Manolos in Manhattan (26 page)

“I can’t,” she said again, firmly. She tucked her trainers in the carryall. “Sorry, but I just can’t do this right now. We’ll talk later.”

She didn’t wait for his response, but grabbed up her purse and carryall and fled, leaving Jamie standing, bewildered, in the hotel room doorway.

When she stepped off the lift, Holly went to one of the couches in the hotel lobby and sank down with her carryall at her feet to gather her thoughts.

What the hell had she just done? Was she really throwing away her relationship with Jamie over a stupid misunderstanding? It was crazy. All she and Ciaran had done was have a burger at the Shake Shack.

Renewed anger gripped her. How dare Jamie accuse her of lacking ambition! It wasn’t her fault the bloody magazine had folded. It wasn’t her fault Ciaran was here in Manhattan and that they kept running into each other.

And it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t seem to stop
thinking
about him.

Was it?

Guiltily Holly glanced at her wristwatch. It was half-past eleven, too late to call Ciaran and pour out her story of woe. She couldn’t do that, at any rate; if Jamie found out she’d gone running straight to Ciaran, they’d be finished. Done. Over.

Besides, she didn’t want to involve Ciaran in the fallout from her imploding relationship with Jamie. It wasn’t fair to him, or to Jamie.

No, she decided as she took out her mobile phone, there was only one thing to do in a situation like this.

She’d go and crash at Natalie’s.

Chapter Forty-Four

The door swung open.

“Oh, Hols,” Natalie said softly, and came out to envelop her in a hug. “Are you okay? What happened? Come in and tell me
everything
.”

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?” Holly asked as she followed Natalie’s pajama-clad back down the hallway to the kitchen. “I know it’s kind of late.”

“I’m often up late,” Nat admitted as she put on the kettle, “reading mystery novels and baby books. Although I don’t know why I bother. All I do is frighten myself half to death.”

“I know. Some of those murder mysteries are pretty scary.”

Natalie set a mug and spoon down on the kitchen table in front of Holly. “I meant the baby books.” She shuddered. “Episiotomies, caesareans, preeclampsia...just give me lots of drugs and wake me when it’s over.” She took a seat across from her. “Tell me what’s happened. Are you and Jamie done?”

“I don’t know,” Holly said truthfully. “Possibly. And it’s all so stupid.”

“Trust me, it usually is. What did he do? Or, more to the point, what did
you
do?”

“It’s what we’ve both done.” Briefly Holly relayed the events of the past couple of weeks, leaving nothing out...from the long hours Jamie spent with Catherine, to her own persistent (and unwanted) feelings for Ciaran.

“Well...who do you most want to be with?” Natalie asked her when Holly finished. “Jamie, or Ciaran?”

“I don’t know! That’s just it. I’m confused, and upset, and my thoughts are all muddled.”

Nat got up to pour their tea and sat back down with a sigh. “I wish I had your problems. Two gorgeous men, one undecided girl – crikey, it sounds like the blurb for a romance novel.”

“It’s not romantic at all,” Holly assured her moodily as she spooned sugar into her cup. “It’s horrible. What am I going to
do
?”

“You said Ciaran asked you to go to the film première with him this weekend, didn’t you?”

“On Saturday.” She raised her head in dawning horror. “Oh my God ‒ that’s tomorrow! I can’t possibly go now.”

“Text him,” Nat said firmly.

“What? Right now? But it’s nearly midnight.”

“So? Even if he’s asleep – which I doubt ‒ he’ll see it first thing in the morning. Text him,” Natalie said again, “and either tell him you’re not going, or tell him you’ll see him tomorrow.”

Holly eyed her doubtfully. “I don’t know...”

“If you decide to go, tell him you’re looking forward to the première. If you decide not to go,” she added, and sipped her chamomile tea, “let him know so he can ask someone else. And you can patch things up with Jamie.”

“I can’t go now, not after this row. If Jamie sees photos of Ciaran and I getting out of his limo, walking down the red carpet together, he’ll be furious…”

“Yes, I’m sure he will.” Natalie set her cup down. “But he’ll also realize that he’ll lose you altogether if he doesn’t get his act together and marry you. Force his hand, Holly.”

Holly sighed, her brow furrowed. “We’re supposed to have dinner with Catherine and Izzy on Sunday night.”

