“I’m sorry I’ve made you angry, Cara. I don't want you to be anyone but yourself. But I don't believe this bah-humbug number cruncher is who you really are. I’ve seen something more in you.”
Her lips curled. “That's great, coming from you, Mr Boys-Just-Want-to-Have-Fun. You act in a tacky soap opera, you agreed to play Santa to get a free holiday in London, and you’re judging what I choose to do with my life as not being enough?”
Passion shook in her voice.
He swallowed hard, clearing the lump in his throat to answer, to defend himself even though he knew what she said was true. But she kept pummelling him with her words.
“You’ve never done anything worthwhile or serious in your life. Welcome to the real world, where we can't play games and do what we want all the time.” She spun in a three sixty. “Where’s that photographer?”
Wordlessly, he pointed to the paps, near the Art Gallery steps.
Cara couldn’t have hit him harder if she’d punched him in the belly. He’d thought he was God’s wake up call for her. Looked like it was the other way around.
Maybe she was his wake up call.
“Great. I’m sure we’ll score even more publicity if they get shots of us arguing.” She waved at the cameras, then fumbled with the neck ties of the cloak.
A pulse beat wildly in her creamy throat.
“Thanks for the chestnuts. Here's your coat back. I'm going home now. We’ve done our bit for the store.” She thrust the cloak at him and rushed away.
Nick couldn’t let her go like this. He hurried after her and caught her arm.
Whirling around to face him, she shook his hand off.
“Leave me alone!”
“Cara, don't go like this. I wanted to help you enjoy yourself, not upset you. At least let me put you in a cab so you get home safely.”
She stood glaring at him, shaking her head, breathing fast.
Then with a sigh she sagged, looking small and forlorn as she swiped her hands over her face.
“I'm sorry Nick,” she muttered. “I guess you touched a sore spot. Yes, please get me a cab. I can't face the tube ride right now.”
Cara didn’t resist as he wrapped the sable cloak back around her trembling shoulders. He hailed a cab, helped her in, and gave the driver a large enough note to cover the fare anywhere within twenty miles of London. Even if he’d royally messed up the rest of the evening, he could do that much for her.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Defeat tasted sour in his mouth.
Faced with her silent withdrawal, all he could do was shut the door and watch the cab drive off. His chest tightened as the red glow of its tail lights disappeared into the traffic.
He didn’t need to worry about things getting too serious with Cara. On tonight’s performance, he wouldn’t get the chance.
So much for wanting to help her.
All he’d done was make things worse.
~~+~~
Cara opened the newspaper as soon as she got into her office the next morning, leafing through from page one.
Please, let there be photos in here, publicity for the store.
Some good had to come from her disastrous date with Nick.
She’d behaved impulsively and badly last night. Sure, he’d wound her up with his holier-than-thou attitude and his implied criticisms. Telling her what she should do, what she should believe.
Even so, she should have controlled her reactions instead of making a scene.
Nick had no idea how bad things had been after Dad disappeared and Mum died. Someone like him wouldn’t understand.
Easy to believe in God’s blessings and forgiveness when you’ve never been tested.
She closed her eyes for a moment as the newspaper pages blurred.
Nick telling her God would forgive anything was naive. Just as silly as suggesting she shouldn’t have given up art. She sold her art supplies on eBay to pay the electricity bill. Holding on to childhood dreams make no sense when you’re forced to get a job and take care of yourself at seventeen.
Maybe it worked differently in his world.
Maybe in his world, no-one’s father embezzled the company money then did a runner, leaving their family to deal with the debt collectors. Maybe in his world, the doctors didn’t pile guilt on relatives with their questions, when someone lay dying in a hospital bed. Maybe in his world, the church congregation wouldn’t treat a grieving person as if they were contagious and want nothing to do with them.
But that was how it worked in her world.
Much as he annoyed her with his assumptions, she had to admit Nick meant to be kind. But she’d let anger and resentment rule her last night. No matter what they’d told Mrs Pettett, he wouldn’t want another date with her now.
The dare was over.
The dare that would have been her dream come true at eleven. Having her Hollywood crush all grown-up and handsome wanting to take her on dates, caring about how she felt.
At twenty-eight, she knew the dare was a sham, and Nick couldn’t really care for her. Nick wasn’t serious about anything. And he was only here for three short weeks.
She didn’t want to be twenty-eight going on fifty-eight any more. Lightening up wouldn't mean she was like Dad. It wouldn't alter what happened to Mum, either.
But ‘if onlys’ changed nothing. Especially the past. The past she worked to atone for, to pay back those her father wronged.
The sensible thing, the logical thing, was to forget about Nick.
So why did the thought make her heart flop like a half-baked souffle as she turned the newspaper pages?
A headline caught her eye ‘Mr Unattached left standing by new love’.
Yes! She punched a fist in the air. They’d scored the headline item on the gossip pages.
Then she stared at the full colour images in disbelief.
One picture could be the cover of a Christmas romance. Her gazing up at Nick as he looked down at her. The Christmas tree lights glowed behind them.
She looked beautiful.
