Grabbing a chair, he turned it around, and sat straddling it, arms crossed in front of him on the back of the chair. One good thing about acting, he’d learned how to play an audience. That simple move made sure everyone focused on him.
“I talked to a busy Mom this morning, after we found her lost son for her. She’d promised him for days that they’d go into town for the lights and the big shops. She'd especially promised he'd get to see the pets here after they had a special breakfast in the restaurant. So even though Matthew's baby sister cried all night teething, she got on the bus and brought him in, and took them to the Olive Grove. Problem was, she felt so comfortable and relaxed there, she fell asleep. Matthew wandered off, and got to the pets. Which is where Cara and I found him.”
He paused to smile around the table, making sure he hadn’t lost anyone, particularly Mrs Pettett.
Cara, he gave an extra warm smile.
Her smile in return was weak, but at least she was listening.
It felt strangely good to use his acting skills in a better cause than upping the viewing figures of a second-rate soap opera.
Knowing he had his audience, he continued.
“I asked her why she chose Pettett and Mayfield's. Her answer ̶ it was the quietest, most relaxing store. That's the unique selling point you need to play up. Your tagline could be ‘An oasis of calm in the frantic West End.’ You’ve tried competing with the bigger stores, but why should shoppers come here when the large stores do it better? Like the Electronics Department, with last year's phones. Forget it.”
“But... but surely we have to sell those things,” Edgar broke in, looking bemused. “Shoppers expect them, don't they?”
Nick shook his head. “Break the mould. Do what you’re good at, instead. You can't compete with high turnover stores on tech stuff. Stick with selling what's timeless. Good old-fashioned values and quality. Give customers little comforts like putting chairs around the store, so they can sit down and think about what to buy. People associate Christmas shopping with stress, you can associate it with feeling good.”
Mrs Pettett didn't interrupt, and the frown faded, though her expression stayed doubtful. Cara worried at her lower lip and fiddled with a pen. He flicked her a smile. Everyone else was hanging on his words.
“Create a cosy welcoming atmosphere,” he continued. “Someone at the door offering tasters of mince pies and other Christmas goods the store sells. And give customers a show. Kitchenware could have cooking demonstrations. The toys can come out of the boxes so they can be played with.”
He smiled and leaned back in the chair, touching his chest. “Put me on display. I’m not needed in Santa’s Grotto, Frank’s doing a fine job there. I could have a ‘California Dreaming’ section on the ground floor instead. There’s so much more you could do.”
Now all Mrs Pettett needed to do was say yes.
So why, when his focus should be on her, was he looking at Cara? His glance met hers, and clung. If he was a compass, she was the North Pole.
He couldn’t turn anywhere else, and he didn’t want to. In this moment, Cara was all that mattered. He might be working to help the store, but every instinct in him knew God put him here for her.
~~+~~
Cara kept quiet, but she had to admit Nick's ideas were good. Not enough on their own to save the store, but good.
Many were things she’d suggested in the past. She swallowed a lump of jealousy that Mrs Pettett listened to Nick after ignoring her. As long as the changes happened, surely it didn’t matter who got credit for the idea.
“I'm more than happy to see Electronics go,” David, the second floor manager said. “Menswear can expand into that space. There are winter accessories in the storeroom ready to go.”
Edgar nodded. Browbeaten and under his mother’s thumb, it was unusual for him to broach an opinion on anything. Twice in one meeting was exceptional.
“Do you agree, Mother? You wanted us to stock the phones, but according to these figures, that department has lost more money than anywhere else.”
Mrs Pettett frowned, shaking her lacquered curls. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at Nick. “Come now, Nicholas. You're a Hollywood star. Mince pies and comfortable chairs are all very well, but not what I brought you here for. I expect more.”
Nick raised his eyebrows, and his smile became a little fixed.
He’d get used to her demanding tone.
“We’ll have the ‘California Dreaming’ display opposite the main entry to showcase me,” he said.