“Perfect,” Nat said. “You can make up with Jamie on Sunday –
if
that’s what you still want after you spend tomorrow evening with Ciaran – and you then can go out to dinner together and celebrate. There. There’s your problem, sorted.”

“Nat,” Holly admitted, “you’re brilliant! That’s a perfect solution. I’ll spend Saturday evening with Ciaran, and Sunday evening with Jamie...and then I can decide who I
really
want to be with.”

The Midtown Café wasn’t crowded on Saturday morning as Gavin Williams took a seat at one of the tables outside. His glance took in a few scattered businessmen, reading the
Wall Street Journal
or the
Post
as they gulped down coffee, as well as several stylishly dressed mothers meeting for late-morning lattes after the school run.

Gavin had asked Tonio to meet him here so they could (he hoped) talk without drama. Which was never an easy task, given his on-again/off-again boyfriend’s propensity for making a scene...

“Hello, Gavin.”

He looked up to see Tonio sliding into the empty chair across from him. “Hey. You’re looking good,” he approved. “Very urban-hipster-meets-average-Joe. I like it.”

Tonio glanced down at his hoodie and Levis and shrugged. “I’m dressing down today. Believe me, Converse and jeans are
such
a relief after wearing six-inch heels and a Spandex dress for two hours.”

“I can imagine.”

The waiter arrived and Tonio ordered a coffee, black, with an extra shot. “So tell me,” he said as the waiter left, “what’s this about? Are you here to explain why you took my watch back and then made it look like one of those cat burglaries? Or are you here to dump me? Or both?”

“Neither,” Gavin said firmly. “And what do you mean, I ‘made it look like those other cat burglaries’?”

“Right, pretend you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

“It isn’t common knowledge, but the cops told me the burglar leaves a Top Cat bar at the scene of every crime. Like
you
did when you took my watch.”

Gavin stared at him. “Did you tell the police that I took it?”

“No. But maybe I should have.”

“I didn’t take your watch, Tonio. Why would I do that? I
gave
you that watch!”

Tonio regarded him with a flinty eye. “It’s no secret that you’re in debt up to your cute little ass, Gavvie. You owe, you owe, it’s off to decorate you go. That Cartier’s worth enough to make a nice little dent in your debt.”

“That’s absurd.” Gavin lowered his voice and leaned forward, his hands tightening around his coffee cup. “It’s true I overextended myself a bit when I bought that place in Montauk. But I’m managing. I’m in the process of refinancing ‒ I even sold a few pieces from my art collection.”

“Hmph.” The skeptical expression on Tonio’s face said he wasn’t completely convinced.

“Look, the reason I asked you here,” Gavin went on, “is because I want to take you to dinner. We haven’t gone out to celebrate in far too long. I know you have shows on Friday and Saturday night – so what about tomorrow night? Del Posto. I’ve already made reservations.”

Tonio was silent as the waiter delivered his coffee and left. He took a sip and wavered. “You know I
love
Del Posto.”

Gavin smiled slightly. “That’s why I chose it.”

“You’ve neglected me ‒ us ‒ lately. I should’ve broken up with you long ago.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m really sorry for that. I’m just scrambling to get new clients, trying to get my finances in order. But things are finally settling down.” Gavin covered Tonio’s free hand with his. “Will you go? I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow night.”

“Well, I know I shouldn’t,” Tonio said as he gave Gavin’s hand a squeeze in return, “but Del Posto is culinary catnip I just can’t resist, and you
know
it. See you at eight?” he added as he stood up to go.

“On the dot. Just come downstairs, and I’ll be waiting to escort you in style.”

“Fabulous.” He hesitated. “Sorry I doubted you about the watch. Truly. Because in my heart, I
know
you’d never do something so underhanded.
Ciao
, Gavvie.”

“
Ciao
.”

As Gavin watched Tonio saunter off down the pavement, a to-go coffee cup in hand and a spring in his step, his expression grew troubled.

He hoped Tonio believed him. He hoped he didn’t honestly think that Gavin had broken in his apartment and taken that damned watch.

Even though
, Gavin thought uneasily as he stood and tucked a couple of dollar bills under his half-empty cup,
the idea definitely crossed my mind
.

But thinking wasn’t the same as doing. Thank God.

Which led him to a more troubling thought. Who
had
taken Tonio’s watch? A random thief? The cat burglar?

