Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
About the Publisher
The taxi came to a stop halfway down Christopher Street. Holly James emerged from the back seat and tugged at the hem of her short back sheath. The fitted knit seemed to have a mind of its own and kept creeping up her thighs. She leaned back inside to pay the driver and gave him her last five dollars.
He nodded. “Thanks. Enjoy your evening, blondie.”
Blondie? Holly managed a curt nod and turned away. As the taxi drove off, she tucked her clutch under her arm and joined her friend Chaz on the sidewalk. She glanced past him through the gathering dusk to study the brownstone in front of her. Built before the turn of the last century, it was an art deco jewel dropped in the middle of Greenwich Village. Spotlights in the grass illuminated the elegant, four story-façade. The front steps led up to a set of leaded double doors; potted topiaries flanked the entrance.
“Dashwood and James,” she read aloud from the newly installed plaque above the door. “London/New York. Established 1859.”
Months of preparation had gone into planning tonight’s event. Judging from the limos jockeying for position in front of the building and the taxis lining the street, the private pre-launch of her father’s department store ‒ the first Dashwood and James in America ‒ was already a resounding success.
“How do I look?” Chaz asked her with a trace of anxiety. “This suit’s a Tom Ford. I got it at that sample sale last week, sixty percent off ‒ can you believe it?”
“You look fabulous,” Holly told him, and meant it. His suit was three-piece, a dark, almost purple-blue that made the most of his dark hair and olive skin. “You’ll have all the boys drooling.”
“Hope so.” He glanced with approval at her fitted black dress and leopard-print kitten heels. “You look pretty fabulous yourself. Too bad Jamie’s working tonight or you wouldn’t be stuck with me.”
“I’m not ‘stuck’ with you,” she corrected him as she linked her arm through his, “I adore you, and you know it.”
It was true. She and Chaz had clicked the minute they’d met last month at Dashwood and James, where both were employed for the summer...she, because the teen
