The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy. Katie Oliver

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      To my husband, Mark, who always knew I’d do it; to my family (you know who you are); to my good friends (and beta readers), Jane, Michael, Karen, Danielle, Margaret, Ian, and Leigh; to Helen Williams and Lucy Gilmour at HQ Digital UK/Harlequin for their editing expertise; and to my agent, Nikki Terpilowski…without your unswerving support, this book would never have happened.

       Chapter 1

      Honestly, Natalie Dashwood thought irritably as she folded a stack of knickers on the display table for the third time, if I hear ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ one more time, I’ll put my head in the loo. And hold it there. Until I drown…

      Five too many glasses of champagne at her sister Caroline’s birthday party last night had left her head throbbing and her outlook decidedly un-festive. And the relentless blare of Christmas carols over the department store’s tinny sound system did nothing to improve matters.

      If grandfather hadn’t been desperate – an outbreak of flu had left Dashwood and James’ flagship department store seriously short-staffed – she wouldn’t be here, working in the lingerie department a week before Christmas. Natalie hadn’t worked in the family store since she was seventeen, nearly six years ago. But she couldn’t possibly say no to Sir Richard.

      Besides, if she refused, he might cut off her quarterly allowance. And that wouldn’t do at all.

      Her mobile phone vibrated. With a furtive glance round – mobile phones were strictly forbidden on the sales floor – she took it out and glanced at the screen.

      “Grandfather! Good morning. I’m so glad you called. The new ‘Poppy’ handbag just arrived in Smart Accessories.” She was breathless with excitement.

      “What in God’s name is a ‘Poppy’ handbag?”

      Natalie opened her mouth to explain that Poppy and Penelope Simone were the two hottest ‘It’ girl sisters in London – correction, in the world – and that Poppy’s new handbag was destined to become a classic, but she refrained.

      Grandfather would never understand.

      “It’s a very coveted handbag,” she said instead. “I know I shouldn’t ask—” guilt stabbed her, but she ignored it “—but might I put it on my store account? Please?”

      “How many handbags do you need?” Sir Richard asked reprovingly. “You have dozens already.”

      “If you let me put it on account,” she pleaded, “I promise I’ll never ask you for another thing.”

      They both knew this was utter bollocks, but Sir Richard refrained from comment. “You need to learn economy, Natalie. You know the stores are in serious financial trouble.”

      Natalie’s gaze swept over the store’s selling floor. Although the first floor was busy at the moment, she knew it was only because this was the last week before Christmas, and the smell of fake pine and desperation hung heavy in the air. In years past, shoppers thronged the aisles during the holidays. The line for Santa’s Grotto wound twice around the third floor and required a special permit from the fire safety inspector.

      She sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. That’s horribly selfish of me, isn’t it? Forget I asked.”

      “Excuse me.”

      Natalie looked up to see a man, late twenties, possibly thirty, dark blond-brown hair, standing before her. Under his jacket (Barbour) he wore a cashmere sweater (brand uncertain, but definitely expensive) and jeans; sunglasses hid his eyes.

      He looked like a celebrity. But if he was a celebrity, he must be a B-lister, she decided dismissively, because no self-respecting A-lister would shop in Dashwood and James.

      She indicated the phone at her ear. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

      He pressed his lips together but said nothing.

      Sir Richard sighed. “Very well, get your handbag. I’ll allow it this once. But no more,” he warned her. “And you must promise me that you’ll come to the board meeting on Monday morning. It’s imperative that you attend.”

      “Oh? Why is that?” Natalie asked, her heart sinking. She usually avoided the board meetings; they were horribly dull, and – to her, at least – a complete waste of time.

      “I’ve hired a new Operations Manager. I’m introducing him at the meeting, and I want you there.”

      “Excuse me, please. I need assistance.” Barbour jacket was growing impatient.

      “And I said СКАЧАТЬ