Mrs Pettett picked up the pages containing Cara’s carefully tabulated figures, waved them about, then threw them over her shoulder theatrically.
Maybe she should have been the actor, not Nick.
“Not good enough. If these ridiculous statistics are true, which I still refuse to believe, then the store needs far more. Where's the glamour? The pizzazz? Where’s something spectacular to put Pettett and Mayfield's back on the map, the way it was in my dear father’s day?”
Cara bit her lip, and waited, with a bad feeling where this might lead.
Nick’s eyes widened at Mrs Pettett’s performance. “I’m more than happy to be included in any store publicity and photo shoots, of course. I took that for granted. I haven't seen any publicity about me being here yet, apart from the placards in the store itself. I’m assuming you have more planned?”
Mrs Pettett swivelled to Cara, eyes narrowed and stiletto sharp. “You’re in charge of that,” she snapped. “What have you arranged?”
“I did a press release. And the store photographer is taking photos later today, to be used in this week’s advertising.” Cara wished her voice didn’t sound so defensive.
“That’s all?” Those pencilled-on eyebrows disappeared under carefully coiffed silver hair.
“My press release was quoted on page 32 of the Evening Standard,” Cara protested. “And it made page 27 of Metro.”
But that wasn’t enough. Once again, she’d failed.
Everyone around the table stared at her.
This was where she needed to come up with the brilliant idea, the one to save the store.
The idea she didn’t have.
Jumping up from her seat, she paced to the window and back. Then it hit her.
“There is another idea,” she said slowly, as if the words were dragged out of her. “It would take advantage of Nick’s celebrity and get the store more buzz.”
“Buzz. That’s exactly what we want.” Mrs Pettett’s eyes held a rare glimmer of approval.
Cara sucked in a deep breath. The time she’d spent looking Nick up on the Internet after she’d got all the paperwork for the meeting done wouldn’t be wasted after all.
“You’re right. The store needs a big publicity stunt. The gossip hounds are hungry for a new romance for Nick, since his co-star Micki announced her engagement. We need to give them something to talk about, and make sure it links back to the store. Nick is in the habit of posting self-taken pictures on the internet. We need to make sure that while he’s in London those photos link back here as well.” She paused. “Actually, it’s not my idea, it’s Nick’s. Something he mentioned this morning.”
The gleam in Nick’s eyes told her he knew what she intended to say.
She clenched her hands on the back of her chair to support her wobbly legs. “The Twelve Dates of Christmas. Nick will do a series of old fashioned Christmas dates, all around London, using items from the store wherever possible. With one of the store staff. And take lots of pictures.”
Mrs Pettett clapped her hands and her piranha smile almost looked genuine. “I love the idea. That’s just the type of thing I want. But which staff member?”
Cara glanced at Nick. His too-handsome face quirked in an expectant smile she wasn’t sure she liked.
Of course, he’d think she intended to say she’d do it, but she was the last person they should pick.
“My assistants were drooling over his Facebook page this morning. I’m guessing
most of the single female staff feel the same. We need someone attractive, able to play the part and be convincing as a woman Nick would want to date. I’m sure there won’t be any shortage of staff ready to jump at the chance.”
The glance she threw Nick said, ‘Not me.’
Anita wiggled hopefully in her chair, looking ready to shoot her hand up the moment anyone asked for volunteers. Her full figured glamour and striking looks were perfect.
So why did Cara’s heart sink at the thought, with a sick little whisper saying she was lying to herself?
If things were different, wouldn’t she be just as ready as Anita to grab at the opportunity?
Nick rested his head on his folded arms for a moment, then looked up, directly at Cara. His eyes gleamed.
“I’ll do it on one condition,” Nick said. “I get to choose the staff member.”
“Who?” Mrs Pettett asked.
Cara stiffened, guessing what was coming. She’d just made a huge mistake. In her effort to deflect the dare, she’d been the one to give him the perfect set-up.
“Cara,” he said.
She shrank into her seat and closed her eyes. Maybe the chair could just swallow her up now.
