Czytaj książkę: «Manolos In Manhattan»

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One

Chapter Eighty-Two

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The taxi came to a stop halfway down Christopher Street. Holly James emerged from the back seat and tugged at the hem of her short back sheath. The fitted knit seemed to have a mind of its own and kept creeping up her thighs. She leaned back inside to pay the driver and gave him her last five dollars.

He nodded. “Thanks. Enjoy your evening, blondie.”

Blondie? Holly managed a curt nod and turned away. As the taxi drove off, she tucked her clutch under her arm and joined her friend Chaz on the sidewalk. She glanced past him through the gathering dusk to study the brownstone in front of her. Built before the turn of the last century, it was an art deco jewel dropped in the middle of Greenwich Village. Spotlights in the grass illuminated the elegant, four story-façade. The front steps led up to a set of leaded double doors; potted topiaries flanked the entrance.

“Dashwood and James,” she read aloud from the newly installed plaque above the door. “London/New York. Established 1859.”

Months of preparation had gone into planning tonight’s event. Judging from the limos jockeying for position in front of the building and the taxis lining the street, the private pre-launch of her father’s department store ‒ the first Dashwood and James in America ‒ was already a resounding success.

“How do I look?” Chaz asked her with a trace of anxiety. “This suit’s a Tom Ford. I got it at that sample sale last week, sixty percent off ‒ can you believe it?”

“You look fabulous,” Holly told him, and meant it. His suit was three-piece, a dark, almost purple-blue that made the most of his dark hair and olive skin. “You’ll have all the boys drooling.”

“Hope so.” He glanced with approval at her fitted black dress and leopard-print kitten heels. “You look pretty fabulous yourself. Too bad Jamie’s working tonight or you wouldn’t be stuck with me.”

“I’m not ‘stuck’ with you,” she corrected him as she linked her arm through his, “I adore you, and you know it.”

It was true. She and Chaz had clicked the minute they’d met last month at Dashwood and James, where both were employed for the summer...she, because the teen magazine she’d worked on in London had folded, Chaz because he was Rhys Gordon’s new personal assistant.

“Thanks.” He squeezed her arm briefly as they made their way up the walk to the brownstone and went up the steps. “What’s Jamie whipping up for everyone tonight? Pâté de foie gras? Raspberry and lime macaroons? God, those were seriously to die for…”

“Sorry, no. He’s doing an American menu, with Angus beef burger sliders and mini BLT wraps, zucchini frites, and chocolate whiskey cake.” Holly recited the list without thought; God knows, she’d heard Jamie discussing the menu often enough.

“Oh, lord,” Chaz groaned. “There goes my diet. Again.”

The doorman checked their invitations and smiled. “Welcome. Enjoy your evening.”

Holly paused in the open doorway, still holding Chaz’s arm, and surveyed the crowd with satisfaction.

Under the glittering Empire chandelier in the entrance hall ‒ purchased at Sotheby’s in London by her father and shipped at no small expense to New York ‒ crowds of elegantly attired men and women mingled. Laughter and conversation filled the air, along with the muted sound of a three-piece jazz ensemble playing on a raised dais in the corner. Waiters in black tie balanced drink trays on their fingertips and circulated through the crowd.

Chaz leaned forward to grab two drinks from a passing tray. He handed one to Holly and took a sip from the other. “Ugh. Chardonnay. I was hoping for champagne.”

“Oh, please. Dad wouldn’t splash out on champers for something as mundane as this. He spent more on the invitations than he spent on the entire evening. It’s all about priorities.” Holly took an experimental sip of the chardonnay and wrinkled her nose. “I could never be an alcoholic.” She set the glass aside.

“Well,” Chaz mused as his glance swept over the glittering crowd, “it doesn’t look mundane to me.” His eye moved past the men in suits and the fashionably clad guests to land on a tallish young man surrounded by a bevy of women. “Wait a minute. Who’s that?” he demanded as he set his drink down on a nearby table. “Isn’t it...? Oh my God, it is. It’s Ciaran Duncan!”

Holly followed his rapt gaze. “So it is,” she said, and glanced at the film star with disinterest. “I thought I told you he’d be here tonight.” She was far more interested in finding another drink tray, preferably one with mojitos. “He promised to come to the pre-launch tonight as a favor to Mum. He was a guest on Good Morning New York! a couple of years ago, when my parents separated and she was a presenter for about ten minutes.”

“Ooh, your lucky mom,” Chaz murmured as his eyes devoured the movie star.

“She said he was pretty full of himself. Still is, I imagine. Like most actors.”

“Holly,” Chaz said in a low voice as he turned to her and clutched her arm, “you know I adore Ciaran Duncan. He’s the most amazing actor since...since ever! Why didn’t you tell me that your mom knew him? Or that he’d be here tonight? Oh. My. God.” He began to hyperventilate. “I’m breathing the same air as Ciaran Duncan.”

