Although she hadn’t yet met her properly, she suspected that Catherine was attracted to her fiancé. And it bothered her.
Not that she worried that Jamie would stray; no, it was just that Catherine was so gorgeous she made Holly feel like a dog’s dinner. With her long black hair and a slim but curvy build, the sous chef was a stunner.
And, of course, she could cook like a dream.
“Well, Catherine’s wrong,” she said firmly, and drew back to meet his eyes. “We were talking about the publicity thing.”
“Oh, yes. Your father told me. Tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Ciaran’s sending a car to pick me up at eleven.”
Jamie studied her, his expression unreadable. “Should I be worried?”
“Don’t be silly,” she assured him, and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I only have eyes for you.”
“Prove it, then,” he murmured, a challenge in his eyes.
And she proceeded to do just that.
At eight-thirty the next morning, a knock on the door echoed through Apartment 1010.
“Hellooo? Mr Gordon? Anyone here?”
Natalie looked up from her seat on the sofa in mild alarm. It was Sunday morning, and she and Rhys were in the living room, having just arrived at the Dunleigh with their luggage a short time earlier. Rhys was hanging her father’s portrait over the fireplace.
“Who’s that?” she hissed. “And what’s he doing in our apartment?”
Before Rhys could answer, a dark-haired young man with a pair of sunglasses thrust atop his head strode into the living room, his hands holding bright-orange carrier bags. He wore jeans, a Ramones t-shirt, and a pale-pink blazer with the sleeves rolled up.
As he saw Rhys, he came to a stop. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were here. I thought I had time to sneak in and leave this stuff before you officially moved in.”
“Quite all right,” Rhys said, and turned away from the mantel. “What’ve you got there?”
“Oh, I have lots of fab stuff,” he said. “I went to Zabar’s yesterday afternoon and got pesto, brie, a couple of pasta salads – so delish ‒ a bottle of Blanc de Blanc, and—” he broke off as he caught sight of Natalie. “Oh, sorry. You must be Mrs Gordon. I saw you last night but we haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Natalie, this is Charles Williams,” Rhys said by way of explanation, “my new personal assistant.”
She nodded and said politely, “It’s very nice to meet you, Charles.”
“Chaz, please.” He smiled in apology. “I’d offer my hand, Mrs Gordon, but they’re full at the moment. Gorgeous outfit, by the way,” he observed as he studied her yellow and black figured tunic and fitted beige skirt. “Marni, last season?”
She nodded, impressed. “You’re good. And please, call me Natalie.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Gordon – I mean, Natalie,” he corrected himself as Rhys took one of the bags from him. “The front desk sent me up – I hope that’s okay? Alastair put me on the list.”
“The list?” Rhys echoed.
He nodded. “The guest list. I’m on it, and Alastair, and Sir Richard...and you two, of course. Alastair gave me a key so I could deliver your groceries.”
“No, that’s fine.” Rhys glanced down at the bags. “Thank you for all of this, by the way. It’s unexpected, although very welcome. But you needn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I knew you wouldn’t have time to go grocery shopping, so I thought I’d stock the kitchen with a few essentials. I can’t stay,” he added as he headed towards the kitchen. “I’m helping Holly choose an outfit for her big date with – wait for it – Ciaran Duncan today.”
“Holly has a date with Ciaran Duncan?” Natalie echoed, surprised. “I saw them talking last night at the party, but...” her voice trailed off. “But Holly’s engaged.”
“It’s not really a date, it’s a publicity thing for the store,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s a ‘film-star-and-retail-heiress-do-New-York’ thing, to be exact.”
“I see,” Natalie said, although she didn’t, really. She couldn’t imagine Jamie agreeing to such a thing...or Holly’s father either, for that matter. He hadn’t seemed very impressed with the actor.
“It was Ciaran’s idea,” he explained as she rose and followed him into the kitchen. “But Alastair was totally on board, since the store needs all the publicity it can get...”
“...so Holly’s spending the day with Ciaran to help her father, and to help the store,” Natalie finished.
“Exactly.” He set the carrier bags on the counter. “Well, folks, I’m off. Enjoy your gourmet goodies and welcome to the Dunleigh.”
And before Natalie or Rhys could do more than thank him, Chaz waved, whipped out his mobile phone, and left.
“So these are our options for your date with Ciaran?” Chaz asked doubtfully as he eyed the three dresses on hangers that Holly held up a half-hour later.
“Yes. And it’s not a date.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”
He cupped his elbow in one hand and rested his chin on the other. “Sorry, no. The black wrap dress is too plain; and that purple jersey – where’d you buy it, Forever 21? As for the bubble skirt–” he grimaced “–it looks like someone threw up Christian LA Croix.”
Holly tossed them down on her bed in irritation. “Well, what do you suggest, then, Mr Mizrahi?”
“Hey, you asked for my help,” he reminded her. “I could be at home watching The Princess Diaries, thank you very much.”
“No need to throw a hissy. Just take a look in the closet and pick something out. I’ll need accessories, too. And hurry. I have to start getting ready soon.”
“You don’t want much, do you?” he retorted, but threw the door to the hotel closet open and began rummaging through the contents, his face set in concentration. Choosing an outfit was a very serious business.
Five minutes later, he emerged. “I’ve found it,” he announced, triumphant. “I’ve found the perfect outfit for your date with Ciaran.”
“It’s not a date,” she told him again. Holly rose from her perch on the end of the bed, anxious to see what he’d chosen. He held out a beige sheath dress overlaid with lace, nude heels, and a leopard-print clutch.
“That?” she said uncertainly. “I don’t know. It’s so...beige. It looks like something Mum would wear.”
“It’s classic,” he informed her, “but sexy, in a ladylike way. Very Mad Men. You don’t want to look like a hootchie, do you?”
“No...”
“Then shut up and try it on.”
Dutifully she did as he asked, thrusting her feet into the heels and smoothing the silk dress over her hips as she stood before the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. And as she studied her reflection, she had to admit that, once again, Chaz was right.
The nude heels elongated her legs; the dress was fitted and flattering, emphasizing her small waist and slim build; and the leopard clutch provided