The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy: Prada and Prejudice / Love and Liability / Mansfield Lark

“There’s a perfectly good, modern lift in the middle of the store.” His words were steely. “Using the original is expensive, probably unsafe – and pointless, as well.”

At the thought of Henry – so proud of his uniform and cap – being made redundant, Natalie stood up. “I won’t allow it!”

“Sit down, Miss Dashwood,” Rhys snapped. “We’ll discuss this offline, after the meeting.”

She glared at him. “You can be sure we will, Mr. Gordon.” She sat back down, quivering with outrage.

He returned his attention to the men ranged around the table. “Now, gentlemen, as to the store’s return policy—”

“What’s wrong with the return policy?” Sir Richard barked. “It’s worked perfectly well for all these years.”

“It’s too generous,” Rhys retorted. He threw the folder down before him like a gauntlet. “Any return is accepted, no matter how long since its purchase, even without a receipt. That’s madness. The company’s haemorrhaging money it can’t afford to lose.”

“Nonsense—”

“I recommend that after thirty days’ time, or if the customer has no receipt, we no longer accept returns or exchanges.”

A hush fell over the conference table. Only the muted sounds of London traffic four storeys below broke the silence. Implementing a change of this magnitude to the generous and longstanding Dashwood and James return policy was blasphemy.

Sir Richard leaned forward, his face flushed. “What’s to make our stores stand out if we do away with our return policy?”

“Quality,” Rhys responded. “Excellent customer service, and good value for money.” His gaze swept the table. “The fact is, Dashwood and James have become irrelevant. We can’t hope to compete with Selfridges or Marks and Spencer unless we update the store and, more importantly, update its image. If you aren’t willing to do that, gentlemen—” he reached out to take up his folder, his face set “—then I’ll leave you to it.”

Silence greeted his words.

“Gordon’s right.” Alastair eyed the men ranged round the table. “We can’t move forward if we cling to the past. Sir Richard, if you’re in accord, I suggest we take a vote on the matter.”

Ten minutes later, it was settled.

“The ‘ayes’ have it,” Alastair announced. “George, please note that there was one ‘nay’.”

Everyone looked at Natalie. She pressed her lips together and tilted her chin up in defiance.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Gordon said. “You’ve made the right decision.”

Natalie snorted.

“Have you anything to add, Miss Dashwood?” Rhys crossed his arms against his chest and met her eyes. “The floor is yours.”

She glared, but shook her head. What was the point?

He turned back to the other board members. “We’ve a lot of work ahead. I’ll want your input. I need viable suggestions for improvement when we re-convene tomorrow morning.”

The men rose. One by one they filed out and murmured their goodbyes to Natalie. She smiled, despite the renewed throbbing in her head, and waited until no one was left.

No one, that was, except Rhys Gordon.

Fury swept over her anew, and she stood up and launched into him. “Henry will be devastated if he loses his job, Mr. Gordon. Everyone adores him. He’s a fixture here at Dashwood and James, and so is that bloody lift!”

“I see. Are you quite finished?” he asked evenly.

Natalie blinked. “Well…yes, I suppose I am.” She frowned. “Is that all you have to say?”

“No.” He tossed the folder he held onto the table. “Henry often takes customers to the wrong floor; he can barely see. We’ve had complaints, and they’ll only increase if something isn’t done. If he retires, he’ll receive a generous pension. If he stays, we’ll find him a job in the office. I’ll let Henry decide.” He folded his arms against his chest. “Does that meet with your approval, madam?”

“I suppose,” she said, grudgingly. Her eyes narrowed. “You knew who I was when you bought that nightgown from me on Saturday, didn’t you? And you knew last night.”

He didn’t look up as he began thrusting papers into another folder. “Yes, on both counts.” He glanced up. “I saw the wine in your hand and the murderous look in your eye when Dominic made his announcement. So I did the only thing I could, and put myself in front of you.”

“You stepped in front of Dominic on purpose? Why, in sod’s name? I ruined your suit!”

“Because, my dear, clueless girl, there was a photographer from the Mirror behind you, and one from Hello! on the side, waiting to snap publicity shots of Dominic and Keeley. How would it have looked if you’d doused them both with Pinot?”

Natalie flushed. “Not good,” she said in a small voice.

“I don’t want Dashwood and James immersed in a lawsuit. Bad press is the last thing we need right now.”

Natalie sank into one of the high-backed chairs. Her head pounded like the drums at Salamanca. “I don’t know why I didn’t recognise you at the party,” she murmured. “I should’ve done.”

“You might have, if you weren’t so trolleyed…or if you ever read the business section of a newspaper.”

Natalie bit her lip. “Do you suppose we could just…forget about last night?”

“If that’s what you want.” He gathered up his things, his face unreadable.

Natalie studied him through her lashes. The tabloids said he was a womaniser who could turn on the charm whenever he chose. Not that she’d seen any evidence of that so far…

“Tell me – are things at Dashwood and James really so bad?”

“Honestly? They’re worse. There’s a long, uphill climb ahead if we have any hope of re-establishing profitability.”

Her eyes widened. “That sounds serious, indeed.”

“It is. Sir Richard wouldn’t have brought me on, otherwise.”

“Do you really think,” she asked, scepticism plain on her face, “that you can drag Dashwood and James, kicking and screaming, into the 21

century?”

As his gaze met Natalie’s, Rhys couldn’t help but notice her wide grey eyes, liberally fringed with thick dark lashes.

“I do. And I will.” He forced his attention back on the remaining papers scattered on the table before him. “It won’t happen overnight, of course, and it won’t be easy. But it can be done.”

“And you’re just the man to do it, are you?”

“I am.” He regarded her with one brow lifted. “Whether you believe that or not is strictly up to you.”

“I don’t believe things are as bad as you say.”