that I intended to acquire Dashwood and James eventually, yes. I knew the store would go back in the crapper when I left. I planned to return and buy Sir Richard and Alastair out.”

Natalie stared at him, gutted by his admission. Ian, much as she despised him, had been absolutely right about Rhys.

“Nothing would have changed,” he continued, “only the ownership. Sir Richard and Alastair would’ve made a tidy sum on the sale and been divested of the headaches of running the stores as well.”

“I can’t believe this! You calculating bastard—”

“Oh for God’s sake, grow up, Natalie,” Rhys cut in, his words savage. “I’m a businessman. It’s what I do. Turn companies round. Make a profit. You knew that from the start.”

“Of course I did! But I thought Dashwood and James meant more to you than profits and bottom lines. I thought—” her voice wobbled, damn it all “—I thought you cared.”

“I do care! But you’re naïve as hell if you think I’m not in business to make a profit.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Natalie said, stung. “Naïve…stupid, too, because I thought you were invested in Sir Richard, and me. Not just in the store.”

He came and stood before her and gripped her shoulders, his blue eyes glittering. “I love you, Natalie. I fell for you somewhere along the way. And when I did…it changed everything.” He dropped his hands. “But don’t worry. When I leave, I won’t return. Dashwood and James can stand or fall on its own. I won’t profit from it either way.”

“You might as well stay. Take the partnership. But if you do,” she added as she leaned down and snatched up her handbag, “just know that I’m not part of the package.”

“Oh, sod this.” Rhys turned angrily away. “I’ve better things to do than try and reason with you and your convoluted feminine logic. I’m leaving. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Reason with me?” she echoed, outraged. “I apologise for trying your patience with my ‘convoluted feminine logic’. I’m sorry, Rhys, but I’m done. We’re done.”

He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Listen to me, Natalie. I’m a businessman. I grew up hard, and fast, and it’s made me who I am. I’m sorry if I’ve fallen short of your vision of the perfect man. I didn’t row for Oxford or inherit a title. I won’t be someone I’m not…not even for you.”

She jerked free. “Don’t worry, no one would ever mistake you for a man of breeding,” she said, her words chosen expressly to wound him. “Oh, you dress impeccably, with your bespoke suits and your John Lobb shoes, and you drive an expensive car, but at the end of the day you’re still just a rough bloke with rough manners from a council estate.”

There was a horrible, charged silence.

“You’re right,” Rhys said, and finished knotting his tie with jerky motions. “I hope you get the man you deserve,” he added as he grabbed his suit jacket, “one with a title and a silver spoon stuck up his arse. But I’m not that man.”

She was swamped with remorse. “Rhys—”

“Sir Richard’s partnership offer has nothing to do with my decision to marry you. I asked you because I love you. But if you doubt that,” Rhys continued in cold, clipped tones, “then I’m wasting my time here.” He brushed past her and strode to the door. “I’m leaving after the re-launch. And I’m turning down Sir Richard’s offer.”

Suddenly horribly ashamed of her behaviour, and longing to take back the hurtful words she’d said, Natalie bit her lip and turned round. “Rhys, please, wait. I’m sorry—”

But he was already gone, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the bedroom.

Chapter 46

Saturday dawned clear and warm, a perfect English summer day for Dashwood and James’s re-launch. Sporting her headset and a clipboard, Natalie was headed for the Portaloos.

“We need more wheelie bins by the back entrance,” she said into the mouthpiece. She glanced at the rows of portable toilets tucked away behind the furthest marquee. “And make sure there’s plenty of loo rolls, please. What? Yes, you need to check
every
loo.”

Natalie turned back towards the store. Everything looked amazing – from the marquees draped in yards of billowing white silk, to the giant photos of Dominic hung in the store windows, leaping in mid-air with his guitar in hand, dressed entirely in clothing from Dashwood and James’s racks.

She should have been thrilled. She
was
thrilled. But her argument with Rhys that morning had left her rudderless and miserable.

And tonight Ian Clarkson would be waiting for her at the Savoy hotel.

The thought paralysed her with fear. So much could go wrong…but she shoved her fears aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on Ian now; instead, she focused on the immediate problems facing her with the re-launch. Of which, she reflected grimly, there were plenty.

“Have you seen Dominic?” one of the roadies asked Natalie.

“No.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s early; he’s probably not here yet. Is there a problem?”

“You could say that. Mick’s completely rat-arsed. He can’t even stand upright. I’ve never seen him this bad before.”

Dominic’s bass player, as notorious for his blue Mohawk as he was for his capacity for drink, had proven unreliable before.

“There’s coffee in the refreshments marquee,” Natalie told him. “Fill a Thermos and pour it down his throat. Or his pants,” she added grimly. “Whichever wakes him up first.”

“OK,” he muttered, “right,” and backed away.

Her mobile rang and she glanced at the number. “Alexa!” she exclaimed. “How are you? Have you had the baby?”

“No, they’re about to prep me for surgery.” She paused. “I just wanted to say sorry, and wish you luck. I know you and Rhys worked hard on the re-launch. Give him my best wishes.”