Cara shrugged it off. A trick of the light, or some soft focus. Just as fake as the embrace.
And the other photo, Nick standing alone frowning after her cab, made him look like a man bereft after a lover’s quarrel.
She touched a gentle finger to his photo and her stomach fluttered.
They looked like a couple in love, ridiculous as that was.
Nothing could be further from the truth. She’d only known him a day. No matter what the fairy tales said, no-one fell in love in a day.
Nick frustrated and infuriated her. She didn’t even like him.
Never mind that somewhere tucked away in her preteen diaries, there were pages and pages of her practising a signature that read Cara Gallagher.
She swallowed.
The publicity. That’s what the dare was all about. Not her feelings for Nick.
The article got something right. The address of the store, and that Nick could be seen daily between two and four. No way could she stir up this interest in Pettett and Mayfield by herself.
If this didn’t work, she’d be back where she began, with no hopes for improving sales and saving the store.
Perhaps it would work.
It had to work.
Time to swallow her pride and ask him to keep going with the dates. Now they’d started on the publicity train, they needed to ride it for all it was worth.
Cara looked again at the photo of the pair of them together. Listed in small print beneath it was the price and brand name of the red jumper she’d worn. She turned to look at the shopping bag containing the coat Nick had loaned her and the clothes she’d worn last night. She thought of the shop displays downstairs that attracted nobody.
The same safe, predictable, approved by Mrs Pettett in triplicate displays they had every year. Safe, and deadly dull. If anyone came in looking for the jumper, they’d die of boredom before ever making it to the ladies dep
artment.
What they needed was windows with a story. Windows like Selfridges, that people would talk about and come to photograph.
She’d need props for that.
Nick had mentioned his friend, the one who provided the props for his California beach display.
An idea took shape, as she searched the internet for a number.
Three hectic hours later, she and Nick’s friend Maggie stood together outside the store
In a rush of frenzied activity behind a black curtain, they’d transformed one shop window.
“Done!” Maggie said, grinning as she held up her hand for a high five. “You have an artist’s eye.”
Last night, Cara felt a flash of something suspiciously like jealousy when Nick mentioned his old female friend. But Maggie turned out to be a middle-aged artistic dynamo, with salt and pepper pixie cut hair dyed in rainbow colours, who moved and talked at a hundred miles an hour.
Her interest in Nick was strictly motherly.
Cara grinned back. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You had exactly the props the display needed. Thanks.”
The petite stage designer smiled. “I’m glad you called. Window dressing can be an extra string to my bow when the theatrical business is slow. Anyway, after I saw the photo in Metro, I had to meet Nick’s mystery woman. If you hadn’t rung me, I planned to call him first thing. Someone needs to keep him on his toes while his mum is back home.”
“There's no mystery. We’re doing it purely for the publicity.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” Maggie assumed a pretend pout. “They might call him Mr Unattached, but Nick’s a good man. When he falls, he’ll fall hard.”
Not for her.
She wasn’t his type. She had no time for a relationship. She’d behaved dreadfully. And Nick was only in London a few weeks. Cara knew they had no chance. Heart heavy as stone, she realised part of her wanted to believe Nick was interested in her.
“Not me. You’ll have a long wait to see Nick settled.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Shame. I think you’d be good for him.”
She wouldn’t think that if she knew the truth. The daughter of a thief, who’d let her mother die? Not likely.
Cara shook her head. “I’m not the woman for Nick.”
Maggie gave an are-you-sure look, then glanced at her watch. “Rats. Just when things were getting interesting. I’ve got an appointment at the shop. I’ll come back to do the kid and the hamster in the next window later. Ciao, bella!”
Cara watched her new friend bustle off down the street, hoping the windows they’d create together would help sales.
“Oh my goodness, Cara, whatever have you done?” Edgar’s querulous voice sounded behind her.
Oops. She should have asked Mrs Pettett’s permission to change the window display. But she’d wanted to take advantage of the publicity without delay.
Besides, Mrs Pettett would almost certainly have said ‘No.’ For all she wanted Nick to produce some Hollywood glamour, she liked the windows staid and predictable, the way they’d been for years.
Cara turned to see Edgar examining the new window display with a smile.
“You like it?” she asked.
“It’s interesting. Rather unlike our usual displays. But what’s it supposed to be?”
Dear Edgar. He'd be around Maggie’s age, but the two couldn’t be more different. He sounded exactly like ninety something Prince Philip.
She handed him the page she’d torn from the newspaper. “Remember at yesterday’s meeting we decided we’d try to get the store some publicity? This is the result. I wanted to recreate the scene.”
“I see,” he said. “Well, I like it. Jolly good. Keep up the good work.”
He walked into the store.
Cara stayed outside. Despite the cold, she wanted to do one last check of their display.
They’d got it pretty close, using whatever they could from the store. Maggie had everything else, or knew someone who did. In far less time than Cara thought possible, they’d pulled the window together, from the brightly lit Christmas tree against a black velvet background sprinkled with pin prick star lights, to the waiting black cab.
Or a plastic imitation rear end of one, anyway.
