Liz Fielding - The Corporate Bridegroom

Leaving the restaurant, he began to tour the store. It hadn’t changed noticeably since the refit in the early twentieth century, and was still steeped in the dated luxury of mahogany and burgundy carpeting that was the store’s signature.

The customer base was younger than he’d anticipated, though.

The Claibournes must be doing something right.

Jordan wouldn’t want to hear that. He only wanted to know what they were doing wrong.

He first noticed that he had a ‘tail’ as he wandered through the book department.

It was, he thought, a poor use of expensive selling space. Typical of a department that had once been popular but had outlived its time. It couldn’t compete with the new bookstore chains, with their coffee shops and cut prices.

He took her by surprise as he stopped to make a note and the woman following him turned away a little too quickly, drawing attention to herself.

He’d seen Romana’s assistant dash into the Buttery. She hadn’t acknowledged his presence and he’d assumed she hadn’t seen him. It would appear that he was making rather too many assumptions.

In his wide experience of human nature he’d learned to trust first impressions, that glimpse of the unguarded personality before a man or woman realised they were being observed.

Romana Claibourne had climbed out of a taxi hampered by a clutch of carrier bags, in heels a touch too high for good sense and a skirt too short for anyone who anticipated being taken seriously. And with enough hair to stuff a mattress flying in all directions. His first impression had been of a scatty mantrap who wouldn’t hesitate to use her looks to get what she wanted.

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