Katie Oliver - The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy - Prada and Prejudice / Love and Liability / Mansfield Lark

“You might have, if you weren’t so trolleyed…or if you ever read the business section of a newspaper.”

Natalie bit her lip. “Do you suppose we could just…forget about last night?”

“If that’s what you want.” He gathered up his things, his face unreadable.

Natalie studied him through her lashes. The tabloids said he was a womaniser who could turn on the charm whenever he chose. Not that she’d seen any evidence of that so far…

“Tell me – are things at Dashwood and James really so bad?”

“Honestly? They’re worse. There’s a long, uphill climb ahead if we have any hope of re-establishing profitability.”

Her eyes widened. “That sounds serious, indeed.”

“It is. Sir Richard wouldn’t have brought me on, otherwise.”

“Do you really think,” she asked, scepticism plain on her face, “that you can drag Dashwood and James, kicking and screaming, into the 21 stcentury?”

As his gaze met Natalie’s, Rhys couldn’t help but notice her wide grey eyes, liberally fringed with thick dark lashes.

“I do. And I will.” He forced his attention back on the remaining papers scattered on the table before him. “It won’t happen overnight, of course, and it won’t be easy. But it can be done.”

“And you’re just the man to do it, are you?”

“I am.” He regarded her with one brow lifted. “Whether you believe that or not is strictly up to you.”

“I don’t believe things are as bad as you say.”

“Profits are down by sixty-one percent, Miss Dashwood. I can show you the figures. And as I stated in the meeting, the average dwell time in the stores is less than twenty minutes.”

“How much should it be?” she asked, curious.

Rhys slid a folder into his briefcase. “Ideally, forty-five minutes to an hour. That’s why Sir Richard needs me.”

“Quite sure of yourself, are you?” The challenge in her gaze was unmistakable.

“I know what needs to be done.” Rhys snapped his briefcase shut. “And I’ll do it…with the board’s approval, of course.”

There was a knock on the conference room door, and Gemma, Rhys’s newly assigned personal assistant, strode in. “Mr. Gordon, I have the tabloids you wanted.” She flicked a glance at Natalie. “Miss Dashwood.”

“Gemma.” Wearing a black sheath dress, her dark auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, Gemma Astley was attractive, well-groomed, and terrifyingly efficient.

As Gemma handed Rhys a neatly fanned-out assortment of tabloids, Natalie felt a sudden flicker of unease. She remembered the white glare of flashbulbs last night when Dominic had announced his engagement to Keeley.

Her unease increased. Surely they hadn’t got any photos of her last night? As Gemma left, Natalie came around the table beside Rhys and peered over his shoulder…

…and wished for the second time that day that she could die. Or disappear into the floor – whichever came first.

She and Rhys were splashed on the front pages of the red-tops – the Daily Mirror, the Sun , and the Star among them. Natalie’s photographs, thank God, looked OK. No melting mascara, no wildly smeared lipstick.

The headlines, however, were another story.

She let out a sharp breath as Rhys flicked through the Sun . ‘Rhys Gordon’s Latest Takeover’ read one headline, above a photo of Rhys with his face close to hers. Another image, this one featuring Natalie tossing her wine at Rhys’s shirt, was captioned, ‘Ex Marks the Spot!’

But worst was the photo of Rhys, his hand resting low on Natalie’s back as they left the party, headlined, ‘Gordon and Dashwood – Spreadsheets, or Bed Sheets?’

Natalie squealed in outrage, then grabbed the Daily Mail from Rhys and began to read aloud. “Rhys Gordon, hired to rescue the troubled Dashwood and James department stores, attended a Holland Park soirée Friday evening, along with Sir Richard Dashwood’s granddaughter, Natalie.

“Dominic Heath, Ms. Dashwood’s pop star ex-boyfriend, announced his engagement to Keeley, ex-wife and former lead singer for The Tarts. Unfortunately, ‘Ex’ did not mark the spot for Natalie…

“Gordon stepped between the pair and got a chest full of Pinot Noir for his trouble. Sorry, Ms. Dashwood, but Gordon prefers his wine, like his women, of a more mature vintage…”

She flung the paper down. “This is a bloody nightmare! Everyone’ll think we’re having an affair!”

Rhys shrugged, unperturbed. “The publicity will generate interest, not just in us, but in Dashwood and James. And that’s what we want.”

“It’s not what I want! And there is no us! This is awful!”

“Lesson number one,” Rhys said. “There’s good publicity, and bad. You want to get as much of the first as you can and as little of the second as possible.”

“But I don’t want Dominic – and all of London – thinking we’re an item!”

“Why? Are you worried that Dominic will believe it’s true? He dumped you, if you recall, in a very public way.”

She glared at him. “Thanks for reminding me. And no, I don’t care what Dom thinks. It’s just…I hope grandfather doesn’t see this. He’ll think that I…that we…” her words trailed off.

“Your grandfather may be old, but he’s shrewd, Miss Dashwood. He’ll see this for what it is – media speculation, nothing more.” Rhys smiled slightly. “Don’t forget lesson number one – good publicity is always preferable to bad.”

She resisted the urge to clutch at her hammering head. “And what’s lesson number two?”

He eyed her pale face. “That the best cure for a hangover is a good fry-up. Unless I miss my guess, you’re hung over.”

“I don’t have a drink problem, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, defensively.

“I think you’ve had a lousy couple of days.” He took her arm. “It’s nearly noon, so you’ll have to make do with lunch instead. Come on. You and I have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter 5

Rhys took Natalie to an Italian restaurant around the corner. “Two house salads and two orders of lasagna,” Rhys told the waiter when they were seated. He glanced at Natalie inquiringly. “What will you have to drink?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked, irritated. “Why don’t you order that for me, as well?”

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine.” He leaned forward, completely unrepentant, and added, “The lasagna’s very good, but get whatever you like.”

“I’ll have the lasagna,” she told the waiter, ignoring Rhys’s smirk as she handed back her menu, “and water with lemon, please.”

“Tell me about yourself,” he prompted, and fixed that intense blue gaze on her. “Where did you go to school, what sort of jobs have you had?”

She raised her hand to stop the flow of questions. “Blimey! Is this an interview? I thought you wanted to talk about the store.”

“I do. But I want to understand why you’re not more involved. Sir Richard tells me you have a dual degree in business and marketing. Why not use it?”

Natalie shrugged. “The store was always grandfather’s thing. I worked there when I was a teenager, on holidays and during the summer.”

“What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do? I worked the perfume counter, and ladies’ shoes. I manned the till, or answered phones and filed paperwork when grandfather’s secretary was out, and I unpacked and shelved merchandise in the stockroom.”

“Did you plan any events for Dashwood and James?”

She shook her head. “Grandfather says store events are costly, and a waste of time.”

“He’s wrong. Dashwood and James are in dire need of some public relations magic right now.”