“What’s the big deal? He’s just another floppy-haired English actor with a posh accent...and he probably has wonky teeth. Oh, and sorry, but he’s also hetero.”

“What’s the big deal?” Chaz echoed. “Are you serious? The big deal, my dear clueless Holly, is that Ciaran is...well, aside from the fact that he’s gorgeous, he’s...”

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Holly looked up to see the subject of their conversation standing before her, his right hand outstretched, an amused smile on his lips. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit of charcoal gray and a dark-red tie. She gave him her hand, temporarily mesmerized by the greenish brown of his eyes and the scent of his aftershave and the dazzling white of his perfect, even, decidedly not wonky teeth.

His clasp was firm and warm. “Ciaran Duncan,” he added.

As if she didn’t already know who he was. He was far better looking in person than he was on the screen, if that were possible. “Your teeth are perfect,” she blurted.

He raised his brow slightly. “Now there’s an odd compliment.”

“Sorry. It’s just...you know, the ‘English people have bad teeth’ cliché,” she managed to say. “I’m Holly James. I’m...” she stopped. Who was she? She’d forgotten. “I, um, I’m Alastair’s daughter.”

His smile, like his hand, was warm. “Yes, I know. Natalie Dashwood-Gordon pointed you out when you came in.”

“She did? You know Natalie?” Natalie was her father’s goddaughter and now, since her marriage to Rhys Gordon, she was Holly’s half-sister-in-law.

“Not very well. Your father only introduced us about ten minutes ago.” He glanced down at her hand, still clasped in his, and back at her face. Amusement lingered in his eyes.

Hastily, she released his hand so he wouldn’t think she was a complete idiot...which he probably already did.

She turned to Chaz. “This is my friend, Chaz Williams. He’s—”

“I’m your biggest fan, Mr Duncan,” Chaz gushed. “Oh my God, you have no idea! I’ve seen every one of your movies, every single one, even that one about the English veterinarian that bombed at the box office—”

“Yes, well, the less said about that, the better,” Ciaran said quickly, and took Chaz’s hand in a brief grip. “Very nice to meet you, Mr, er...Chaz.”

Chaz let out something between a whimper and a gasp and very nearly melted on the spot.

Ciaran turned back to Holly. “I wonder if I might trouble you for directions to the loo,” he murmured. “I’ve had a bit too much of that questionable chardonnay.”

She smiled in sympathy. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? My father’s notoriously cheap.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “There are other compensations.”

“Follow me, Mr Duncan.” Holly ignored the disquieting lurch of her heart – you’re engaged to Jamie, she reminded herself – and turned to go. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Please, call me Ciaran.”

“Why don’t you let me show him where the bathroom – I mean the loo – is?” Chaz whispered, and grabbed her arm. “Please!”

“Next time,” Holly promised. “Be right back.”

“Ooh, you’re a heartless bitch,” he hissed.

She grinned and threaded her way through the crowds with Ciaran behind her, everyone smiling and parting like the Red Sea for the two of them, until they reached a door at the end of the hallway. She turned the doorknob, but it was locked.

“Occupied,” she apologized, and led Ciaran towards the front staircase. “You can use one of the bathrooms upstairs,” she said over her shoulder. She unhooked the velvet rope that barred partygoers from the upper floors and waited as he followed her.

“Thanks. I don’t fancy embarrassing myself at your father’s party,” he confided as he followed her up the stairs. “I can see it now – ‘Film star Ciaran Duncan, smelling strongly of wee, appeared at Dashwood and James’s New York City launch to promote his new film, “The Incontinent Continental,”’ he said. “Not the sort of publicity I want, I can assure you.”

Halfway up the stairs, they moved aside to let another man pass on his way down. He was impeccably dressed in black tie. With his somber expression, he wouldn’t have looked out of place at a funeral.

He drew even with them and paused. “Ah. Miss James.”

She glanced over at him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry – you obviously don’t remember me. Your father introduced us last week. Hugh Darcy, the family solicitor.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said, and shook his hand briefly. “Mr Darcy, this is Ciaran Duncan. Ciaran, Mr Darcy.”

“We’ve met,” Darcy said, and ignored Ciaran’s outstretched hand. He turned back to Holly. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss James,” he said, although his expression indicated it was anything but. To Ciaran he said nothing, only cast him an unsmiling glance as he proceeded down the stairs and headed towards the drawing room.

“Well, that was rude,” Holly said, unaccountably annoyed by Hugh Darcy’s unfriendliness. “Who does he think he is, anyway?”

“Perhaps,” Ciaran suggested, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “I’m not the only one here tonight with bathroom issues. Mr Darcy looked rather constipated, even for an Englishman, don’t you think?”

