Prada And Prejudice. Katie Oliver

definitely be better.

      She splashed water on her face and tugged at the wrinkled Blondie T-shirt she’d slept in – second night in a row, must do laundry – and went to the door. The buzzer sounded again.

      “Hold on!” she muttered, annoyed. Tarquin was impatient. And early. Natalie already regretted asking him to go clothes shopping with her. Much nicer to have a nice lie-in, then a late lunch, perhaps pop in to Chanel for a look around…

      She pressed the speaker button. “Come up.” She barely had time to drag a comb through her hair and brush her teeth when Tarquin knocked on the door.

      “You won’t believe it, Tark,” Natalie said as she swung the flat door open, “but I forgot about going shopping today—”

      “You, forget about shopping? Impossible.”

      It took a moment to process the fact that it wasn’t Tark who stood in her doorway, but Rhys Gordon.

      Rhys bloody Gordon! He looked at her as if he’d never seen a girl in a T-shirt and…well, to be honest…not much else.

      She crossed her arms self-consciously against her bra-less chest. “Rhys! What are you doing here?”

      “I’ve had your car filled with petrol and brought round. I tried to call,” he added, “but your mobile’s turned off and your telephone’s been disconnected.”

      Although he didn’t say it, she knew he longed to criticise her for these latest infractions.

      But all he said was, “Sorry if I woke you. I know it’s a bit early, but I’m on my way in to work.”

      She leaned against the doorjamb. “I really appreciate your help last night,” she said, and meant it. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along.”

      “Check your petrol gauge now and then. And don’t hide your phone in the bloody pantry. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

      She opened the door a bit wider and stood aside. “At least come in and let me give you a cup of tea — or coffee? —before you go. I owe you that much.”

      He nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to a coffee. Thanks.”

      “Let me grab a pair of jeans first. I’ll be right back.”

      “I can’t stay long,” he called out after her. “The bloke from the petrol station followed me in your car; I’ve got to take him back.”

      “Is he perched on the back of your motorbike?”

      “No, I’ve got the Jag.”

      Natalie emerged from the bedroom five minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with her hair sorted and a slick of lipstick on her mouth. “I’ll get that coffee. Won’t take me a second, it’s only instant.”

      She switched the kettle on and spooned Nescafe into two mismatched mugs. “Sorry I don’t have real coffee. I need to do a shop but I haven’t had time.”

      “Oh, you cook?”

      “You needn’t sound so surprised,” she said, indignant. “Yes, I cook. I make a great spaghetti Bolognese. And my Victoria sponge is better than mum’s.”

      The kettle whistled. She poured hot water into their cups and handed one to Rhys.

      “Thanks. Stop by my office later and we’ll go over those numbers.”

      “I can’t. I’m going shopping with Tark this morning.” At his puzzled look she added, “Tarquin Magnus Campbell. He’s heir to the fourth earl of Draemar and he’s my dearest friend. He and Wren are getting married in Scotland next month, so of course I need a dress…and a wedding gift.”

      Rhys narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

      “What do you mean?” she demanded.

      “If you need clothes, it means you plan to spend money. That’s never a good thing.”

      “Ha bloody ha. Perhaps I might stop by your office after lunch? You could show me the figures then.”

      He nodded. “I’ll see you later, then.”

      The buzzer sounded again. “That’s Tarquin,” Natalie announced. She walked over and pressed the button. “Come up.”

      “I should go,” Rhys said. “Thanks for the coffee.” He added pointedly, “Try to buy something on sale. And if your car ever breaks down again, promise me you’ll lock the doors and stay put.”

      Natalie’s gaze collided with his. He really did have the most penetrating blue eyes. “You know,” she blurted, “you’re almost nice when you want to be.”

      He raised his brow. “Only almost? I’ll have to work on that.”

      Several rapid-fire knocks sounded on the door.

      Natalie let out an exasperated breath. “It’s like Waterloo Station in here this morning! Excuse me.”

      She left Rhys in the kitchen and hurried down the hallway to open the door, then froze. “Dominic!” She pulled the door shut behind her and stepped into the hall. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.

      Dominic leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. He reeked of stale Gitanes and whiskey. “We need to talk, Nat.”

      “You’re drunk, Dom. And we’ve nothing to talk about. You’re with Keeley now.”

      “I’m not, not really! It’s all for publicity. There’s no reason we can’t still see each other. I miss you, Nat.” He leaned forward unsteadily to kiss her.

      Natalie backed away in disgust. “You want me as your bit on the side, you mean.”

      “Come on, Nat, it’s not like that. Besides,” he pointed out, “the tabs all say you and Gordon are having a go—”

      The door swung open. “Is everything all right?” Rhys asked. He fixed his piercing gaze on Dominic.

      Dominic turned back to Natalie with an accusatory glare. “What’s ‘e doing here?”

      Natalie glanced at Rhys. “I ran out of petrol last night, and Rhys—”

      “—I brought her home, mate,” Rhys finished, and lifted his coffee mug to Dominic in mock salute.

      Nat leaned forward, playing along, and stood on her toes to kiss Rhys on the cheek. He smelled enticingly of soap and aftershave. “You were a star last night. Thanks again.”

      He handed her his half-empty mug. “You’re welcome. Now I’ve got to go. I’ll see you this afternoon?”

      Natalie nodded. “I’ll be there.”

      Rhys left, and Dominic’s scowl deepened. He looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. He swayed slightly on his feet and demanded, “What’s going on? I’ve seen the tabloids. You’re not shagging that plonker, are you?”

      A distracted smile curved Natalie’s lips. “Not yet.” Her smile vanished as she added crossly, “What do you care, anyway? You broke up with me, or have you forgotten?”

      “Look, Nat,” he protested, “he’s 28, practically old enough to be your…your uncle! Besides, I still love you—”

      “Oh, piss off, Dominic. Go sleep it off. And then go…smash a guitar, or something.” She left him in the hall, scowling, and shut the door smartly in his face.

      Dominic didn’t take Natalie’s advice. Instead he found himself, two hours and a half a bottle of Chivas Regal later, slumped next to Keeley in the front row of Klaus von Richter’s spring preview fashion show.

      How in bloody hell had that happened?

      He crossed his arms against his chest and slouched back