Gemma reappeared in his doorway a moment later, a puzzled look on her face.
“Yes? What is it?” he asked with a trace of irritation.
“I barely had enough money to pay for the delivery out of petty cash.”
Rhys lifted his brow. “Sir Richard’s secretary must have ordered one hell of a breakfast spread for his meeting.”
“That’s just it. She ordered the usual things – a dozen scones and croissants, and orange juice. But there’s money missing from the cash box. Fifty quid, to be exact.”
He rubbed the space between his eyes. “Natalie probably took the money out and forgot to deduct it from the tracking spreadsheet. Bloody hell! Can’t she even manage petty cash without screwing it up?”
“Mr. Gordon?” Ian stood in the doorway.
“Come in. Shut the door, Gemma, please. We’ll talk later.”
“Sounds serious,” Ian remarked as Gordon’s PA nodded and closed the door. He took a seat in front of Rhys’s desk. “Is Miss Dashwood in some sort of trouble?” he inquired guilelessly.
“No, but you are,” Rhys replied. “Mr. Clarkson, are you aware of the store’s policy regarding employee harassment?”
He raised his brow but said nothing, waiting.
“Let me refresh your memory. Harassment of a colleague – verbal or sexual – will not be tolerated. It’s come to my attention that you’ve made a pest of yourself with the ladies.”
Ian stiffened. “A bit of flirting hardly counts as harassment.”
“Oh, is that what you call it – a bit of flirting?” Rhys leaned back in his chair. “Any woman made to feel uncomfortable in your presence is a victim of harassment, Mr. Clarkson. I’ve had complaints from my own PA about you.”
“This is absurd.” Ian stood up abruptly. “You don’t like me, Gordon, and you never have. And the feeling is mutual. But you have no cause to accuse me of harassment.”
Rhys stood as well, his blue eyes snapping. “I’m warning you, Clarkson. Stay away from the women in this office, and stay away from Natalie Dashwood. Because if you don’t, I’ll have your balls for breakfast.”
“That’s what this is all about,” Ian said softly, “isn’t it? You fancy Natalie yourself!” His smile was cold. “You speak to me of bylaws, and harassment. But I wonder what the bylaws say about a superior shagging a subordinate? Particularly when the subordinate is Sir Richard’s own granddaughter—”
Rhys lunged forward and grabbed Ian by the collar. “That’s enough, you nasty-minded little prick,” he snapped. “Natalie’s off limits, got it? If you so much as breathe the same air as her again—” his eyes glittered “—I’ll fucking kill you myself.”
Ian jerked free, his face flushed with anger. “I could have you arrested for assault, Gordon. Lay a finger on me again, and I promise you’ll find yourself behind bars faster than you can say ‘quid pro quo’.” He turned away, flung open the door, and left.
Gemma looked up from her laptop as Clarkson stormed past her desk, his face like a thundercloud.
She went into Rhys’s office. “What on earth did you say to Ian?” she asked. “He came out of your office just now like a juggernaut. I’ve never seen him looking so furious.”
“I gave him a refresher course on store policy. I’ve had a number of complaints about him.” He tossed down his pen. “He won’t be bothering you – or anyone else – again.”
Gemma crossed her arms against her chest. “It’s not me he’s after, it’s Natalie. He corners her at the copier or in the kitchen at least once a week. He’s a nasty piece of work.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, since her first week here.”
“And why do you suppose he’s singled Natalie out in particular?”
Gemma shrugged. “I’m sure he fancies her, but I get the feeling there’s something else going on.” She glanced at him with a frown. “It’s almost as though she’s afraid of him.”
“Like he’s got something on her, you mean?”
“Yes. Although I can’t imagine what; Natalie doesn’t have any dark secrets, she’s an open book.”
Rhys leaned forward. “Unless the secret she’s keeping isn’t hers, but someone else’s.”
“We can save substantially if we allow more vendors to provide merchandising services,” Rhys stated at Monday morning’s financial meeting.
“Then why don’t we?” Sir Richard asked.
“To do so would necessitate redundancies. It’s been my intent to create jobs, not eliminate them.”
Alastair frowned. “Of course we don’t want anyone to lose their job, but at the same time, costs must be cut. We’re all agreed on that.”
“What do you suggest?” Rhys asked.
“Well, since we’ve cut our stock, I recommend we cut the stockroom staff as well, at least until the autumn/winter season begins,” Alastair said, and laid his pen aside. “If business improves, we’ll re-hire.” He glanced at Rhys. “Jago Sullivan and Frank Bamber are the two most recent hires.”
Rhys made a note. “Very well. I’ll consider your suggestion.” He glanced at Natalie, who was running the slide show presentation. “Let’s see the next slide, please, Miss Dashwood.”
As she nodded and clicked the mouse, his thoughts wandered back to the first, incendiary kiss they’d shared. He’d kissed his share of women over the years, no question; but Natalie Dashwood was different…distractingly, tantalisingly different.
Too bad they’d been interrupted…
He realised the staff were watching him expectantly, waiting for his breakdown of the latest sales figures.
As Rhys turned back to the screen and explained the three-colour pie chart, Alastair listened and nodded and took dutiful notes. But his thoughts were elsewhere.
Hannah would be livid when she found out he’d recommended Jago for redundancy, even temporarily.
But he wanted Jago Sullivan out of Hannah’s orbit, at least for the summer. He’d deal with his daughter’s wrath later. His attention returned to Gordon.
And as his eyes met Rhys’s, Alastair suddenly realised that he knew someone else with those same intense blue eyes, someone who, like Rhys, hailed from Edinburgh.
Fiona Walsh.
Alastair frowned. There was no denying
