every single station on the route from her lowly design studio to the posh central London address for Sheridan Press. It seemed to be teasing her and the faster she willed it to go, the slower it went.
She had given up apologising to the other passengers after the first few times she had crashed into them and braced herself against the grubby glass partition instead.
The fact that she was too vertically challenged, as her friend Saskia called it, to reach the plastic loop swinging above her head was entirely immaterial when every lurch and rattle of the train seemed to be calling out in a sing-song tune the word late, rattle, late, late, rattle, late. Taunting her.
But it didn’t matter. She had worked so hard on these dresses and they were lovely.
She would make Amber proud of her and prove to Heath and the wedding guests and their friends, hairdressers, postmen and anyone else they knew, how fabulously professional and creative she was and that they should choose Katherine Lovat Designs to create all of their future outfits.
With a bit of luck this wedding would be exactly the type of promotional opportunity she had been looking for. The first three dresses had already been delivered to the bride and the fourth and final dress had been finished right on deadline. Just as she had promised it would be.
Now all she had to do was go out into a thunderstorm and deliver the final dress—and she would be done.
Kate glanced down at her damp high-heeled peep-toe ankle boots and crunched her toes together several times to get the circulation going again.
Okay, maybe they weren’t the most sensible footwear in the world for trudging through city streets on the way to make a special delivery, but it shouldn’t be raining in July. It should be sunny and warm and the pavements dry enough to walk on without being in danger of being drenched from passing cars.
The train slowed but Kate’s pulse started to race as she peered out at the curved tile walls as they pulled into the tube station.
This was it. She swallowed down a lump of anxiety and nervous tension the size of a wedding hat, and then she lifted her chin and turned on her trademark bright and breezy happy smile.
Nothing to see here, folks. Move along. Everything is fine in Kate land.
No problems at all.
The lease on the warehouse studio which she rented with Patrick had not just doubled in cost in the last year, Patrick had not just decided to leave London and move to Hollywood as a wardrobe assistant in the movie business and, biggest of all, she was totally, absolutely not nervous about meeting the man she was on her way to see at that minute.
Heath Sheridan was Amber’s ex-stepbrother. That was all. And her silly teenage crush was over years ago!
So what if she had pounced on Heath the last time that she had seen him? They had both kissed a lot of other people since then. He was bound to have forgotten that embarrassing little incident...wouldn’t he?
She had never seen Heath since that night and he certainly hadn’t got in touch with her. But of course that was the autumn his mother had been taken ill and coming back to London wasn’t included in his plans.
No. This was a straightforward business transaction. Heath needed the last of the four bridesmaids’ dresses today and was willing to pay extra to have it delivered in person.
Why should it matter if Heath saw her looking like a drowned rat? With her soggy bare toes sticking out of her damp designer boots?
He probably wouldn’t even notice that she was late for their meeting. And wet.
Probably.
And if he did, well, she could simply make a joke of her problems. The way she always did.
The glass doors slid open behind her back and Kate exploded onto the crowded platform with the crush of other passengers behind her with such momentum that she had to press one hand against the wall to protect her precious cargo.
And instantly winced.
She had just touched a wall decorated with graffiti, and who knew what else, with her white lace summer gloves.
Well, this day was getting better all the time.
It would actually be funny if she wasn’t so nervous.
She sucked in a breath of hot fuel and soot-filled air charged with that tang of electricity from the tracks.
Nervous? Kate Lovat did not do nervous.
Kate Lovat was brave and strong and invincible and courageous.
Kate Lovat was going to exude an aura of total confidence and professionalism and Heath’s family would recommend her work to all of their friends.
Kate Lovat had just spent an hour on her make-up so that it looked natural, and much longer choosing a professional outfit which would impress even the toughest of clients.
She clutched the dress box to her chest as she boarded the escalator.
She needed high-profile clients like the Sheridans to adore the bridesmaids’ dresses she had created. After all, she had followed the brief Heath had emailed her to the letter.
Okay. Maybe she might have added a little something extra. After all, she had to stamp some Lovat flourish on her work. Otherwise, what would be the point of making something unique?
A smile crept up from her mouth to her eyes and a quick chuckle caught in her throat.
Watch out, Heath Sheridan. Ready or not, here I come. Get ready to be dazzled.
* * *
‘The trade fair figures are not what we wanted, Heath. The presentations were brilliant and every buyer I spoke to was impressed with the quality of the hardbacks, but they are dragging their heels when it comes to firm orders,’ Lucas explained, his exasperation clear even down the cellphone from a Malaysian hotel. ‘The book stores simply don’t want to hold a wide range of reference titles which only shift a few copies a year.’
Heath Sheridan scanned through the sales figures that had arrived onto his notebook computer in the past few minutes and quickly pulled together a comparison chart of how book sales were tracking in each region.
No matter how he mapped the data, the results were the same.
Sales were down in every category of reference book that had made Sheridan Press one of the few remaining commercially successful privately owned international publishing houses. The company had made its name one hundred and twenty years ago with high end, beautifully produced reference books. Biographies, dictionaries and atlases. Lovely books designed to last. And they did last. And that was the problem.
Over the past few weeks he had worked with Lucas and his talented marketing team to come up with a brilliant promotional campaign which focused on how Sheridan Press had invested in digital technology to illustrate the books which were still bound by hand so that every single reference book was a unique work of art. A superb combination of the latest technology with the finest hand-crafting techniques that four generations of the Sheridan family had created.
Shame that the booksellers did not see it that way.
