Liz Fielding - Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto

He was quick.

‘Cinderella doing it for herself,’ she confirmed. ‘Not that it did me much good. I didn’t get a single interview until I applied for the Henshawe job.’

‘It’s tough out there.’

‘Tell me about it. I really, really needed that job and when they asked me why I wanted to work for the company I didn’t hold back. I let them have it with both barrels. The whole determination to make something of my life speech. Oscar-winning stuff, Nathaniel. They actually applauded.’

‘They were from the PR company, I take it?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘HR managers tend to be a little less impressionable. You said you had three things.’

‘My third lucky break was that some woman on the team was bright enough to realise that I was exactly the kind of woman who would be walking in off the street, desperate for something to make her look fabulous. Let’s face it, if the gold-standard was a size-zero, six-foot supermodel, the reflection in the dressing room mirror was always going to be a disappointment.’

‘But if they compared themselves with you… Who is this PR company? I could use that kind of out of the box thinking.’

‘Oh, I don’t deny they’re good.’

‘Sorry. Your story. So, having applauded your audition, they told you what the part would be?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘You’re missing the point. I was going to be a genuine “ordinary” girl who had been picked from among his staff. I had to believe in the story before I could sell it.’

‘Did I say they were good?’

‘Oh, there’s more. Someone added a note on the bottom of their report to the effect that this was going to be a real fairy tale. And then they started thinking so far out of the box they were on another planet.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘It was all a set-up? Not just the job, the discovery…’

‘I had a phone call the day after my interview, offering me the job. I started the following week and I have to tell you that it was the most boring week of my life. I was climbing the walls by Friday afternoon, wondering how long I could stand it. Then I was sent up to the top floor with a pile of files, got knocked off my feet by a speeding executive and there was Rupert Henshawe, perfectly placed to pick me up, sit me in his office, give me coffee from his personal coffee-maker while his chauffeur was summoned to take me home. And, while we waited, he asked me about my job, whether I liked working for the company. I’d heard he was as hard as nails. Terrifying if you made a mistake. But he was so kind. Utterly…’ she shrugged ‘…charming.’

‘I’d heard he was a smooth operator.’

‘I had flowers and a note on Saturday. Lunch in the country on Sunday. Picture in the tabloids on Monday.’

‘ARE you telling me that you didn’t have a clue?’

‘Not until today,’ she admitted. ‘Dumb or what?’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You saw what he wanted you to see.’

‘What I wanted to believe. Until today. I was late and, since I didn’t have time to go home and pick up my copy of the wedding file, I decided to borrow the one in Rupert’s office. That’s when I stumbled across the one labelled “The Cinderella Project”.’

She still remembered the little prickle at the base of her neck when she’d seen it.

‘But the romance, the engagement?’

She understood what he was asking. ‘There is no sex in fairy tales, Nathaniel. My Prince Charming okayed the plan, but only with the proviso…’ written in his own hand ‘…that he didn’t have to “sleep with the girl”.’ More of those quote marks.

‘So he’s gay?’

She blinked. ‘Why would you say that?’

He shook his head. ‘Just thinking out loud.’

She stared at him for a moment. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? That the only reason a man wouldn’t want to sleep with her was because…?

‘No…’

He responded with a lift of those expressive eyebrows. ‘You’d have thought someone so good at the details would have made a little more effort. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Yes… No…’ She blushed. ‘I wasn’t exactly throwing myself at him.’

‘No? How come I got so lucky?’ She dug him in the ribs with her elbow. In response, he put his arm around her. ‘You throw, I’ll catch,’ he said and, without stopping to think, she stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck. He didn’t let her down, scooping her up so that she was off the ground, grinning as he spun her around, kissing her before he set her back on her feet.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘Entirely my pleasure,’ he assured her, still holding her close. ‘But I don’t understand. If there was no great romance, no passion, why did you accept his proposal, Lucy?’

‘Because I bought the fairy story.’

She was still buying it, she thought, glancing up at Nathaniel. She really needed to get a grip on reality.

‘The breakup scenario is already written, by the way,’ she said, before he could say anything. Pulling away. ‘Apparently, I’m going to call the wedding off because Rupert is a workaholic, too absorbed in business to spend time with me. True, as it happens. Sadness, but no recriminations. Nothing sordid. Just a quiet fade out of the relationship once the stores are open and the brand established.’

‘You went seriously off message this afternoon.’

‘I lost the plot big time, but that’s what you get for employing amateurs.’

‘I can see why he’s desperate to get the file back. The tabloids would have a field day with this.’ And, from looking deep into her eyes, he was suddenly looking at something in the distance above her head. ‘I’m not just talking about his underactive libido.’ She didn’t miss the edge to his voice as he added, ‘You could make a fortune.’

‘Yes, I could. I could have phoned one of the tabloids this afternoon. But I don’t want a drama, Nathaniel. I just want to disappear. Get my life back. Be ordinary.’

‘But you’re Lucy B,’ he pointed out.

‘I know. That’s why I can’t let him get away with what he’s doing. Why I can’t just disappear. Because that’s not the end of it.’

‘There’s more?’

‘He wants his file back because all that lovely stuff about fair trade fashion is a bunch of baloney.’

‘Baloney?’

‘Lies, falsehoods, untruths. There is a fair trade company, but it’s just a front. The actual clothes, shoes, accessories will still be made by the same sweatshop workers he used for the old stuff. That’s why he’s desperate to retrieve the file.’

He said just one word. Then, ‘I’m sorry…’

‘No need to apologise. You’ve got it. The man has all the morals of a cowpat.’ She stuffed her hands deep in her pockets. ‘That’s why I was so angry. Why I couldn’t think straight. When the media circus took off like a rocket, bigger than anything they had imagined, and a headline writer shortened my name to Lucy B, Marketing ditched the names they’d been playing with and grabbed it. He’s going to use my name-on the shop fronts, on the labels, everywhere-use me to sell his lie. That’s what today’s press conference was about. To unveil the look of the stores. Tell the world about the jobs he’s creating, both here and in the Third World. Impress the public with his new caring image, impress the shareholders with profit forecasts.’

‘That’s…’ For a moment he didn’t seem to be able to find a word. And then he did. ‘Dangerous.’

Not reassuring-she’d been a lot less bothered by the expletive-and, despite the down jacket, she shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home. Get you back in the warm.’