Or was someone trying to set him up?

Chapter Forty-Five

“I don’t fucking
believe
this!”

Natalie looked up from her Saturday morning coffee in wide-eyed alarm. “Rhys, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“What’s happened?” He flung his phone down with a savage motion and turned to face her. “The entire first floor of Dashwood and James is
flooded
, that’s what’s happened! Fuck!”

“Flooded?” she echoed, dismayed. “But how could that be?”

“Chaz just arrived and discovered the sprinkler system went off at some point during the night. That means hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise is soaked. Ruined!”

Her heart sank. “Well, you have flood insurance, don’t you?”

“Of course we do. It’s mandatory. But with the launch coming up soon, and the entire first floor and everything on it ruined, it doesn’t much matter. There’s no way we can replace everything in time for the opening. Fuck!” he said again, and grabbed up his briefcase and keys and turned to go.

“Oh, darling...I’m sorry!” Another thought occurred to Natalie as she followed him out to the door. “I suppose this means we can’t go to Christa’s concert tonight.”

“No.” Rhys paused, his hand on the doorknob. “No, I can’t possibly go now – but there’s no reason you can’t. Take Holly along. Just give her my ticket.”

“I can’t. She’s going to a film premièrewith Ciaran Duncan.”

He frowned. “What? Oh, never mind. I haven’t time. Dominic’s sending a car along to fetch us tonight, isn’t he?”

Natalie nodded. “At seven.” Her ex-boyfriend had finally put his wild past behind him and married Gemma, Rhys’s former personal assistant.

“Good. I’ll just have a word and ask him to escort you to the concert in my place. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige. Is Gemma going?”

“No, she’s in London. Dom’s only here for a few days to cut another single with Christa.”

“Right. I’ll call him on the way in to work.” He planted a distracted kiss on her cheek and turned to go.

“Rhys?” she said.

“What?”

“I love you. Don’t worry,” she said earnestly, “it’ll all work out.”

He turned back and kissed her. “I love you too.” He gave her a half-hearted smile. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

“No need. You’re amazing in a crunch.”

He squeezed her hand and turned away. “We’ll see soon enough. Fuck! I should’ve known that things were going along entirely too well.”

Late that afternoon, Rhys sagged back wearily in his chair and surveyed the paperwork littering his desk. He’d contacted the insurance company and filed a claim straightaway; he and the insurance adjuster had spent most of the day surveying the damage caused by the malfunctioning sprinkler system.

And just as he’d feared, the damaged merchandise couldn’t possibly be inventoried and replaced in time for the store launch. Only a few of the clothing items could be salvaged.

What the hell was he going to do?

“We could call in one of those professional water-damage restoration services,” Chaz suggested.

“Too expensive,” Rhys said immediately. “And they’ll want even more for a rush job. That’s why we have insurance. At least the flooring wasn’t damaged, thank fuck.” He let out a long, frustrated breath. “It’s a pity we’re not in London; I could call one of the other stores and have enough stock sent over to make up the loss straight away. Problem solved.”

The only thing he
could
do, he realized, was rearrange and relocate the menswear and ladies’ casuals from the second and third floors onto the first.

“There must be
some
way to fix this,” Chaz said.

Rhys shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions. But once all of the damaged stock is taken out, there won’t be a bloody thing left. It’ll make for a pretty sparse selling floor.”

“We could give the first floor a streamlined look,” Chaz suggested thoughtfully as he leaned against the edge of Rhys’s desk. “You know, like one of those trendy Swedish boutiques – lots of space in between the racks and counters. Very edgy and minimalist.”

“Like we’ve made a deliberate design choice.”

“Exactly.”

“I think,” Rhys mused, and leaned forward, “your idea might work.” He reached for the phone. “Thanks, Chaz. I’ll call Alastair and let him know what’s going on. You can call a few people…” He jotted down some names on a notepad and handed it to him. “And ask them to come in tomorrow and help us start moving and setting up.”

“I’ll get right on it,” he promised, and stood. He hesitated. “Oh, and Mr Gordon – I mean, Rhys?”

He glanced up expectantly. “Yes?”

“I hate to ask, but...is it okay if I go to Christa’s concert tonight? You probably don’t remember, but you and Natalie gave me a couple of extra tickets a few weeks ago, and I – I made plans. I...invited someone.”