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

Caro regarded her in alarm. “Oh, Natalie – you aren’t sleeping with him, are you? I saw those photos in the Mail—”

“No! We’re not sleeping together! Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Exasperated, Natalie grabbed up her bag, waved goodbye, and stormed off.

Chapter 13 (#ulink_708caa7b-5423-5409-ad41-3bd1069b3f81)

Rhys pressed the intercom and scowled at his laptop screen. Losses for the past quarter were worse than he’d anticipated. Drastic measures were needed – reduced operating hours, pay freezes…and job cuts, something he’d wished to avoid.

And the fact that Natalie Dashwood was spending for England didn’t help matters.

“Gemma, send Alastair in.” He sat back in his chair and waited, tapping his pen impatiently against his thigh. When Mr. James arrived five minutes later, Rhys said without preamble, “The markdown budget figures are worse than you originally forecast. Come and look, please.”

Wordlessly Alastair came around his desk to peer at the computer screen.

“We’re losing money at a higher rate than projected. If the numbers you give me aren’t good, Mr. James,” Rhys said tightly as he tossed his pen down, “how can my decisions based on those numbers be of any bloody use?”

“It appears the planning budget was underestimated,” Alastair agreed, his heart heavy. He knew what this meant – more hours lost to number crunching, another round of apologies to Cherie, more tension between them.

“You need to update the budget, Mr. James.”

“I’ll get on it immediately.” Alastair added, “However, I’ve made plans to spend tomorrow with my wife.”

“Well, you’ll just have to cancel them, won’t you?”

Alastair’s expression hardened. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Gordon. What’s really going on here?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seem determined to take issue with me.”

“I take issue with a good company going in the crapper. You and Sir Richard haven’t done a proper job keeping costs down and revenues up. I can’t do this alone.”

“I understand.” Alastair’s gaze was steely. “But responsibility for the state of the company’s finances doesn’t rest solely with me. This tension between us is personal on your part, Mr. Gordon.”

“Yes, it’s personal, because this is your bloody company. While you may not be the only one responsible for the years of mismanagement, you’re accountable all the same – just as I’m accountable for somehow turning this fucking mess around.”

“Let me remind you, I managed accounts worth millions of pounds when you were still in nappies, Mr. Gordon,” Alastair said icily. “I’m also a partner. As such, I demand respect. Remember – Sir Richard and I hired you. Not the other way round.”

Rhys leaned forward. “You hired me, yes. And in order to do my job, Mr. James, you bloody well need to do yours.”

“And so I shall,” Alastair returned, and tightened his jaw, “on Monday morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he gave Rhys a curt nod “—I’m leaving for the day. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Before Rhys could form a reply, Alastair turned on his heel and left.

Rhys became aware of a disturbance just outside his office. He glanced up with a scowl to see Gemma blocking the door. No one got past her. “Just a moment, Miss Dashwood,” she protested, “you can’t just barge in—”

There was a minor tussle at the door. Natalie shoved past and stormed into his office, Gemma on her heels, both of them quivering with righteous indignation.

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” Gemma apologised. “I tried to stop her—”

He thrust his chair back and stood up. “It’s all right. Close the door on your way out, please.”

“Of course.” Gemma shot Natalie a scalding glare and left, shutting the door smartly behind her.

Natalie advanced on him. “How…dare…you.” She threw her handbag on his desk. Spreadsheets and marketing reports flew up and fluttered down to the carpet.

“How dare I?” Rhys demanded. “You dare to take an attitude with me, after running up bills the size of the national debt and using company credit to do it?”

“You closed my personal credit lines,” she fired back. “All of them. You can’t do that!”

“I can. I did.” Rhys leaned forward and planted his hands flat on the desk. His face was inches from hers. “It’s my job to cut costs and turn this sinking ship around. And the first step is to stop unnecessary spending. Yours, in particular. It stops here, and it stops now.”

“I’ve always had a line of company credit, and so have mum and Caro! You can’t take it away just to save a few pounds.”

“We’re talking more than a few pounds. And Lady Dashwood’s line of credit remains open, as does your sister’s. They manage their finances with restraint. You, however, do not.”

“Grandfather will hear about this!” Natalie snatched up her handbag from between Rhys’s outspread hands. “You’ll find yourself out of a job before the day is over, Mr. Gordon.”

“Go ahead.” He eyed her with contempt. “Run to Sir Richard, because you know he has a soft spot for you, and you take full advantage of it.”

She gasped, outraged. “That’s not true—”

“But this time, it won’t work. Because your grandfather not only agreed to cut off your credit—” Rhys bent down to retrieve a wayward spreadsheet from the carpet and threw it back on his desk “—it was his idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he came around the desk, took her firmly by the arm, and propelled her towards the door “—I’ve work to do. Why don’t you run along and christen a ship?”

Natalie jerked her arm free and turned to face him. “Don’t you dare to patronise me! This isn’t over!”

“No, it isn’t.” His jaw tightened. “You’re on a budget, effective immediately. You can’t buy a box of Weetabix without my approval.”

“What? You can’t put me on a budget!” Natalie sputtered. “You’re not my bloody husband!”

“And thank God for that,” he said acidly.

“I won’t be treated like an empty-headed adolescent—”

“Then stop acting like one,” Rhys retorted, and returned to his desk.

“What about you?” she snapped. “Staying at the Connaught at the company’s expense, swanning all over town in your Jaguar, making a bloody fortune to come in here and boss me round, turning everything upside down—”

“I worked my arse off to get here.” His face was dark with anger. “I’ve worked since I was seventeen, going to school at night and working during the day, and it wasn’t easy. But it taught me responsibility, and it taught me the value of a pound. Two things you’ve yet to learn.” He scowled. “I make no apologies for who I am or how successful I’ve become, Miss Dashwood, because it’s all down to one thing. Hard fucking work.”

He snatched up a sheet of paper from the blotter and thrust it at her.

She flinched. “What’s this?”

“That,” he informed her, “is what’s known as an invoice. It lists money owed for something which one has purchased.”

“You needn’t talk down to me! I can see it’s an invoice—”

“Good. Excellent! We’ve made progress.” He strode, scowling, from his desk to the window. “Now look at the figure owed. Here’s a hint – it’s on the bottom of the page.”