Everyone’ll think we’re having an affair!”
Rhys shrugged, unperturbed. “The publicity will generate interest, not just in us, but in Dashwood and James. And that’s what we want.”
“It’s not what I want! And there is no us! This is awful!”
“Lesson number one,” Rhys said. “There’s good publicity, and bad. You want to get as much of the first as you can and as little of the second as possible.”
“But I don’t want Dominic – and all of London – thinking we’re an item!”
“Why? Are you worried that Dominic will believe it’s true? He dumped you, if you recall, in a very public way.”
She glared at him. “Thanks for reminding me. And no, I don’t care what Dom thinks. It’s just…I hope grandfather doesn’t see this. He’ll think that I…that we…” her words trailed off.
“Your grandfather may be old, but he’s shrewd, Miss Dashwood. He’ll see this for what it is – media speculation, nothing more.” Rhys smiled slightly. “Don’t forget lesson number one – good publicity is always preferable to bad.”
She resisted the urge to clutch at her hammering head. “And what’s lesson number two?”
He eyed her pale face. “That the best cure for a hangover is a good fry-up. Unless I miss my guess, you’re hung over.”
“I don’t have a drink problem, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, defensively.
“I think you’ve had a lousy couple of days.” He took her arm. “It’s nearly noon, so you’ll have to make do with lunch instead. Come on. You and I have a lot to talk about.”
Rhys took Natalie to an Italian restaurant around the corner. “Two house salads and two orders of lasagna,” Rhys told the waiter when they were seated. He glanced at Natalie inquiringly. “What will you have to drink?”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked, irritated. “Why don’t you order that for me, as well?”
“Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine.” He leaned forward, completely unrepentant, and added, “The lasagna’s very good, but get whatever you like.”
“I’ll have the lasagna,” she told the waiter, ignoring Rhys’s smirk as she handed back her menu, “and water with lemon, please.”
“Tell me about yourself,” he prompted, and fixed that intense blue gaze on her. “Where did you go to school, what sort of jobs have you had?”
She raised her hand to stop the flow of questions. “Blimey! Is this an interview? I thought you wanted to talk about the store.”
“I do. But I want to understand why you’re not more involved. Sir Richard tells me you have a dual degree in business and marketing. Why not use it?”
Natalie shrugged. “The store was always grandfather’s thing. I worked there when I was a teenager, on holidays and during the summer.”
“What did you do?”
“What didn’t I do? I worked the perfume counter, and ladies’ shoes. I manned the till, or answered phones and filed paperwork when grandfather’s secretary was out, and I unpacked and shelved merchandise in the stockroom.”
“Did you plan any events for Dashwood and James?”
She shook her head. “Grandfather says store events are costly, and a waste of time.”
“He’s wrong. Dashwood and James are in dire need of some public relations magic right now.”
The waiter brought their salads, heaped with shaved Parmesan and fragrant with basil and oregano. Rhys speared a forkful of greens. “What are you doing now? When you’re not attending soirées in Holland Park, that is.”
“Oh, the usual,” she replied airily. “Christening ships, cutting ribbons – just another day in the exciting life of a department store heiress.” She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap.
He smiled slightly. “Fair enough, I suppose I deserved that.”
“You did.” She took a bite of salad. “I took a gap year after uni to travel. I do some charity work, and I help mum with the odd church boot sale…” Her voice trailed away. “But I don’t – work, at the moment.” As she said the words aloud, Natalie felt, suddenly, a bit ashamed. Defensively she added, “I’m not really the nine-to-five type.”
The truth was, she didn’t do anything useful, or clever. She couldn’t knit, or decoupage, or balance spreadsheets, or play the guitar. Ever since she’d met Dominic, she’d drifted along in his wake. Her gap year had stretched into two. And now, she began to realise what a waste most of it had been.
But she’d never, ever admit as much to Rhys.
“I see. So how do you fill your time?” he inquired.
“Well…I weekend with friends in the country, and I go on tour with Dominic – not now, obviously – and I shop—”
“Ah, yes.” He leaned back in his seat and eyed her, his gaze inscrutable. “Judging from the bills pouring in from every boutique and department store in London, shopping is an art form you’ve mastered admirably well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Natalie demanded.
“It means your spending is out of control. It’ll have to stop. And as for Dominic—”He paused. “It’s a good job that he dumped you. He’s destructive and irresponsible.”
“He’s an artist,” she said in his defense. “He’s temperamental—”
“Temperamental?” Rhys echoed, incredulous. “He’s a bloody nightmare! And he treats you like crap, yet you defend him.”
“Dominic can be incredibly sweet.”
“So can ethylene glycol,” Rhys retorted, “but it’ll kill you, just the same.” He paused as the waiter delivered their entrees. He lifted a forkful of lasagna to her lips. “Here, try this.”
Startled, she tasted it. “Oh,” she admitted, and wiped a bit of sauce from her mouth, “that’s really good.”
“You won’t find better anywhere in London. As to Dominic,” he added, “I suggest you avoid him. And watch your behaviour when you’re in public.”
She bristled. “My behaviour? Why, for heaven’s sake? I’m not a member of the royal family!”
“No.” He leaned forward. “But you’re in the public eye. You never know when a photographer might be around, or someone with a camera phone. You need to behave with the utmost decorum, especially now. After all, stories about our alleged affair are already all over the tabloids.”
“Crikey,”
