Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride

by Autumn Macarthur

  How could the woman who hated Christmas feel so much like Christmas?

  So very much like Christmas.

  ~~+~~

  Cara snatched the hamster back.

  What a fool she'd been to soften and let her guard down. When Nick touched her, when his eyes met hers, she felt something she didn’t want to admit to or examine too closely. Whatever it was, she didn't want it.

  There was no room for this in her plan. Responding like this to a guy who only wanted to play and was in town for just three weeks made no sense at all.

  But whether she wanted it or not, whether it made sense or not, it was there.

  In the way warmth flooded her, turning her legs to mush. The way her heart fluttered and awareness of him zinged through her. The way all rational thought seemed to head for the nearest exit in her brain.

  Nick aroused feelings in her she’d thought were long dead and buried. All those cliches of attraction. Things she hadn’t felt for a long long time.

  The man should come with a hazard warning.

  No matter how kind, how charming, how appealing he was, she needed to find a way to kill off those reactions, ASAP. She had no time for it, and she didn’t deserve it. Even if she did, Mr Drop Dead Gorgeous Hollywood movie star, bundled with a Christmas dare, was about the worst person to fall for.

  Getting away from him and back to work was the answer.

  “Once this little one’s safely locked away, we need to find the boy's mother. I have to get to my office.”

  She released the hamster back into its cage, letting go of the tiny warm body cradled in her hands.

  Nick had already squatted beside the boy again. “I'm Nick,” he said with a reassuring smile. “What's your name?”

  “Matthew.”

  “Hi Matthew. Where did you last see your Mom?”

  “Over there.” He pointed.

  “The restaurant,” Cara said.

  “Mum promised we'd see the animals,” Matthew said.

  “So you went exploring on your own?” Nick grinned at the boy, who nodded and grinned back.

  “I know you need to get away,” he said, looking up at Cara. “Trust me, I’ll get Matthew reunited with his Mom. And I’m sure I can introduce myself to Frank. A big bearded guy in a red suit shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  Those dimples of his flashed, and he stood up, taking the boy’s small hand in his big one. He smiled down at the boy.

  “Let’s go find your Mom, okay, Matthew?”

  Who would have guessed the guy she had down as a spoiled playboy would be so sweet, and so good with kids? Even if she hadn't arranged the background check the law required for store Santas, she'd trust him with the boy.

  He’d make a great father some day.

  A great husband for some lucky woman, too. That though fluttered her far more than it should, when that lucky woman certainly wouldn’t be her.

  She looked at her watch and felt sick.

  She was late. So late.

  “I do need to go. Peter, please stay in your department, let Nick get Matthew back to his mother. I’ll organise childproof latches for the animal housing.” She fumbled in her bag. “Nick, here's my card. Ring me if there's any problem.”

  That broad sunny smile of his hit her again, as he tucked the card in his coat pocket. “There won’t be. See you later.”

  Much as she wished there wouldn’t be a later, she knew there was no escaping it. They had to work together for three long weeks. Maybe then, once he’d gone, she’d get her feelings back under control.

  As she headed for the staff stairs, a frantic woman with dark bags under her eyes pushed a pram out of the restaurant, her head turning from side to side as she searched the Toy Hall.

  “Matthew’s Mum?” Cara asked.

  Relief flooded the woman’s face, and she nodded.

  “He’s safe. In there.” Cara pointed to Pets.

  One problem solved. Now on to the nine hundred others waiting on her desk.

  She hurried up the stairs to the attic offices. Away from Nick, her heart rate should return to something vaguely like normal.

  Walking into the outer office, she found her staff clustered around Melanie's desk. Their backs to the door, they were so engrossed in the computer screen they didn’t notice her.

  “I'd sit on that Santa's lap, any time,” Natalie said, giggling.

  “For sure. Any woman who wouldn't is either happily married or needs to check herself for a pulse,” chimed Jaz.

