The sketches he displayed were exciting – a striped bateau top paired with a flounced skirt of floral and plaid; a vest with a crested pocket worn over a full-sleeved poet’s shirt. Each sketch was more original and appealing than the one before.
“Have you a manufacturer in place?” Rhys asked.
Pryce nodded. “Everything will be produced in Nepal at half the expense of my regular line. What do you think?”
Rhys tapped a finger to his chin. “I like it. Sir Richard, Mr. James? Natalie? Are you all agreed?”
They voiced their shared enthusiasm for the idea.
“Have you any samples made up?” Natalie asked.
“Yes.” Jacques disappeared and returned with a rack of clothing. Phillip passed the garments around for inspection. Natalie examined the flounced skirt. The seams were finished, and the plaid repeats matched perfectly. There wasn’t a fault to be found in the quality or construction of any of the pieces.
“All right, Mr. Pryce,” Rhys said, “it looks like we have a deal. We can’t pay much up front – after all, you’re new, and we’re taking a risk – but you’ll get a generous share in the profits, provided the collection sells well.” He glanced at Natalie. “And I have it on very good authority that it will.”
Natalie returned to her desk and realised with surprise that it was nearly noon. “Gemma,” she called out, “where’re you going for lunch?”
“I’m not,” Gemma called back crossly. “I have a gazillion copies to run for Rhys. They have to be ready by the time he gets back, and the bloody machine keeps jamming.”
“Oh. Well in that case, I’ll eat what I brought, then. Unless you want me to go out and get you something…?”
“Thanks, no. I started a new diet today – all the green tea, kale, and cabbage soup I want. Unfortunately, it’s turned my pee chartreuse.”
Natalie left her desk and went into the kitchen. As she bent over to retrieve her lunch from the fridge, she heard someone come in. Oh, sod’s law, please let it not be Ian—
“Hello, Natalie.” Amusement coloured his voice. “You’re looking very well.”
She straightened abruptly and turned to see Clarkson lounging in the doorway. “Sorry, I haven’t time to chat.” She clutched her lunch bag. “I’m working through lunch.”
“Well, I won’t keep you, then. When can we talk?”
“We’ve nothing to talk about,” Natalie snapped, and moved to brush past him.
His hand shot out to grip her arm. “You need to be a bit nicer to me, Natalie.”
She didn’t like the subtle threat in his voice. Her heart beat as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings in her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said as he glanced down the hall and drew her back into the kitchen, “that you and I are having lunch at that new bistro round the corner. My treat.”
She yanked her arm free. “I’ve just told you, I haven’t time for lunch, and I don’t go out with married men, especially not when they’re married to my best friend—”
“You’ll make an exception. Or I’ll go to Rhys and tell him you nicked fifty pounds from petty cash this morning.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” she retorted, “right now. And I’ll tell him why I did it. My car broke down, and I hadn’t any cash or credit cards on me to pay the tow-truck driver. I’ll return the money this afternoon.”
“But you haven’t returned it yet, have you?”
Natalie met the dark amusement contained in his eyes. “I won’t be threatened, Ian. In fact,” she added, “Rhys might find more fault with you for attempting to blackmail me. It might even be enough to get you sacked.” She brushed past him.
He gripped her elbow and said in a low voice, “I have information about your father, Miss Dashwood. He committed suicide when you were ten, didn’t he? Shame, that.”
Natalie paled. “Yes, it’s common knowledge that he killed himself. Why would you even bring that up?”
“Is it common knowledge that he embezzled money from Dashwood and James to support his mistress?”
She stared at him. “What? I don’t know what you mean! My father would never do something like that—”
“Oh, but he did. And I have proof.” He smiled, gratified to see the uncertainty and fear flicker across Natalie’s face.
“What sort of proof?”
“I see I’ve got your attention at last. We’ll discuss it further tonight, at the Connaught, since you can’t make it for lunch. Shall we say, eight o’clock, in the Coburg bar?” His smile faded. “We’ll have a drink, and finish our conversation.”
Natalie took a deep, shuddering breath. “What do you want? Why are you doing this? You bastard—”
“That’s not very nice, Natalie. You have a lot to learn about how this all works.”
And he released her arm, turned on his heel, and left.
When Natalie returned to her desk, Gemma was still at the copier. Rhys, back from his meeting and immersed in a phone call at his desk, didn’t look up as she passed his office door. Her hand shook slightly as she sat down and picked up the phone to ring her sister.
“Caro, hi, it’s me. Yes, I’m fine.” She paused. “I can’t make it for dinner at yours tonight, sorry. Work stuff, and my car’s died. I’ll call tomorrow. Yes, I promise. Love you.”
As she hung up the phone, Natalie knew she’d be unable to concentrate on work. Ian and his threat hung over her like a poisoned cloud, unseen and noxious. She closed her eyes and considered her options.
She could tell someone…but whom? Certainly not grandfather; his health was fragile at best, and the news that she was being blackmailed might provoke a heart attack. She loved him too much to take that chance. And mum – did she even know about this mess of her father’s creation? Did she know he’d had a mistress?
Somehow, Natalie doubted it.
Her fingers tightened on the paper clip she held. She needed to calm her racing thoughts and think this through. Ian hadn’t provided any proof of his allegations. Perhaps there was no proof, and he only wanted to get back at her, because she’d turned him down one time too many.
But even as the thought occurred, she discarded it. Ian was too sure of himself. He had something, something damaging. But what? The thought of sitting at a table, sharing a drink with him, made her skin crawl. Tonight, all he wanted was a drink with her, and to trot out his terms and conditions.
But next time…what then? How far might Ian take this? And more importantly – what did he want?
With sudden resolve, Natalie stood up. She’d march into Rhys Gordon’s office right now, and she’d come clean about borrowing fifty quid from petty cash to pay the driver. He’d understand. And after all, she reasoned, it was Rhys’s fault she had no money, what with his bloody unreasonable budget, and freezing all her credit cards.
Besides, the guilt was making her miserable. She made her way to Rhys’s office and knocked on his doorframe. “Do you have a moment?”
He glanced up. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose; he took them off and tossed them aside. “Of course, come in. Good job