Manolos in Manhattan (36 page)

“Hello, Holly,” Hugh said, and paused at her desk on his way to Alastair’s office. He cleared his throat and attempted a smile. “You look very nice today.”

She stared at him, and Ciaran’s words on the yacht came back to her.

...no question that Darcy was the father...made it clear a baby didn’t fit into his career plans
...
insisted she get rid of it...

She leveled a glare at Darcy that would’ve frozen fire.

His smile faltered and, after an awkward pause, he left.

Holly spent the rest of the afternoon handing out flyers on the street. A few people took them; most brushed rudely past her, in too much of a hurry (like most New Yorkers) to stop and take a look.

Next, she traipsed in and out of nearby delis, dress shops, bookstores, and laundromats in her mini-dress and Steve Madden heels and asked if she might post the flyer in their windows. Most said yes. The local butcher propositioned her. A Pakistani with a fearsome squint screamed at her and chased her out of his Halal grocery with a broom.

By the time Holly returned to Dashwood and James and flopped, exhausted, into her chair, the office was nearly empty. Coco, of course, had long since gone home.

As she kicked off her shoes and rubbed her blistered feet, Holly noticed that Hugh’s office light was on. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly six. What on earth was Darcy doing here so late? She scowled. He was probably planning to seduce, impregnate and discard his next victim...

She padded, barefoot, to his office door. “Mr Darcy?”

He looked up from the papers and law books littering his desk. A pair of black-framed glasses rested on the end of his nose.

“Holly,” he said, and hurriedly removed them. “I’m surprised to see you still here. You usually leave at four, don’t you?”

“Usually,” she agreed coolly as she rested her back against the doorjamb, “but Coco had other ideas. I’ve been handing out flyers for the D&J launch all over mid-town Manhattan for most of the afternoon.”

Hugh sighed. “Good God. She never stops tormenting you, does she?”

“No.” She crossed her arms against her chest and eyed his desk in curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“Your father wants to purchase another property.”

“Another property?” She frowned. “You mean, for another store?”

“I’m really not at liberty to say.”

“Oh, don’t get all lawyerly on me,” Holly snapped. “You can tell me what my own father’s up to, can’t you? I’m his daughter, after all.”

“I really can’t discuss it, not even with you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr Darcy,” Holly coaxed. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise I won’t.”

He hesitated. “Well...” He sat up and regarded her with a stern expression. “But this isn’t to go any further than my office,” he warned her.

“Okay,” she agreed, impatient. “Now please just tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, your father‒” he folded his hands together on the blotter “‒is purchasing a house in Connecticut. He’s planning to stay here in the States for the...foreseeable future.”

Holly gazed at him in dismay. Although her mother hadn’t confided in her, she suspected her parents must’ve had another falling out. Mum was irritable and morose; her father was surly and incommunicative.

Coco, on the other hand, was frequently in Alastair’s company – shut up in his office, her head next to his at the copier or in the kitchen – and only today, they’d had lunch together, in her father’s office. With the door closed.

Could it be that her parents’ marriage was really and truly over? Had dad given up on her mother and moved on...to
Coco
? Was he about to buy a house in Connecticut and shackle himself for life to the she-beast?

Worse still...was Coco Welch about to become her
stepmother
?

As if the thought had conjured her up, the distinctive scent of Flowerbomb preceded Coco as she appeared next to Holly in the doorway. “What are you two doing here so late?”

Holly eyed her. “I could ask you the same thing.” Coco wore a sheath dress of dark-green satin that perfectly accentuated her dark hair and green eyes – not to mention her nothing-to-sneeze-at curves.

“I forgot something,” Coco replied, “not that I need to explain myself to you. Either of you,” she added pointedly as she met Darcy’s impassive gaze.

“Well...you look great,” Holly said reluctantly, even though it pained her to say so. She’d long since learned that flattery was the only way around her father’s promotions manager. “Are you going out?”

Coco paused in the act of searching her clutch and looked up at Holly. “Yes, I am. I’m having dinner with Alastair.” Her lips curved up in a smug little smile.