  Mel laughed. “I am happily married, and I wouldn't hesitate. Not that I'll get the chance.” She leaned back in her chair and patted her hugely pregnant belly.

  Cara was ready to interrupt them when Nat asked, “What about Cara? Think he’d melt her ice?”

  “No,” the others chorused, shaking their heads in sync.

  “She wouldn’t appeal to Nick,” Jaz said. “Look how she dresses. Hair pulled back so tight, and those awful suits. It’s like she tries to make herself unattractive. She's only what, twenty-eight? Twenty-eight going on fifty-eight. A man like him wants a real woman, not a human calculator.”

  Jaz leaned back, showing off her considerable assets, leaving no doubt she thought she was that real woman.

  Cara flinched and wrapped her arms around herself as her chest tightened painfully. No matter how much truth there was in her assistant’s words, hearing herself dismissed so casually felt like a literal kick in the gut.

  “What's so interesting?” she asked.

  The three jumped, exchanged guilty glances, and hurried back to their desks.

  “It's Nick Gallagher, the celebrity Santa. We were looking at the selfies on his Facebook page.” Nat's blonde breathiness was even more pronounced than usual. “He’s so cute.”

  As if Cara didn’t know that, way too well.

  Just like she knew that a woman like her would never appeal to a man like him. She didn’t need Jaz rubbing her nose in it too. The dare he’d suggested was nothing but a joke, an amusement for him.

  Loss twinged in her throat at the thought. Surely she didn’t want him to seriously be interested in her?

  Even if he was, even if her past hadn’t happened, he was leaving in three weeks.

  But she couldn’t resist the urge to surprise them. “Yes. He is. That’s why I’m late. I had breakfast with him and gave him the store tour.”

  It worked.

  Three heads swivelled towards her, and three sets of eyes looked ready to pop out of their respective sockets.

  “You did? What's he like?” breathed Nat.

  “Very nice,” Cara replied, her voice toneless. “Now we need to get working. I need all the usual spreadsheets and more for the eleven o'clock meeting. I'll email a list.”

  She hurried into her office and closed the door, but not before she heard suppressed giggles, and a muttered, “See, she's hopeless.”

  Closing her eyes, she slumped against the door. Was she really?

  Part of her wished she'd agreed to go along with Nick's crazy dare. Tried to relax, and enjoy life for once.

  Her staff were right. She was hopeless. She dressed in clothes bought cheaply second hand, donated because they were out of date. She did nothing in her life purely for enjoyment any more. They’d called her twenty-eight going on fifty-eight, and she was.

  She'd forgotten how to laugh. Forgotten how to play. Forgotten how to pray.

  Regret washed over her.

  For a moment, she wished there was more in her life. Pleasure. Stylish clothes. All the things she could buy and enjoy if she weren’t paying back her father’s debt. And joy, the joy and thankfulness she used to feel.

  Before Dad had run himself into debt then left because of her, and Mum had….

  Her tummy clenched hard and pain doubled her over at the memory of Mum in that hospital bed on Christmas Day, machines breathing for her. Her fault. She had good reason not to enjoy life now.

  So she'd be safer having nothing to do with Nick, or with
Christmas.

  The season was fake, superficial, and full of memories she’d rather forget. The last thing she needed was Nick with his insistence on fun stirring things up. Making her long for more, when she couldn’t have more, and didn’t deserve more.

  He surely didn't mean it anyway. The girls were right. He'd weasel his way out of the deal if she said yes.

  Nick was a distraction she couldn't afford.

  The way her heart beat faster around him, the way her skin tingled, the way her mouth went dry. It all felt way too unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Her body should be under better control.

  When Mum died, she’d lost any right to feel that way again.

  Cara switched on her computer and got ready to deal with the one thing she could rely on. Numbers. Cold, hard, factual numbers. Even if she didn’t like the results they gave, numbers never let you down by doing the last thing you expected, the way people did.

  While the computer started up, she pulled the bottle of Tums from the drawer and chewed a couple to settle the burn around her heart.

