The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy. Katie Oliver

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      Natalie shrugged. “So?”

      “So,” Caro said with rising excitement, “you can do the appearance at the re-launch! You’re every bit as popular as Poppy right now. You can model the clothes, sign autographs and pose for pictures. And perhaps Phillip could design something new, just for the re-launch.”

      “I don’t know,” Natalie said doubtfully. “I’m not a celebrity, or a supermodel.”

      “No,” Caro declared, “you’re not. Even better – you’re you! You’re real, and relatable. And you’re the best chance we have to save Dashwood and James from closing its doors forever. Maybe,” she added ominously, “our only chance…”

      Early Sunday morning Natalie left her sister’s house and returned to London. She’d heard nothing from Ian, thank God. On the other hand, Rhys was furious at her, and rightly so. Her promise to get Poppy Simone for the re-launch had fizzled. She’d let him – and Dashwood and James – down.

      She parked across from the Connaught hotel. She intended to march up to Rhys’s room and tell him her plan…and hope that he didn’t laugh in her face or throw her out on her arse.

      But the front desk clerk informed her that Rhys Gordon had checked out that morning.

      Disappointed, Natalie thanked him and turned away to leave. Rhys must have moved to his new flat, then. He hadn’t said a word to her, nor asked for her help. Hurt washed over her.

      He hadn’t spoken to her, other than saying necessary things like “get me the Dawes file” or “I’ll be out of the office for two hours.” The temperature in the office dropped to Siberian levels whenever one of them was near the other.

      It was awful.

      She missed their banter, the easy camaraderie they shared. Rhys’s anger was like a wall of ice between them. It had to stop. And it was up to her to fix things.

      Well, if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed…then Mohammed would bloody well go to Covent Garden. Natalie started the engine, and with a clash of gears, drove as fast as she dared to Endell Street.

      “All right, bruv, where’s this go?” Jamie Gordon asked Rhys, his arms full of boxes.

      Rhys glanced up from the kitchen table he was assembling. “The top floor.”

      Jamie groaned. “I knew you’d say that.” He turned away and trod up the stairs to the third floor.

      Rhys picked up the assembly instructions and returned to the task at hand. Insert screw A into cross-brace. He scowled as he dumped a bag of nuts and bolts onto the floor. “Why is it always bloody screw A that goes missing—”

      He broke off as the doorbell rang. Who could that be? He wasn’t even moved in yet, for fuck’s sake… “Jamie!” he shouted. “Get the door, will you?”

      There was no answer. Bloody hell, he was probably on the phone with his girlfriend yet again. He should’ve asked Ben to help. Rhys tossed the instructions aside and went downstairs.

      He swung the door open. “Yes?” he growled.

      Natalie blinked. Rhys stood, in all his disheveled glory, in the doorway. He wore a faded pair of jeans and a Manchester United T-shirt, and his feet were bare.

      She thrust out a box of Chelsea buns and a bottle of wine. “I came to say sorry…and to give you these.”

      His scowl thawed to a frown as he took the box and the wine. “Thanks. But it wasn’t necessary.”

      “Well, you’ve moved house, so I owe you a housewarming gift.” Natalie bit her lip. “We need to talk, and we can’t do it at work since we’re always busy. And I don’t want to do it on your doorstep. If you’ll listen, I may have a solution to the Poppy Simone problem.”

      Rhys lifted his brow but made no comment as he swung the door wide. He turned and led the way up the stairs to the kitchen, where he put the box and bottle on the counter.

      “So what’s your solution?” Rhys asked. He crossed his arms loosely against his chest. “Have you got someone else?”

      “Yes.” Natalie hesitated. “I know she’ll do it, and for free. She’s even available on the day.”

      “Are you sure about that?”

      “Quite sure,” she replied, “because—” her heart constricted in her chest “—it’s me I’m talking about. I’ll be the star attraction at the re-launch fashion show.”

      “You,” Rhys repeated. His face was expressionless.

      Natalie nodded. “Since the ads came out, I’m constantly asked for my picture, or autograph. The newsagents say the tabloids with my photo sell out. And—” the clincher “—Phillip Pryce has agreed to design some new pieces for the store. I’ll debut them at the re-launch fashion show.”

      Before Rhys could respond, they heard a crash, followed by a string of expletives. He brushed by her and shouted, “If you broke anything, you git, I’ll have your balls for breakfast!”

      Natalie followed Rhys to the sitting room. A young man in jeans and a blue jersey looked doubtfully at an enormous box. “It isn’t broken…I don’t think. What is it, anyway?”

      “It’s the coffee table,” Natalie said. She held out her hand. “We’ve not been introduced. I’m Natalie Dashwood.”

      “Sorry.” He wiped his forehead with a rag and thrust it in his pocket. “I’m Jamie, Rhys’s brother.” He took her hand and grinned. “I’m younger and better looking than he is.”

      “Nicer, too,” Natalie agreed.

      “Thanks. You’re famous, you know. My girlfriend bought that skirt and stripy top in the advert, and mum follows all the tabloid stories about you and Rhys and the affair…”

      Jamie’s voice trailed away as he caught sight of Rhys’s murderous expression. “I’ll go start on the boxes downstairs. You might’ve marked them,” he added with a meaningful glance at Rhys, “but I’ll sort it out.”

      “Help yourself to a Chelsea bun,” Natalie offered.

      “Don’t mind if I do.” amie lifted the lid on the bakery box, grabbed two buns, and thundered down the stairs, whistling.

      “If I’m to get anything done today, I need to put this bloody table together,” Rhys grumbled. He handed Natalie an instruction sheet and sat on the floor. “Read me the bit after ‘insert screw A into cross-brace’.”

      She sat down across from him. “About my idea—” she began.

      “Let’s go with it. I think it’s brilliant.” He smiled briefly at her and picked up a packet of screws. “Now help me find this bloody screw A before the day’s done, will you?”

      Just before noon on Sunday, a horn blew twice outside the James residence.

      “What the СКАЧАТЬ