With that, she turned on her black Manolo heel and strode away, leaving the faint scent of Viktor and Rolf behind her.

Hugh shook his head. “That woman is relentless.”

“She might be relentless,” Holly retorted, “but at least she isn’t heartless, or a horrible, self-centered
knob
.” She glared at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy threw down his pen and glared back. “And why did you give me a look earlier that would’ve curdled milk? You’re obviously angry at me, Miss James. Kindly stop speaking in riddles and tell me why.”

“You’re right ‒ I
am
angry! Furious, in fact,” she snapped. “And I’ll be
happy
to tell you why—”

Her cell phone chose that moment to ring: ‘You Make Me Wanna,’ Ciaran’s ringtone ‒ and she turned away to answer it. “Hello.”

“Hello, Holly,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “I called to see if you’re free for dinner on Saturday night. I’ve booked a table at Le Cirque. I owe you a birthday dinner, and I never renege on my debts.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.

“Oh, but I do. And I promise you,” he added meaningfully, “it’ll be a
very
special evening.”

Dazed, Holly mumbled her thanks and pressed “End Call.” She turned away, her anger at Darcy forgotten for the moment and her thoughts preoccupied with planning a suitable outfit for Saturday night...

...the night that Ciaran Duncan planned to pop the question.

“You haven’t answered me,” Hugh called after her. “We’re not finished here!”

She paused in the doorway and turned back to look at him, her expression cold. “Oh, yes, Mr Darcy, we are. Finished, that is. Good night.”

And without another word, she returned to her desk to gather up her shoes and handbag, and left.

Chapter Sixty-Three

For the rest of the week Holly and Hugh studiously avoided one another. It wasn’t easy to do since they both worked together in a relatively small space; but somehow they managed it. Hugh’s expression, on the rare occasion when he happened to glance her way, was troubled.

But he made no further attempt to speak to her.

And strangely enough, instead of being relieved, Holly felt his absence keenly. She missed their lunches at Shatz’s deli; she missed his droll observations on Coco and her outfits; she even missed his occasional criticism of her own ‘appalling’ (his words) driving skills and over-fondness for pickles.

But then she’d remember what Ciaran had told her, and how horribly Hugh Darcy had treated Ciaran’s sister Jane; and her steely determination to avoid him at all costs remained firm.

“I’ve brought you here to Le Cirque,” Ciaran said on Saturday night as he met Holly’s gaze across the table, “for two reasons. Firstly, I broke my promise to bring you here for your birthday. And secondly, I need to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Holly looked at him in surprise. “For what?”

“For my regrettable behavior on the yacht, of course,” he replied. “My seasickness cut our evening short, and, needless to say, I felt like a complete knob afterwards.”

Holly smiled in sympathy. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m just sorry you got so sick.”

“Not half as sorry as I was, believe me.”

As they finished dinner, the waiter arrived to clear their dishes and departed.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Ciaran ventured, “but I’ve taken the liberty of ordering dessert.”

A moment later the waiter returned, bearing two exquisitely plated dark chocolate cakes, artfully drizzled with raspberry coulis and sprinkled with flecks of gold. A single sparkler sizzled atop Holly’s cake.

“Happy belated birthday, Holly,” he said, and reached across the table to enfold her hand in his.

She felt the warmth of a blush creep across her cheeks. “Thank you, Ciaran.”

He squeezed her hand and let go. “Dig in,” he commanded. “This cake is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

Obediently Holly took a bite. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, reveling in the complex richness of bitter-chocolate contrasted with the sweetness of the raspberry coulis.

“Well?” Ciaran asked, amused. “Do you approve?”

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Oh, yes. I may never eat a Hostess cupcake again.”

“Good. Now, finish your dessert. At these prices,” he confided, “we can’t afford not to.”

She smiled and picked up her fork once again. “Well, if you insist...”

Halfway through her cake, Holly’s fork clinked against something hard. She paused, startled.

“What’s wrong?” Ciaran inquired.

“There’s...there’s something in my cake. Something hard, and,” she gasped as she leaned over her plate “shiny! It...looks like a ring.”

Immediately a waiter materialized. “Allow me, madam,” he said, and took her plate. “We’ll replace it at once.”

