Рецепт свадебного пудинга. Галина Осень

wear in a million years?

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘I’M NOT WEARING THAT.’

      Dominic sighed and turned towards his newest employee with his best ‘I’m the boss’ face in place. Faith stared back at him, unaffected.

      He hadn’t expected the airport to be a shopping Mecca—he was normally more concerned with finding a quiet spot in the first-class lounge to work when he passed through. Still, he knew that there were plenty of shops, and that people enjoyed taking advantage of them.

      Sadly, it hadn’t occurred to him that most of them would be selling holiday apparel, especially at this time of year. Options for professional attire were somewhat limited.

      ‘It’s a suit, Faith. An inoffensive grey suit. It’s perfectly respectable. What’s wrong with it?’

      ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Eyebrows raised, she parroted his words back at him. ‘It’s a suit. A perfectly respectable, inoffensive suit. Do I look like the sort of woman who likes to appear respectable and inoffensive?’

      ‘Well, you don’t look like a Beresford employee yet, if that’s what you mean.’ Hooking the clothes hanger back onto the rail, he smiled apologetically at the shop assistant and followed Faith back out of the shop, into the crowded terminal. A large clock, hanging somewhere overhead like a countdown, told him his clients would be arriving in less than an hour, and Faith still looked like a waitress in a university bar.

      ‘Look, here’s the deal,’ he said, waiting until she stopped walking and turned to face him before continuing. ‘If you want to work for me, you have to look like a professional, grown-up woman.’

      ‘As opposed to?’ Faith asked, eyebrows raised.

      How to put it... In the end, Dominic decided to err on the side of caution. ‘This is a bigger, more important job. You can’t just look like a tour guide.’

      Faith’s mouth tightened, and Dominic prepared himself for an onslaught of objections. But instead, eyes narrowed, she held out a hand. ‘Give me the money.’

      ‘What?’

      She rubbed her fingers together. ‘Hand over the cash you would have spent on that hideous suit. Then go and get yourself a coffee.’

      ‘And what are you going to do?’ Against his better judgement, Dominic was already pulling the notes from his wallet. It hadn’t been a cheap suit.

      ‘I’m going to show you that you don’t have to spend a fortune on something that looks the same as what everyone else is wearing to look professional.’ She took the money and tucked it into her bag. ‘I’ll meet you over there in forty-five minutes.’ Then, waving her hand in the direction of a coffee shop, she walked off, leaving him a few hundred pounds lighter, and minus one employee.

      Apparently, she’d taken the trust he’d promised her, and run with it.

      * * *

      If there was one thing Faith knew, it was how to shop for clothes. Growing up, her mother had instilled in her the need to look polished, appropriate and, above all, expensive. In the years when her father had spent most of the estate income on a horse that didn’t come in or a woman who visited far too frequently, wearing something new and fabulous to every occasion could be something of a problem. And once her parents had finally admitted that the money was gone, and Faith said goodbye to her boarding school blazer, trying to fit in at the local secondary school, even in the same polyester skirt as everyone else, had been a whole new challenge.

      There, clothes had been the least of her worries. There, she’d been the rich kid with no money, the posh kid who swore like a sailor, the girl who thought she was too good for them, even if she didn’t. There’d been no place for her at all, no little corner to fit in, and the loneliness of it still burned if she thought about it too much. She’d spent lessons daydreaming about being someone else. About leaving home, her parents and her title behind her. Of being Just Faith, instead of Lady Faith.

      She’d thought she’d managed it, once she left school and moved to London. Thought she was her own person for once. Except it was so easy to fall in with people who she realised, too late, only wanted her for her title. Women who had closets of spare outfits to dress her up in, dresses and skirts that cost a fortune but barely had the structural integrity to survive a night of dancing and drinking at whatever club they used her name to get into.

      They definitely weren’t the sort of clothes Dominic wanted her wearing on this job.

      Later, living abroad, alone and with only her seasonal tour earnings to keep her, clothing hadn’t been a priority. She’d been her own person for the first time ever, and she hadn’t had to dress a certain way to prove it. The sense of freedom, of relief, was enough. So she had uniforms for work and a small, flexible, casual wardrobe for the rest of the time.

      Dominic had been right about one thing—not that she’d admit it to him—this new job required new clothes.

      But she’d be damned if she was spending the next week and a half in one plain, boring suit.

      She didn’t have long, so she worked a strike attack formula, identifying the three closest mid-range high street stores most likely to stock the sort of thing she needed. In the first, she picked up two skirts—one grey, one black—and a couple of bright cardigans. In the next, a jacket, three blouses and a lightweight scarf. The last shop took the largest chunk of her money, but in return provided her with a pair of low heels that looked professional, but that she could walk miles in. When she mixed in the plain T-shirts, underwear, bag, dress, make-up and jewellery she’d brought with her from Rome, she thought she was pretty much prepared for anything Lord Dominic Beresford could throw at her that week.

      Stepping out of the last shop, laden with bags, she checked her watch. Five minutes left. Just enough time to change.

      It was strangely gratifying to walk into the coffee shop and realise that Dominic hadn’t even recognised her. He glanced up when she walked in, but his gaze flicked quickly away from her and back to the clock on the wall. He expected her to be late.

      Dumping her bags on an empty chair, she dropped into the seat opposite him and grinned as his eyes widened. This time, he studied her carefully, taking in the jacket and blouse—worn over her white T-shirt to ensure maximum modesty in the cleavage department—and the way she’d pinned her hair back from her face.

      She gave him a minute to appreciate the transformation, then said, ‘This works for you?’

      Dominic nodded.

      ‘Great.’ Grabbing his coffee from in front of him, she drained the last inch of caffeine. ‘Then let’s go meet your clients.’

      * * *

      He had to stop looking at her. What kind of a professional impression did it make if he couldn’t stop staring at his employee? It was just...a transformation. Faith looked respectable, efficient, and yet still utterly herself. And he still didn’t quite understand how she’d managed to make his money stretch to the bags and bags of shopping he’d had to send back to the hotel before they headed to arrivals.

      Now, while his driver loaded up their suitcases and Faith’s shopping at the hotel, they were waiting in the arrivals hall for the next flight in from JFK. He could have sent a driver to meet them, Dominic supposed, but Kat had always hammered home the importance of the personal touch. And since she wasn’t here to be personal any longer, that just left him. And Faith.

      His gaze slid left again, taking in the way she gripped her fingers tightly in her other hand. Was she nervous? Did Faith really get nervous? It seemed unlikely.

      ‘They’re a nice bunch,’ he said awkwardly, in an attempt to set her mind at ease.

      ‘I’m sure.’

      ‘They’ll like you.’

      She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Of course they will.