your spending habits deplorable, Natalie, as do I.”
“Oh, grandfather, don’t start!” she groaned. “Let me enjoy my cake without another lecture about fiscal responsibility. I’ve had enough of that from Rhys.” Her mobile rang, and she took it from her purse. “Excuse me.”
“Natalie? Rhys. I need you at the IT meeting in ten minutes. They’ll want suggestions on how to improve the Dashwood and James website; I want your input.”
She bit her lip. Ian designed the company website; he’d certainly be at the meeting. The thought of spending an entire afternoon in a conference room with Ian, a knowing smirk on his face whenever he looked at her, made Natalie’s stomach clench.
I really do need to talk to you. It’s important. We can do it privately, or we can do it right here…
“But I’m just having cake!” Natalie stalled. “I’m at mum’s birthday luncheon.”
His voice warmed a degree. “Tell her I wish her a very happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”
Natalie relayed the message; her mother beamed.
“This meeting may drag on,” Rhys warned her. “I have a lot of recommendations. Ian and his staff will be very busy.”
“Actually,” she hedged, anxious to avoid the meeting, “I doubt I’ll make it in time.” She turned away from Sir Richard and added in a low voice, “The tearoom at D&J was booked, so we had to go to…Croydon.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re upstairs; I saw the reservation on the schedule.” He paused. “Natalie, if you don’t get your arse down here in ten minutes,” he added curtly, “your career will be over before it’s begun.” He rang off.
Outraged, she glared at her mobile before thrusting it in her bag. “Prat,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Celia Dashwood asked.
Natalie stood. “I’ve a meeting in ten minutes. I have to run.” She bent down to kiss her mother. “Happy birthday, mum.”
“Thank you, dear. I’ll call you soon.”
Sir Richard smiled as she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “He’s not cutting you any slack, is he?” he murmured.
“No,” Natalie said grimly. “None.”
His eyes twinkled. “Well, we wouldn’t want him to be accused of favoritism, would we?”
“No. We wouldn’t want that.” Natalie waved goodbye and dashed towards the lift.
An hour later, the IT meeting ended, and Rhys stood.
“All right, Clarkson, I’ve seen enough.” Rhys gathered up his notes. “Make the changes we discussed, and we’ll meet again next week. Thanks.” He clapped Ian briefly on the shoulder, glanced at his watch, and left.
Natalie moved to follow him. Relief that the meeting had lasted only an hour washed over her. And Ian hadn’t given her a glance, not with Rhys’s dizzying list of changes to implement—
“What did you think of the website?”
As if her thoughts had summoned him, Natalie looked up to see Ian standing before her. “Well, like anything, it could do with improvement,” she hedged. She realised with sudden unease that they were alone in the conference room.
“How very diplomatic. Your boss hated it.”
“Rhys can be a bit blunt.”
“A bit blunt?” Ian echoed. “He ripped it to shreds. We’ll be working late for a week straight.”
“It’s not personal.” She gathered up her notepad and pen and prepared to leave. “That’s just Rhys’s way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back—”
“Don’t rush off!” he chided, and blocked her way. “I thought we might have a drink after work. Have that talk.”
“Talk about what?” she asked, and cast him a wary glance. “We have nothing to say.”
“Oh, I have a lot to say. It concerns your father.”
Before she could reply to this cryptic comment, Rhys returned and told Natalie, “I need you to fax a release form to Dominic’s publicist straight away. I have another meeting in five minutes, and Gemma’s not available.”
“OK.” Relieved, Natalie brushed past Ian and followed Rhys to the door. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No problem. I’ll see you around…in the kitchen, or at the copier. You never know. But I’ve no doubt we’ll talk again.”
“Natalie,” Rhys said on Friday morning, “I’m meeting with Klaus von Richter at ten o’clock. I want you there.”
She paused, her skinny mocha latte halfway to her lips. “But…he’s the creative director of Maison Laroche!”
“Yes. Dashwood and James don’t carry much in the way of haute couture clothing. I think it’s time that changed.”
Promptly at ten o’clock, Klaus arrived and Gemma showed him into Rhys’s office. He wore black jodhpurs, a grey shirt, and black riding boots. Grey tinted aviators concealed his eyes.
He bent over her hand and resumed his ramrod straight posture. “I am charmed, Miss Dashwood.”
“Thank you,” Natalie murmured. She half expected him to click his heels together. “Would you like tea, or a coffee?”
“Nein,” he sniffed. “I want to know what this is about.”
“I’ll come straight to the point, then,” Rhys said when they were seated. “We’d like to carry a selection from your couture line in our flagship store.”
Klaus narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
“We’ll carry a selection of pieces from the clothing line,” Rhys continued, “and accessories as well – handbags, shoes—”
“I am not interested.” Klaus’s words were flat.
“But…why not?” Natalie asked, surprised by his refusal.
Klaus’s smile was chilly. “Maison Laroche is haute couture, Miss Dashwood, not ready-to-wear Scheisse.” He made a moue of distaste. “My items are bespoke, and definitely not made for women who shop in second-rate department stores.”
Natalie bridled. “Second rate? Dashwood and James is one of the oldest and most highly-regarded department stores in London—”
“Once, perhaps,” von Richter said dismissively. “Not now.” He lifted a brow. “Your store, my dear, is a has-been. It is dull and pedestrian. Rather like the English cuisine.”
Natalie glared at him. She longed to tell him to stuff his attitude up his condescending German arse, but instead said airily, “No worries. Lots of designers want to be showcased in our store. And truthfully, we’re after a younger, fresher vibe. Because let’s face it, Herr von Richter, Maison Laroche of late has become a bit…predictable.”
Rhys glanced at her sharply, but said nothing.
“And who exactly are these designers clamouring to be carried in your stores, eh?” Klaus sneered. It was plain that he didn’t buy Natalie’s story for a minute.
She bit her lip. “Well, um…” Suddenly she had a brilliant idea. “I can’t disclose details until we reach an agreement. But we’re in talks with Phillip Pryce.” She saw Rhys’s frown deepen into a scowl at her fib, but she ignored him and forged ahead. “Poppy and Penelope are already