“No, wait!” Holly exclaimed, and grabbed the waiter’s arm. “Leave that plate!”

Ciaran laughed. “It’s all right, Holly – you can release this poor waiter’s arm. The ring in your cake isn’t the one I wanted to give you.” He paused. “This one is.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small and unmistakably blue box tied with white silk ribbon and held it out to her. “Holly,” he said, his voice low and husky, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Oh, Ciaran...” Holly looked at him, her eyes wide. “Are you...is this...
really
?”

“I love you, Holly,” he said simply. “I can’t imagine my life without you. Put me out of my misery and say you’ll marry me.”

Holly bit her lip, overwhelmed. “Are you kidding? Of course I’ll marry you.”

A smattering of applause broke out at the tables nearby. Someone sent over a bottle of champagne, and Holly was vaguely aware of a couple of camera flashes...

...but she was too overcome with joy to notice. She untied the ribbon with trembling fingers and lifted the lid to reveal a velvet box inside. “It’s like one of those nesting Russian dolls,” she joked. “One inside the other.”

He leaned forward. “Go on ‒ open the box.”

Holly lifted the lid and gasped as she glimpsed the most beautiful, most extravagant diamond engagement ring she’d ever seen. It was pear-shaped, easily at least three carats, and inset on a delicate band of figured silver.

“Ciaran,” she whispered, her eyes shining as he took it out and slid it on her finger, “it’s beautiful. Perfect. Like you.”

Then she stood up and, right there in the middle of Le Cirque, Holly threw her arms around Ciaran Duncan and kissed him, oblivious to the smatter of applause and the flash of the cameras.

Photos of Holly and Ciaran’s passionate kiss in Le Cirque appeared in the next day’s newspapers and went viral around the world. The fact that the handsome British actor was engaged for the first time – and to the pretty young Dashwood and James heiress, no less ‒ was major news in the entertainment world.

Reporters besieged the James’s townhouse in Gramercy Park and waited on the steps of Chaz’s brownstone, all of them bristling with microphones and cameras in hopes of getting a quote or a picture of Holly.

“Holly, what have you done?” her mother greeted her on Sunday morning as she let her daughter inside and shut the door amidst a hail of flashbulbs. “You’ve unleashed a media nightmare on all of us!”

“I’m sorry,” Holly said as she followed her mother down the hall, “but I had no idea this would happen—”

“What did you expect?” Alastair demanded as they entered the library. “You’ve agreed to marry a major celebrity. Your life – and
ours
– will never be the same again.”

“Dad? What are you doing here? Oh, and by the way ‒ how was your date with Coco last night?” she added.

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “We didn’t have a date, Holly, not that it’s any of your concern. We had a business dinner with a potential buyer.”

“Well, that’s not what Coco said. She said it was a dinner date – with
you
. She stopped by the office on her way out. She looked pretty glam for a business dinner,” Holly finished, plainly disbelieving his denials.

“That’s enough, Holly.” Cherie spoke firmly. “You have no right to question your father. At any rate, he isn’t the issue at the moment. Your engagement to Ciaran is.”

“Well I’m sorry if our engagement is an
issue
,” Holly retorted, “but I happen to love Ciaran, and he loves me.”

Alastair snorted.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” Holly demanded.

“The only thing Ciaran Duncan loves,” he growled, “is himself.”

“It’s not too late to tell him you’ve changed your mind,” Cherie told Holly decisively. “Tell him you’re not ready to live your life in this – this ridiculous celebrity fishbowl. Please, please don’t go through with it, I beg you.”

“But why
shouldn’t
I marry him?” Holly asked, bewildered. “Why do you and dad dislike him so much? What have you got against him?”

Her mother didn’t answer, but burst instead into a torrent of tears and fled to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Now see what you’ve done!” her father accused. He cast Holly a dark look. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I
am
happy!” she flung back, furious. “Or at least, I was. I just wish you and mum could be happy for me, too.”

She left before he saw her cry. She always cried when she was angry...and when she was upset.

And she was
beyond
upset. What had started out as the happiest day of her life was rapidly turning into the worst.