felt her cheeks grow warm. “Mr Duncan needed the loo, and the downstairs ones were all occupied.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Actually,” Ciaran said, “I was just telling Holly that she and I should do a bit of publicity while I’m in town. Drum up some attention for the store.”
Alastair eyed him doubtfully. “Publicity? What sort of publicity did you have in mind?”
“I thought Holly and I might spend a day doing typical New York things – take the Staten Island ferry to the Statue of Liberty, ride a carriage round Central Park, dine at the Russian Tea Room or Tavern on the Green...and visit Dashwood and James’s new store before it officially opens, while the paparazzi snap pictures and proceed to plaster them all over the New York newspapers.”
Holly, impressed despite herself, regarded him in admiration. He was good.
Alastair was silent. “Well...I don’t know. I suppose it would generate a lot of interest…”
Ciaran smiled, his eyes still on Holly. “You have no idea.”
“What about me?” Holly turned back to her father. “Has anyone bothered to ask me how I feel about this crazy idea?”
“Actually,” Alastair mused, “I think it’s rather a good idea.”
“You can’t be serious.” She stared at him. “You are serious. There’s just one problem, or have you forgotten? I’m engaged.”
He sighed. “Oh, yes. There is that.”
It was no secret that her father, although he liked Jamie Gordon, Rhys’s adopted brother, well enough, didn’t completely approve of their engagement. He avowed that Jamie, with his long hours and ambitions to become a Michelin-starred chef, would never make proper time for a wife or family.
Which, Holly knew, was patently ridiculous.
“I shall speak to Jamie myself,” Alastair said, “and explain that you and Ciaran are doing a publicity junket for the store on‒” he paused “‒what day are we talking about, Mr Duncan?”
“Let’s see.” He studied the calendar app on his phone once again. “I have tomorrow free.”
“Tomorrow it is.”
Outrage swept over Holly. Now she knew how all of those unmarried, Jane Austen-y women must have felt, standing helplessly by as their fathers discussed their future with another man and left them completely out of the loop.
Well, she thought with gathering anger, she wasn’t helpless and she wasn’t about to stand by as her future – even if it were only tomorrow – was decided for her. She opened her mouth to refuse, to tell them both unequivocally that there was no way in hell she was spending one minute, much less her entire Sunday, with Ciaran Duncan – not even in the name of publicity.
But she hesitated. She knew how important the store’s upcoming launch was to her father. Dashwood and James was still on somewhat shaky ground, financially speaking; the New York store, if it did well, would go a long way to shoring up the family’s depleted coffers.
And after all, she mused as she studied Ciaran doubtfully from beneath lowered lashes, it was only for one day.
She could endure anything for one day. Even Ciaran Duncan.
“Fine,” Holly said. “I’ll do it. For the store,” she added pointedly before Ciaran could thank her. She turned to Alastair. “But you have to promise to tell Jamie that this was your idea, Dad, not mine.”
“I promise.” He added dryly, “Thank you for your very great sacrifice for the cause.”
Ciaran laughed. “I never thought anyone would have to be persuaded to spend time with me. I’m wounded.”
“And I’m off.” Alastair glanced down at the pashmina dangling from his hand. “Excuse me, but I promised to give this to Natalie – she’s complaining of a chill, although God knows I don’t know what she’s talking about ‒ and return to my guests downstairs. I suggest you both do the same.”
“I’ll be right there.” Holly turned away and moved to follow him.
“Wait.” Ciaran caught up with her. “What time shall I pick you up tomorrow?”
“Eleven, I suppose. I’m catatonic before noon.” She paused. “Do you know where I live?”
“Yes, I got your address from Ms. Welch earlier. She’s much more accommodating than you.” His eyes twinkled.
Twinkled!
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he added with a grimace, “I really do need the loo.”
She smiled. “Right. You know where it is. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Miss James. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven.”
“Not a minute sooner,” she warned.
“No sooner, I promise. I look forward to it.” He winked one of those sexy green-brown eyes at her and made his way back downstairs.
And so it was settled. Holly would spend tomorrow with Ciaran Duncan, internationally famous film actor, British heartthrob, and ex-boyfriend of Sienna, Keira, Olivia, and Jennifer...
...and a man with more hands than one of those multi-armed Hindu statues.
As she drifted back downstairs, tugging absently at the upwardly creeping hem of her dress, Holly alternated between elation and dismay. What had she just got herself into? Ciaran Duncan was out of her league. She frowned. Jamie wouldn’t want her spending a minute with the handsome film star, much less an entire day.
And how would she tell Chaz that she’d snared a date...with his dream man?
He’d never speak to her again.
“...perhaps you should set your sights on Alastair’s daughter. You could do worse, you know. She stands to inherit twenty-five percent of Dashwood and James one day.”
Holly came to an abrupt stop halfway down the stairs. Thankfully, they couldn’t see her up here in the shadows, but she could see their legs in the entrance hall below. Coco Welch, the promotions manager her father had relocated to New York from the London flagship store, was talking to that self-important solicitor, Mr Darcy.
“No thank you.” Hugh Darcy spoke quietly but firmly. “I’ve no interest in getting married, at any rate. I’m here to assist Mr James, and to work...not to romance his daughter.”
“Just as well…she’s engaged already, to a chef,” Coco remarked. Her voice warmed. “Although I must say, Jamie Gordon is ‒ pardon the pun ‒ quite dishy.” She added, “Still, you could do far worse than marrying an heiress like Holly. You can’t deny that she’d make an excellent match.”
“I