The smile Nick gave her was sweet and warm, not triumphant as she’d expected, but still her stomach churned.
This wasn't really happening. She'd wake up any second and find she was still in bed and the whole thing was a nightmare. Right?
Everyone's eyes swivelled to her, and a few jaws fell open too.
“I've heard what the staff call Cara. Ms Scrooge.” Mrs Pettett beamed and clapped her hands. “Ms Scrooge the Accountant and the Santa Actor. It’s perfect. Like a Christmas movie. The press will adore it.”
Only perfect if she wanted to live in a movie.
Cara didn't.
She straightened her back. “I haven't agreed.” Her voice wobbled more than she wanted, but at least she spoke up for herself. “I suggested it, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it. Look at me.”
Everything the girls in her office had said about her was right. Hurtful, but right. She waved to her frumpy outfit. “Hardly believable as a romantic interest for Nick.”
Her gaze jumped to Nick, begging him to understand that she couldn’t do it.
The concern in his eyes surprised her.
“You have to do this, Cara. I demand it.” Mrs Pettett’s voice held a steely warning. “You’re the one who keeps insisting Pettett and Mayfield’s is in desperate straits. If you want to keep your job, it’s up to you to do your bit to fix it.” She slapped her hands on the table to punctuate her words.
Nick stood up, shaking his head. “No. I won't allow her to be bullied into this. Cara gives a hundred percent to her job during work time, but this will affect her private life too. She’s the only person who can say yes or no here. I won’t do the dates with anyone else, but we can come up with another plan.”
The tension left Cara in a long blown out sigh. Nick understood. Her Mr DDG was so much more than she'd expected.
This was her get out clause.
But she didn’t have any other ideas how to get the store the publicity it needed.
She looked around the table, at the department heads who'd lose their jobs if sales didn't dramatically improve. They depended on her, those worried faces, looking for a straw of hope to cling to.
The other employees did, too. With the guilt she already carried about what happened to Dad’s old staff, she couldn’t be responsible for any more people losing their livelihoods.
You know I never pray any more, but I need to now. Help me God, give me strength.
Not that she intended to make a habit of praying. She’d done too much wrong, too much to expect God to forgive. All she could do was try to atone.
And here was another chance, served to her on a plate.
Cara clenched her fists and dragged in a big breath.
“Yes,” she said. “Okay. I'll do it. I’ll do the dates with Nick.”
Chapter 7
Nick's heart bounced like a hyperactive kid on a trampoline.
She said 'Yes'! Sure, a reluctant grudging yes. But a yes was a yes was a yes.
The dare was ON!
Cara sat, avoiding his eyes, while the department heads smiled and clapped.
Why it mattered so much that she’d agreed to his ultimatum, he didn't know.
Yes, he felt God wanted him here, doing this. And he needed a challenge, an antidote for boredom.
Cara fit the bill.
So why did it feel more than that?
He didn't know if he wanted more.
The newspapers nicknamed him Mr Unattached. Micki had twisted that and called him Mr Superficial. Neither Mr Unattached or Mr Superficial did serious.
He’d make sure he kept things light. Kept things fun. He’d had plenty of practice.
Mrs Pettett's querulous voice broke through the excited chatter around the boardroom table.
“Cara, it would be nice if you'd make an attempt to look like someone who's agreed to go out with one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors, and not someone facing a firing squad. Try to be a little more enthusiastic about it.”
Cara pasted on a smirk, way too obviously fake. Her lips might pretend to smile, but her eyes told him she'd make him pay for this, and how.
Maybe he deserved it.
Maybe he'd enjoy it.
Sparring with her this morning had been the high point of his week.
Mrs Pettett gave Cara a hard critical glance. “Of course, you’re quite right to imply that you’ll need a makeover. I can't imagine anyone will give credit to any rumours that Nicholas is interested in you without it.”
Cara's bravado vanished. As if the older woman’s words made her shrivel, she shrank into her seat, closing her eyes.