  May as well leave the bottle out. Between Nick, Mrs Pettett, and the numbers she had to crunch before the management meeting, today would be a Tums sort of day.

  But before starting into her reports, she looked up homeless charities in central London, and dialled a number.

  Forget Nick.

  She’d do what she could for that old man, then focus on what counted.

  Coming up with a plan to save everyone’s jobs.

  Chapter 6

  Less than two hours later, Cara had emailed the necessary documents through to everyone attending, and printed them out for Mrs Pettett. The older woman always insisted on hard copies, foiling Cara's attempts to make meetings paper-free.

  As she'd feared, the numbers weren't pretty. Far worse to see them laid out in stark black and white than merely think them. Her hand shook a little as she rearranged the neat stack of spreadsheets in their folder on the long mahogany table in the boardroom.

  Unless things changed dramatically, and soon, the store would be on the rocks financially. No matter how much Mrs Pettett wanted to bury her head in the sand and keep insisting that her next scheme would be the one to solve all their problems.

  Numbers didn’t lie.

  Guilt at another failure weighed heavy on Cara, pushing her down into her chair. She swallowed a sigh, and gulped at her coffee.

  Gazing out the windows at the dark clouds, she joined in the unenthusiastic small talk about the weather with the department heads while they waited for Mrs Pettett and Edgar to arrive. The elephant in the room was the figures she’d sent everyone. No-one mentioned it, but the glum mood suggested they'd all read and understood.

  Outgoings exceeded income, for the second month in a row.

  The only one smiling was Beth from the Wedding Registry. In a fluffy haze of love, the store could collapse around her, and she wouldn’t notice. No doubt, she was too busy planning her own wedding and renovating the little house her fiance had given her to worry about anything else, even the possibility of losing her job.

  But at least Beth’s department made some profit, unlike most of the store.

  Mrs Pettett breezed in at last, high heels tapping, white curls bobbing, in a bright pink suit that would put Barbara Cartland to shame, with lipstick to match. Edgar, the fifty-something Young Mister Pettett, trailed awkwardly behind his mother.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. London traffic, you know how it is,” Mrs Pettett said, not sounding the least bit sorry as she took her seat at the head of the table.

  Cara only just resisted rolling her eyes. The chauffeur had driven them all the way from Berkeley Square, just around the corner. Even at eighty-something, Mrs Pettett could walk it in a fraction of the time, if she didn’t wear such outrageous heels.

  Anita from Kitchenware handed the tiny woman a cup of coffee, and Cara opened the folder of documents then slid it in front of her. Mrs Pettett leafed through the pages while everyone scurried for a seat.

  She seemed oblivious to what the figures meant. The graph showing that the rising debt and plummeting sales lines had crossed over weeks before didn't attract more than a cursory glance.

  “We can begin,” she said imperiously. “Except I want that handsome grandson of Catherine's here. Cara, I asked you to be responsible for him, where is he?”

  It seemed there was no escaping Nick. “I didn't realise you wanted him at this meeting. I left him in the Toy Hall.”

  “Of course I want him here. Go fetch him, girl. Jump to it.”

  Cara jumped.

  Nick wasn't where she'd left him. Eventually she tracked him down in Small Electrical, frowning at a display of cell phones. He'd taken off his coat and cap, and his tawny blond curls looked touchably soft, as did the white cotton twill shirt stretching across his broad shoulders. Her eyes lingered on the curve of his biceps.

  She curled her hands into fists. She did not want to touch him.

  And her stomach wasn't turning back flips at the sight of him, either.

  Definitely not.

  “Look at these,” Nick said, shaking his head. “They'll never sell at that price. Last year's phones, at this year’s prices.”

  “Forget phones, Mrs Pettett wants you in the boardroom, ten minutes ago. We have to scoot.”

  Nick turned to face her. “Good. I've seen enough already to have a few ideas how to shake this place up, and you said I needed her okay first.”

  Cara’s face twisted as her anxiety rose faster than the ancient escalator. “You’re serious, for once. Why don't I find that reassuring?”