Holly couldn’t help it; she giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to see Mr Darcy pause and glance up at the sound of her laughter, his expression unreadable. She flushed and turned away. “You’re very bad, Mr Duncan,” she whispered.

“So I’ve been told,” he whispered back.

“Come on then, let’s find you a bathroom.”

The guest bath at the end of the upstairs hall was empty. “Here you go, all clear. I’ll see you later.” She turned to go.

He caught her wrist. “If it’s all the same to you, Miss James,” he said as he pulled her forward and slid his arms around her waist, “I’d prefer sooner rather than later,” and he drew her firmly against him, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her.

Holly was too shocked to do more than give in to the – admittedly – skilled persuasion of his lips. He was an excellent kisser. Oddly, he didn’t taste of chardonnay, but of minty toothpaste. Almost as if he’d planned this kiss...

With his lips distracting her, and with her thoughts spinning faster than one of those stationary bikes at SoulCycle, she couldn’t help but respond.

Suddenly Holly realized Ciaran was maneuvering her into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind them with his foot, even as he kept his mouth expertly attached to hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she drew back in mild alarm.

He looked at her in surprise. “Why, having a quickie, of course.” He smiled. “Isn’t that what the Yanks call it?”

Chapter Two

“What are you talking about?” Holly wrenched herself from his grasp and stared at him in astonishment.

“Well,” he explained, his brow lifted in amusement, “a quickie is when two people are instantly, madly attracted to one another, and so they decide on the spur of the moment to get together for a very nice, very quick—”

“I know what a quickie is,” she interrupted. “And I’m most definitely not having one with you.”

“You’re not?” Surprise mingled with confusion crossed his face. “But why? I’m Ciaran Duncan, after all.”

“Because I’m engaged, for starters.”

“Then why,” he asked reasonably, “did you kiss me just now?”

Good question. Why did she kiss him just now? “I was...swept up in the moment. You caught me off guard.”

“Ah.” He smiled.

God, he was smug. “Oh, you think because you’re a film star, I’ll have sex with you, right here, right now? Because you’re famous?” she sputtered.

“Well...yes,” he said mildly. “Most women do.”

“Sorry, but I’m not ‘most women.’ God ‒ you’re an egotistical, oversexed jerk. I don’t even know you! We haven’t been on a date, or had a coffee together, or...or anything.”

“We could consider this a sort of date, couldn’t we?” he suggested, and lifted her hand to his lips. “I’ll buy you a coffee afterwards, if you like. I might even spring for one of those overpriced cookies.”

She snatched her hand away. “No thanks. I don’t sleep with strangers. Or self-important twits.”

“Well, that’s easily remedied.” He pulled out a cell phone from his breast pocket, opened the calendar, and began scrolling through it. “Let’s see...are you free tomorrow night? I’m not headed back to London until next Sunday. We can have an early dinner.” He eyed her expectantly. “And if you’ll let me, I can prove to you that I’m not an egotistical, oversexed jerk. Or a self-important twit.”

“What part of ‘I’m engaged’ don’t you get?”

“You’re not in love with your fiancé, whoever he is. If you were, you wouldn’t be here now.”

She gasped. “What? How dare you. You don’t know anything about my fiancé. Or me.”

“Interesting. I didn’t know women still said ‘how dare you,’” he replied, unperturbed. “And you’re right, I don’t know you. But I’d like to.”

Holly stared at him, too furious – and okay, too flattered by his interest, no matter how unwanted – to speak.

“One date. One dinner. That’s all I ask.” He smiled roguishly. “Think of it this way ‒ it’ll be good publicity for the store,” he pointed out. “And if, after dinner, you decide you still don’t like me, I’ll be winging my way to the other side of the Atlantic the very next day, and you’ll never see me again. Unless, of course, you go to see my new movie, Charmed, coming to theaters everywhere on first August.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “You really do take the cake. Thanks, but the answer’s still no.”

Surprise flickered over his face, gone as quickly as it came, and his expression smoothed back into its customary amusement. “Well ‒ one can’t blame a chap for trying.”

He turned away to open the door.

“Maybe if I wasn’t engaged...” Holly blurted, and froze. Had this man – this actor – put her under some kind of a movie star spell, or something?

Thankfully, he didn’t hear her as he’d already stepped out into the hall. “I apologise if I misread the situation. Goodnight, Miss James.”

“Goodnight.”

As she followed him into the hall, she heard footsteps, and glanced up to see her father Alastair coming towards them. “Dad?” Oh, shit. She hoped he hadn’t seen her come out of the bathroom with Ciaran.

“Holly? What are you doing up here?” His glance flitted from his daughter to Ciaran and back to Holly again.

She 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.