looked up to see Holly James, Alastair’s eldest daughter, standing at a nearby table. “Holly! I’m fine, no thanks to that great ginger-haired lout over there.” She glared at the man who’d nearly ruined her new ‘Poppy’ handbag. “What are you doing here?”
“I came with a mate from work. She’s here somewhere. Want to join us? There’s plenty of room.”
“If you don’t mind hanging with us old folk,” Natalie joked as she slid into a seat. “Thanks.”
“What do you lot want?” Holly James called out as Nat’s sister Caro, trailed by Tarquin and Wren, arrived.
“A pint. And crisps! I’m starving.” Natalie hadn’t eaten since her lunch with Rhys, and she’d only nibbled at a salad.
“Same for me,” Tarquin said.
“Water with lemon for me,” Wren, Tarquin’s fiancée, said. “I’m on detox this week. No alcohol.”
As they sat down, Tarquin asked, “How’s your new job, Nat?”
“I’ve been insanely busy. Rhys runs me off my feet.”
“What’s he like?” Caro asked. “According to the newpapers, he’s more exacting than Gordon Ramsay.”
But Natalie didn’t answer. She’d just spotted Rhys, leaning against the bar talking to a long-legged brunette. A dove-grey coat was draped over her arm, and a black sheath emphasised her curves; but her towering Perspex heels cheapened the look. She laughed at something Rhys said.
Nat’s eyes narrowed. What was Rhys doing here, chatting up that half-baked Carla Bruni wannabe? She was plainly out of place in the Bull. The girls here wore high-street clothes, not Céline or Chanel…and they didn’t wear Perspex heels.
She was probably a call girl, Natalie decided, meeting her client – Rhys – to make arrangements for a night of hot monkey sex together—
“Earth to Nat,” Caro prodded as Natalie sank down into a chair. “I said, what’s your new boss like?”
Natalie couldn’t take her eyes away from the bar. “Rhys? He’s full of…surprises.” She stood up as not-Carla laid her slim, no-wedding-ring hand on Rhys’s sleeve. “Excuse me.”
As she wove her way through the crowd and arrived at the bar, Natalie feigned surprise. “Rhys! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Natalie.” He didn’t look particularly pleased. “I didn’t expect to see you, either.”
“Obviously.” She cast a pointed glance at the brunette and waited for Rhys to introduce them. He didn’t.
“Nina,” she said in a soft French accent as she offered Natalie her hand. “We were just discussing business.”
Right, then, even worse. She was a French call girl!
“Business,” Natalie echoed, plainly unconvinced. “Are you a lawyer, then,” she prodded the girl, “or an advertising executive?” Surely there was a reasonable explanation.
“Nina isn’t a lawyer, or an advertising executive,” Rhys said, and popped a crisp in his mouth. “She’s a stripper.”
Natalie’s eyes widened. That explained the tacky shoes, then. She couldn’t seem to formulate a proper response. Was there a proper response?
“I’ve just hired her for my best mate’s stag party next Friday night,” Rhys told her. “We’re hammering out the details.” At her look of outrage, he added, “You did ask.”
“Yes,” Natalie said tightly, “and I wish I hadn’t.”
Rhys smiled. “Remember what I said about making assumptions?” he murmured in her ear. Aloud he said, “Nina does a striptease act. Very tasteful, so I’m told.”
“I didn’t realise a striptease act could be tasteful,” Natalie said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Well, I’d best get back to my friends. Nina,” she added with a frosty nod of her head, and stalked away.
“What was that about?” her sister asked when she returned.
“Nothing. I saw Rhys, and I stopped to say hello.” Desperate to change the subject, she added, “He and I met with Klaus von Richter yesterday.”
Wren leaned forward, intrigued. “Klaus von Richter, the fashion designer? How did that go?”
“Not well.” Natalie paused as Holly returned with drinks and packets of crisps. “Rhys asked him if we might carry his clothing line in the flagship store. He turned us down flat.”
“The nerve!” Caro exclaimed. “Why?”
“He said Dashwood and James is second rate.” Natalie took a long sip of her pint. “He couldn’t be arsed to even consider letting us carry his precious couture line.”
“Klaus is a prat,” Holly agreed as she sat down next to Natalie. “Thinks he’s Yves St. Laurent and Karl Lagerfeld rolled into one.”
“Well, I shut him down,” Natalie said smugly. “I told him we wanted a younger, edgier vibe, and that we were in talks with Phillip Pryce. Of course we’re not – not yet, anyway – but Klaus didn’t know that. He was livid.”
“Who’s Phillip Pryce?” Wren asked, curious.
“He’s the Next Big Thing, according to Sasha Davis.” Holly took a crisp from the bag. “Sasha’s my boss – the psychotic bitch – and editor-in-chief of BritTEEN. She’s right about one thing, though – Phillips’s very talented. He’s having a moment. There’s a party at his place tonight—”
Natalie grabbed her arm. “You know him?” she demanded.
“He did a shoot last month for the magazine. We featured his envelope clutch.” Holly sighed. “It’s brilliant.”
Natalie squealed in excitement. “I need to set up a meeting with him. Do you have his mobile number?”
“Hang on.” Holly picked up her mobile and scrolled to a number. “Phillip!” she said brightly after a moment. “Hi, it’s Holly James. Yes, the intern from BritTEEN. You remembered!” She beamed. “I’m sitting here with Natalie Dashwood. What? Yes, that Natalie Dashwood!” She covered the phone. “He knows who you are, from the tabloids.”
“Oh, my God,” Natalie groaned. “Tell him I’m NOT having an affair with Rhys!”
Holly obligingly relayed the info to Phillip. She giggled. “Phillip says if you’re not interested, he is. He says Rhys’s quite the gay icon… What? Well, Natalie wants to discuss a possible business partnership with you—”
They all heard an ear-splitting shriek of excitement emanate from Holly’s mobile.
“Great Portland Street? Okay, see you soon – and thanks!” Holly said goodbye and disconnected. “The party’s at his atelier, it’s
