.

And ze shirt—if you can call zat zing a shirt—and ze trousers...ze shoes too... Burn it all!’

      ‘Now hold on—!’ Max began, only to yelp as Allegra placed her heel firmly on his foot.

      ‘Don’t worry, Dickie. I’ll take care of it. Take off your jacket,’ she ordered Max out of the corner of her mouth.

      ‘This is my work suit!’ he muttered back as he took it off reluctantly. ‘Don’t you dare burn it.’

      ‘Don’t panic. I’ll just take it home where it doesn’t upset Dickie.’

      ‘What about upsetting me?’

      Allegra ignored him. ‘What sort of look do you think for cocktails?’ she asked Dickie. ‘Funky? Or suave and sophisticated?’

      Dickie stood back and studied Max critically, mentally stripping him of the offending clothes, and Max shifted self-consciously.

      ‘I zink sophisticated, but with an edge,’ Dickie proclaimed at last.

      ‘Perfect,’ said Allegra, the traitor. ‘Not too obvious, but interesting. A look that shows Darcy he’s confident enough to make his own fashion statement? A little quirky, perhaps?’

      Fashion statement? Jeez...Max pinched the bridge of his nose as Allegra and Dickie talked over him. He should be checking the material testing results, or writing up the geological survey for the motorway-widening bid, not standing here like a dumb ox while they wittered on about fashion statements!

      ‘Quirky?’ Dickie considered. ‘Per’aps you ’ave somezing zere...’

      Max was convinced now that the French accent was put on. No one could really speak that ridiculously.

      Although, for a man prepared to wear that bow tie, being ridiculous obviously wasn’t a problem.

      ‘What do you think?’ Allegra asked anxiously. ‘Can you do something with Max?’

      For answer, Dickie spun on his heel and clapped his hands at his minions, who had been waiting subserviently, talking to each other in hushed voices as they waited for the great man to pronounce.

      ‘Bring out ze shirts,’ he ordered.

      ‘Behave,’ Allegra whispered in Max’s ear.

      ‘I am behaving!’

      ‘You’re not. You’re glaring at Dickie. Do you want me glaring at Bob Laskovski over that dinner?’

      ‘No,’ he admitted.

      ‘Well, then.’

      Allegra could see Max balking as racks of clothes surrounded him like wagons and Dickie started snapping his fingers at his assistants, who leapt forward and held up shirts side by side. Max’s eyes were rolling nervously like a spooked horse and he practically had his ears flattened to his head, but Allegra stood behind Dickie and mouthed ‘remember the dinner’ at him until he sulkily complied and agreed to try on some shirts.

      Unbuttoning his cuffs, he hooked his fingers into the back of his shirt and dragged it over his head and Allegra and Dickie both drew a sharp breath. Who would have guessed that Max had such a broad, smooth, sexy back beneath that dull shirt? Allegra felt quite...unsettled.