snapped. “I’m not a kid any more! Something’s wrong. I heard you shouting! Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Hannah—”
But Hannah brushed past them both and stormed up the stairs to her room.
The television commercial featuring Dominic Heath aired four weeks later.
“Thanks to all of you,” Rhys Gordon told the store employees assembled in the conference room. “And thanks to Natalie and Gemma for coping with Dominic’s meltdown during the shoot. Good job, everyone.”
As the others left, Rhys asked Natalie to remain behind. “Are Phillip’s new designs ready for the re-launch? We haven’t much time, less than a month now. We can’t afford any delays.”
“Yes. The clothes are gorgeous, better than his original designs. He’s bringing samples today. Production starts soon.”
“Good. What about promotional materials?”
“Dominic’s record company’s giving access to download his new single – free, of course. We’re including store coupons and cosmetic samples in the swag bag as well.”
“What about invitations, publicity?”
“We’ve ads in the papers and social media. The after-party’s on a first-come, first-served basis. Oh, and there’s a big, splashy ad on our website.”
“Speaking of which, the site’s vastly improved,” Rhys observed as he gathered up his things. “Ian’s team really turned it around.”
Natalie’s smile faded. “Good. If there’s nothing else—”
“Actually, there is… Natalie, has Ian bothered you lately?” Rhys asked abruptly.
She looked at him, surprised. “No.” Almost a month had passed since she’d heard from Ian. Every day she lived in fear that he’d make good on his threat, and she’d see her father’s name splashed across every tabloid in London. But there’d been no phone calls, no press…nothing.
“Good. I’ve kept him busy.” He fixed his dark blue eyes on hers. “Gemma told me he’s harassed you at work. I had a word with him.”
She bristled. “She had no right to tell you that.”
“I’m glad she did,” he said sharply. “You should have told me. You can still file a complaint, you know.”
“I don’t want any trouble. He’s left me alone.”
“All right, I’ll drop it – for now.” He glanced at her. “What are you doing on Sunday? Fancy spending the day with me?”
“Doing what, exactly? Buying more furniture? You don’t have nearly enough, you know.”
He lifted his brow. “What else does a man need but a sofa, a table, and a bed?”
“Beer, I suppose, and a flat-screen TV?”
“Too right,” he agreed with a grin. “So? What do you say?”
“Well,” she said doubtfully, “I normally do laundry, but I suppose it could wait. What did you have in mind?”
“We could both do with a break, we’ve worked really hard on the re-launch. I thought we’d do a bit of rural sightseeing. And that’s all I intend to say on the matter.”
“Can’t you at least tell me where we’re going? How should I dress for this mysterious outing?”
“Wear long sleeves and jeans, and proper shoes – no stripper heels, please. Save those for later.”
Natalie blinked. “Rhys—!”
He came closer. “Don’t look so shocked, Miss Dashwood. I know you want to finish what we started just as much as I do.”
She blushed.
He grinned and turned away to pick up his things. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”
“Long sleeves and jeans—? But it’s nearly June!” she protested. “Can’t you tell me a bit more?”
“You’ll see on Sunday.” He smiled briefly and turned to go. “Now get back to work.”
“The Dissolute campaign has great buzz,” Simon Templeton, advertising director of the Templeton advertising agency, informed Klaus on Friday afternoon. “Everyone loves Dominic. Feedback’s been positive, despite the Wedding-gate fiasco.”
“Sometimes, notoriety is good.”
An assistant brought Klaus an espresso. So far, the only information Dominic had produced concerning Phillip Pryce’s line of clothing for Dashwood and James was a couple of sketches and a photo of a dress from last season’s Rochas collection.
Von Richter scowled. Did Dominic Heath really believe him to be such a fool?
Since the rock star had produced nothing useful on Phillip, he’d have to find another way to sabotage Dashwood and James.
“Is the espresso not to your liking, Herr von Richter?” Simon Templeton inquired as displeasure flickered on the German designer’s face. “I can assure you, it’s made from the finest Sumatran fair trade beans.”
“Fair trade,” Klaus said derisively. “That’s just an excuse to charge more money, nein?”
“Well, no. It ensures fair wages and treatment of the workers—”
Klaus snorted. “Workers should be glad to have any job and take what wages they get. It’s preferable to starving in the streets, no?”
Simon kept his expression neutral. “Surely you don’t advocate the use of sweatshops, Herr von Richter?”
“No, of course not. Bad for business, you know.”
“The media would tear you apart,” Simon agreed. “There’s no tolerance for that sort of thing these days.”
“No,” Klaus agreed thoughtfully. “No tolerance at all.”
“Well, if there’s nothing else-?” Simon began.
Klaus stood up abruptly. “No, there is nothing else. I’ll be in touch.” He turned away to retrieve his mobile and called down to his driver. “I have an interview with BritTEEN magazine at two. And stop at the newsagents on the way.”
The minute the staff meeting ended, Holly James left the BritTEEN offices and dashed downstairs to the corner newsagents. Every day she bought a pack of Polos and a Diet Coke from Rajid, the owner’s son. Even on a completely crap day – today being no exception – he was always good for a laugh.
She waved to Rajid and went to the newsstand. As she flipped through the latest issue of Vogue, Klaus von Richter strode in, grabbed a newspaper, and flung it on the counter.
He