The female shop dummy wore the clothes Cara had, pinned at the back to fit the slimmer mannequin, with the fake-fur cloak over the top. David from Menswear came up with a close enough match for Nick’s outfit.
It looked good.
Hopefully, good enough to get more attention for the store. Maybe even its own photo in tomorrow’s newspapers and the shopping blogs.
Cara shivered, and hurried inside out of the cold. The thought of sitting in front of her computer number crunching was distinctly unwelcome after the fun she’d had working on the window, but it needed to be done.
After an hour of struggling to make the spreadsheets tally, she was more than ready for a coffee. Green tea wouldn’t cut it today. She’d skipped her morning visit to the coffee shop in her rush to check the newspapers. Time to make up for that now.
She picked up her coat and bag, and stepped into the outer office, just as Nick walked in.
He beamed, as if they'd parted amicably. “Perfect timing, Cara. You're ready for lunch. Let's go.”
The girls stared, open mouthed. They’d tried to pump her at every opportunity about the newspaper photos. Only the staff at yesterday’s meeting knew the dates weren’t for real.
Cara admitted to a smug little shot of satisfaction. That twenty-eight going on fifty-eight line stung more than she’d let on.
Her only option was to agree, so she nodded. Her mouth seemed too dry to let her actually speak, anyway.
“Come on, Cara.” Nick held the door open for her.
She unstuck her feet from the floor and her tongue from the roof of her mouth enough to murmur, “Of course, Nick,” and step towards him.
When she brushed against him walking through the door, her heart did a crazy thumpity-thump. Looked like the decision about seeing Nick again was out of her hands.
She could do this. She had to.
Being a charmer didn't make Nick bad or unreliable. Not every attractive man was a liar and a thief like her dad. It wasn't like she was about to rely on him, anyway.
The dare was duty, part of her job, done for the good of the store, and its eighty-six employees, that’s all.
If unhappy memories bit into her, she'd ride them out.
Spending time with Nick and helping the store was worth it.
Chapter 10
In the lift, out of range of her staff's flapping ears, Cara spoke.
“Nick, about last night. I'm sorry I reacted the way I did.” She darted a look at him from under her lashes. “I thought I might have to email and beg you to keep going with the dare, after I was so obnoxious.”
He gave a tiny shake of his head. “You don’t get rid of me that easy. I'm sorry too. My fault. It wasn’t my intention to preach, or to criticise your choices. I'm sure you have good reasons for them.”
Did she? She wondered.
“Maybe. I warned you how much I hated Christmas.”
“You did. That is how we wound up on all these dates.” He smiled his sweet, little boy smile, dimples and all
“But I'm trying a new policy today. Having fun, the way you do. This is still officially work. But I found out this morning, work can be fun.”
“The window display?” His grin widened. “You did a great job. I saw it and hoped it meant I was forgiven and you’d come for lunch with me.”
She nodded.
“I love the window,” he said. “Very creative. I can’t believe you pulled it together so fast.”
She knew she was good with numbers. But the thrill she got when every so often someone complimented her pie charts and graphs didn’t compare to this. The window was different.
And like it or not, praise from Nick was different as well.
“Maggie did a lot of it
. So, where are we going? I’m not made over for anywhere nice.”
She raised a hand to her hair. She’d styled it softer and looser today, but her coat was the same old dowdy grey one, her suit, too.
“You look perfect. You don’t need to keep having makeovers for me.” Sincerity rang in his tone. The approval in his eyes reinforced it.
Delight at his praise swelled in her, warm and sweet.
Then she squelched it. Deciding to loosen up and let herself enjoy the dare wasn’t the same as wanting anything to happen between them. Nothing could happen between them.
This was about work. Saving her job and the jobs of all the other employees of the store.
She wanted the act to look convincing, but that was as far as it could go.
The lift pinged and the doors opened on the ground floor. Outside the staff entrance, taking up half the road, a huge sky blue American style convertible waited. All chrome and tail fins, with a uniformed chauffeur at the wheel.
Oh my. Her hand crept up to her chest. He’d gone to so much trouble.
“For us?”
Nick nodded, grinning at her reaction. “It's in the song.”
The chauffeur jumped out, saluted smartly, and opened the back door.
She slid into the seat. Nick tucked a soft cashmere blanket around her knees and carefully tied a Grace Kelly style headscarf under her chin. He leaned close enough she felt his breath warm on her cheek. “We're going cruising with the top down. I don't want you to get cold.”
Right now, she was a long way from cold. Nick’s slightest touch set her on fire. And she hadn't felt so looked after for a long time. Not since before Dad left. But just because Nick’s charm and thoughtfulness reminded her of Dad, that didn’t mean he was a conman too.
“Thank you, Nick. It’s an amazing car.”
“It’s close enough to the one in the song. A 1960 Galaxie. Only seven in the UK.”
He stroked the leather of the seat reverently, then grinned at her, unbearably appealing.
“Sorry, I forget not everyone shares my passion for classic cars.” He pulled out his phone and smiled. “Better get those selfies now. The fans want to see my latest leading lady.”
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 22