The ladies behind them in line edged away from Natalie as though she had a rare – and highly contagious – retail disease.
“Oh, Caro – this means I can’t buy your gown!” Natalie’s eyes welled with tears. “Your beautiful, perfect wedding gown—”
Caroline slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s OK, Natty, it’s only a dress,” she soothed. “I’ll find something off the rack, don’t worry.” She glared at the clerk. “Probably cost much less, too.”
“I’m such a numpty,” Natalie mumbled, and turned away to hide the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Everything I do turns into a disaster.”
“Nat, that’s not true!” Caroline looked at her in surprise and pulled her aside. “What makes you say such a thing?”
“It is true! Look at my relationship with Dominic – he cheated on me with his ex-wife, and he’s marrying her again – today! Not that I give a toss, honestly – but I hate being the object of everyone’s pity. My credit’s a disaster. I have no career, I can’t remember to put petrol in my car, and it’s all over the tabloids that I’m having an affair with R-Rhys Gordon—”
“Yes, I saw the article in the Daily Mail.”
“Even grandfather had a go at me,” Natalie went on. “He ordered me to find a job, and a ‘more suitable young man.’ Of course he meant I should get married, to some doddering old viscount, no doubt. He disapproves of my ‘bohemian lifestyle’.”
“Well, Nat, he has a point. You haven’t done much of anything since you took up with Dominic. Why is that?”
“I thought we’d get married, eventually,” Natalie said defensively. “And I liked touring with him and the boys. It was a lark! I couldn’t have done that if I’d had a job.”
“Right, so you put your life on hold for two years for that half-baked rocker,” Caro said, disapproval plain in her voice. “Oh, well, Dominic is about to become Keeley’s problem now, till death do them part.”
“I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”
Caroline took her arm and drew her out of the shop. “Why would you even want to go? You’re well shed of him, Natty.”
“I know that. And I don’t want to go. It just hurts a bit to be excluded, that’s all. We were together for longer than two years, you know.”
It was true. They’d practically grown up together in Warwickshire. But of course, Dom was a different person then…
…a very different person.
Natalie followed her sister out the door. “I start work at Dashwood and James on Monday. I’ll be assisting Rhys.”
“Doesn’t he have a PA? That terrifying redheaded girl?”
“Yes, her name is Gemma. I’ll be helping with marketing, and things.” She bit her lip. “I’ll probably make a mess of it, like I do everything else.”
“None of that, now,” Caroline said firmly, and grabbed her hand. “What you need is an ice cream. Come on.”
When they were settled at a marble-topped table with dishes of ice cream, Natalie dug her spoon in. “Dad used to bring us here, remember?”
Caro nodded. “I was always planning my wedding. I was determined to get married in Windsor Castle, on a pink pony.”
“No, I’m sure it was a pink unicorn.” Natalie smiled. As she thought of the gown they’d just left behind at Vera Wang, her smile faded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get your dress, Caro.”
Caroline squeezed her hand. “Wanting to get that dress was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me…even if you couldn’t actually buy it.”
The sting of having her credit declined filled Natalie with renewed anger. She’d never been so embarrassed in all her life. Well, except for the humiliation she’d endured when Dominic announced his engagement to Keeley.
Nat scowled. She knew how Cinderella must’ve felt when her gown changed back into rags and nothing waited to take her home but a useless old pumpkin.
And she’d bet her granny’s knickers that Rhys Gordon was to blame.
Her mobile rang. She dug it out and glanced at the screen with a frown. Why was Rhys’s personal assistant calling her, and on a Saturday? She pressed the answer button. “Gemma?”
“Natalie? Good morning. Rhys would like a word with you in his office, right away.”
“But I’m shopping. And it’s Saturday.” Natalie paused, listening. “Indeed? Well, we’ll just see about that.” She tossed her mobile in her handbag and stood up. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. His lordship, Rhys Gordon, has summoned me to his office.”
“But we’re still shopping!” Caro protested. “Besides, he can’t just snap his fingers and expect you to drop everything—”
“You obviously don’t know Rhys.” Nat pressed her lips together. “I’ve no doubt he’s the one who’s closed out my accounts, the backstabbing, number-crunching prat. I can’t believe it, especially after we practically spent last Friday night together!” she finished, indignant.
Caro regarded her in alarm. “Oh, Natalie – you aren’t sleeping with him, are you? I saw those photos in the Mail—”
“No! We’re not sleeping together! Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Exasperated, Natalie grabbed up her bag, waved goodbye, and stormed off.
Rhys pressed the intercom and scowled at his laptop screen. Losses for the past quarter were worse than he’d anticipated. Drastic measures were needed – reduced operating hours, pay freezes…and job cuts, something he’d wished to avoid.
And the fact that Natalie Dashwood was spending for England didn’t help matters.
“Gemma, send Alastair in.” He sat back in his chair and waited, tapping his pen impatiently against his thigh. When Mr. James arrived five minutes later, Rhys said without preamble, “The markdown budget figures are worse than you originally forecast. Come and look, please.”
Wordlessly Alastair came around his desk to peer at the computer screen.
“We’re losing money at a higher rate than projected. If the numbers you give me aren’t good, Mr. James,” Rhys said tightly as he tossed his pen down, “how can my decisions based on those numbers be of any bloody use?”
“It appears the planning budget was underestimated,” Alastair agreed, his heart heavy. He knew what this meant – more hours lost to number crunching, another round of apologies to Cherie, more tension between them.
“You need to update the budget, Mr. James.”
“I’ll get on it immediately.” Alastair added, “However, I’ve made plans to spend tomorrow with my wife.”
“Well, you’ll just have to cancel them, won’t you?”
Alastair’s expression hardened. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Gordon. What’s really going on here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You seem determined to take issue with me.”
“I take issue with a good company going in the crapper. You and Sir Richard haven’t done a proper job keeping costs down and revenues up. I can’t do this alone.”
“I understand.” Alastair’s gaze was steely. “But responsibility