  He followed her up the escalators.

  “You English! You don't want to change, do you.” A statement, not a question. He shook his head. “No matter how crazy you think my ideas are, they can't make things worse.”

  Cara’s experience of change was all bad, but she had to agree with one thing Nick said.

  The store needed something.

  And soon.

  ~~+~~

  Nick entered the boardroom behind Cara, just in time to hear an older woman who must be Mrs Pettett denying the store had any issues.

  “A temporary blip, that's all. Nothing to worry about,” she declared, in an I-know-best manner.

  Talk about assuming the ostrich position! He’d only been in the place three hours and already he could see how bad things were.

  “Mother, I'm a little concerned it may be more than that,” a middle-aged man he guessed must be Edgar Pettett said, gentle and diffident. “We've seen that negative trend week after week for some time now. Hasn't it been going on too long for a blip?”

  Mrs Pettett ignored him.

  Too busy looking Nick up and down as if he was a slab of beef. So were most of the other women in the room, apart from Cara and a pretty dark-haired girl who hadn’t looked up from the notes she was making.

  As an actor and a minor celebrity, being eyeballed came with the role, but the blatancy of their stares still made his skin creep. The adorable way Cara peeked at him when she though he wasn’t looking then glanced away was much more appealing.

  “Ah Cara, back at last,” the older woman said. Her rudeness to Cara raised his hackles. “So this is Nicholas.”

  Swallowing his irritation, Nick met her scrutiny with a smile, and strolled to the head of the table to take the hand she regally extended. Thank God for his acting skills. He had to win her over to have any chance of succeeding here.

  “I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs Pettett. Grandma tells me you two got up to some mischief at school.”

  She looked away quickly. “Mere girlish high spirits, and a long time ago now.”

  The hint of a blush showing through her rouge suggested he should ask Grandma what they’d done.

  “Tell me, Nicholas,” she continued. “You’ve seen the store. You must agree with me? Pettett and Mayfield's is in fine shape. These numbers mean nothing.”

  Mrs Pettett waved a dismissive hand at the do
cuments Cara had most likely spent the remainder of her morning working on. That would sting.

  Cara’s expression stayed bland. Probably she came in for those little barbs many times a week. Compassion for her rose in him, warming his chest.

  He slowly let out a deep breath before he answered Mrs Pettett. No-one liked having to break bad news. And she didn’t seem the type to take it well.

  The responsibility weighed heavier on him than he’d expected. And it must weigh heavier again on Cara. He flickered a reassuring wink her way and was rewarded with a faint but grateful smile. If all he could do was reinforce what she’d already said, that would be some help for her. He turned back to Mrs Pettett.

  “Ma'am, I haven't seen those figures, but I have seen all of the departments. What I didn’t see was a lot of customers or much spending going on.”

  The little lady's brows lowered in a scowl. Her pink painted fingernails tapped the boardroom table.

  Cara’s hunched shoulders and worried expression were those of a woman waiting for an explosion and getting ready to call in an outsourcing team. All the others around the table showed similar apprehension.

  He needed to head off the explosion, fast. Gifting Mrs Pettett with his most winning smile, he spoke soothingly.

  “No doubt it is only a temporary blip. But who knows how long it will last? Seeing I'm here, and it's why you invited me, I have a few ideas I'd like you to let me try.”

  She hardly looked won over, but she stopped the tapping, at least.

  “Such as? You young people always think your ways of doing things are better. I’ve made sure the store has kept up with the times.” Her expression stayed daunting.

  Nick ran a hand through his hair and prayed fast, before pouring on as much charm as he could to sweeten his words.

  “That could be where you’re going wrong, I’m afraid. The store is trying to be modern, when it needs to go back to tradition, instead. May I tell you about a customer I met?”

  Mrs Pettett inclined her head like the Queen. Her lips still held that lemon-sucking pucker, but her eyes were intent on him.

  His breath came easier and confidence warmed him. He was winning her over.