Her pain tweaked something in his chest, like he’d been the one hurt.
Nick shook his head. He’d glimpsed the sadness she carried. The last thing he wanted was to add to it. His plan had been to have fun and bring some happiness into her life.
He wouldn’t allow her to be bullied because he’d manoeuvred her into the dare.
“No. Cara's fine the way she is.”
His tone should tell Mrs P this was non-negotiable.
The laser beam glare she shot at him suggested she'd heard the message.
With a bland smile, he met her glare head on. She couldn't bully him, and she knew it.
Cara opened her eyes. Doubt and a hint of tears shone in those deep brown depths.
Whatever it was in his chest twisted again as their eyes met. Somehow, she had him feeling more in a day than he normally felt in a week back home. He smiled his most reassuring smile at her, the one he used on the set with young insecure actresses.
It worked.
She straightened in the chair, and the shaky smile she gave in return showed a trace of her old spark.
Nick turned to Mrs Pettett. The woman was clearly far too used to getting her own way.
“If you want to provide clothing from the store for Cara to wear to maximise publicity, that's one thing. But she certainly doesn't need a makeover to convince anyone I'd date her.”
Cara shook her head. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll do it. For the sake of the staff.”
Her meaning came through loud and clear. Not because she wanted to. Not to please him, or even her employer. She lifted her chin, folded her arms in front of her, and her expression dared anyone to push her any harder.
But that wasn’t the real her. He’d seen the hurting girl, wary as a deer, hidden behind her tough Scrooge act.
His impulsive dare mustn’t cause her more pain. If he could get the store more sales, surely that would lift some of her burden?
Mrs Pettett backtracked, with a grimace he guessed was her best attempt at a conciliatory smile.
“Of course, I didn't mean that as a criticism of your appearance, Cara. I merely thought that as Nicholas is usually photographed with somewhat,
shall we say glossier young ladies —” she broke off to titter “— you might wish to avail yourself of our hair and beauty salons. A new hairstyle, a little make-up, clothing in a colour other than grey. These things can do wonders for a girl.”
Nick looked more closely at Cara. Used to skilfully enhanced actresses, he hadn't realised she wore no make-up. The long dark sweep of eyelashes shadowing her cheeks was all her own. The rosy colour of her full lips hadn't come out of a lipstick tube.
She was something special now. Made over, she’d be amazing. None of the ‘glossier young ladies’ compared to her.
Not even Micki.
Cara shrugged. “Whatever you want,” she said, voice flat and resigned. “I raised the idea of using Nick’s scheme as a way to boost publicity. This is the package deal that goes with it.”
“Good.” Mrs Pettett’s smile held triumph. “I expect you to set up appointments with Delia and Louise in the salons, and Edgar will give Personal Shopping a budget for dressing you. That will be all. Meeting over.”
She pushed her chair back from the table and swept out of the boardroom, heels staccato on the wooden flooring.
Edgar trailed behind her with an apologetic backwards glance.
Nick didn’t envy the poor guy his smiling steamroller of a mother. The meeting left even his Hollywood-hardened ego slightly bruised.
How someone as sensitive as Cara dealt with her, he couldn’t guess. The Ms Scrooge act made more sense now.
The department heads rushed off, full of enthusiastic plans for changing their sections.
Cara didn't leave. She stayed where she was, eyes closed, posture suspiciously crumpled and still.
“Mrs Pettett is a nightmare, isn’t she?”
Cara lifted her head and her lips twisted wryly. “She’s … I suppose challenging is the word?” Her voice was a low uncertain murmur.
That was way too charitable a description. He raised a doubtful eyebrow.
Spreading her hands, she shrugged. “She was Miss Mayfield. Her father was one of the founders of the store. Back in the 1950’s both Pettett boys wanted to marry her, and she chose the eldest. The romantic story I heard is that a broken heart made her the way she is. She realised too late it was the younger brother she really loved, but he left as soon as her engagement was announced and never came back.”
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 Page 19