Say it with Diamonds...this Christmas (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases)

by Miranda Lee

  ‘Finished?’ Lorenzo demanded coolly. He shifted in his chair. ‘Passion, Ms Tate. I like that in an advocate. But I’d also like you to consider the perils of over-larding your assertions when you’re standing up in court.’

  His eyes were like black diamonds, and the ice in his voice was a salutary reminder that Lorenzo Domenico had not risen to the top of the legal levee on a tide of emotion.

  ‘Yes or no, Ms Tate?’ he demanded, pen poised.

  Her heart was racing. Her lips were parted …

  She was aroused!

  And not just aroused, she was thoroughly stirred up, which was unusual—no, make that unique! This unexpected confrontation with Lorenzo was rousing parts of her that had remained dormant for years. And at this, one of the most crucial moments in her life!

  She had to get over it, and let her mind rule; her parents needed this. ‘You can put your pen down,’ she said with matching calm. ‘I’m up to the challenge.’

  If only Lorenzo didn’t have quite such a direct and perceptive stare, but she had to be up to the challenge. She hadn’t moved from a sleepy village—where her parents were pillars of the local community—to the city, only to fail them. Her goal was to make her parents proud, and if that meant jousting with Lorenzo like this then she would. She wanted the Unicorn scholarship more than anything. Other than a hug sometimes … ‘You mentioned a second task?’ she prompted, rattling her brain cells into order.

  ‘I’d like you to organise the Christmas party.’

  The poisoned chalice! Her stomach clenched.

  ‘The holidays come around each year, Ms Tate,’ he said briskly. ‘There’s no need to look so startled. I have been informed that we host a spectacular Christmas party each year, and I’m offering you the chance to make this year’s the best. I would have thought you would be grateful for an opportunity to shine.’ He said this wearily. ‘You have four days,’ he added in a harder tone.

  Four days? He made it sound as if four days was a generous amount of time in which to achieve the impossible. Lorenzo had unerringly settled on the one task for which her finely-tuned brain was most ill equipped. She was a swot, not a party planner. She collected scholarships like other people collected golf trophies. But Lorenzo was right in saying this was a chance to impress, if not the chance she had been hoping for. She didn’t have sufficient polish to lay on something grand for a group of sophisticated lawyers.

  But polish could be acquired, Carly reminded herself, whereas ambition had been stamped on her forehead at birth. She was going to nail this.

  ‘If you don’t feel up to the task I can always ask someone else.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she assured him. ‘I can handle it.’ If he’d asked her to walk up and down Oxford Street with a sandwich-board on her back advertising ambulance-chasing services, she’d do that too. All it took to cement her determination in place was the thought of her mother’s face if she failed, or her father’s friends shaking their heads behind his back, if she returned home empty-handed. She had to win Lorenzo’s respect somehow if she was going to land the wretched scholarship. She was going to grasp this nettle and shake it in his face. She was going to put on the best Christmas party there’d ever been.

  Somehow.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he pressed, staring at her intently. ‘You can’t afford to get this wrong, Ms Tate.’

  Thanks for the confidence boost! ‘I’m positive. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’ She tipped her chin and found a confident, businesslike smile to match the brave words. She had already fathomed how she was going to turn what her mother was sure to see as a menial task into a positive: Lorenzo had entrusted her with the task of organising the most important chambers event of the year. The fact that you didn’t need an honours degree from Cambridge to do that would never occur to her mother.

  She hoped.

  ‘Very well, then …’ Lorenzo’s dark eyes glinted as the challenge began. ‘Well? What are you waiting for? You’d better make a start.’

  It was the ultimate test for Carly. He doubted she had ever attended the type of party where networking and point-scoring were a given, champagne and caviare just a starting point. He wanted to push her; he wanted to find out about those hidden depths. Would she ring a party planner and take the easy way out? He’d known that to happen in the past. It usually ended in disaster with the student forced to ring Mummy and Daddy to provide extra funds when they realised how little they would be receiving from him.

  Yes, this was one of his favourite tests.

  Back in the cubby-hole that passed for her office, Carly reviewed her position. Planning a sophisticated party took her so far out of her comfort zone her first inclination was to laugh hysterically. Carly Tate, the girl least likely to party, was now expected to arrange one!

  Her mother expressed serious doubts when she rang up for advice. ‘If only your sister were there to help you …’ But Livvie wouldn’t be there to help …

  She felt a pang as she thought about her sister. Livvie had a talent for bringing people together and making them smile and could sprinkle fairy dust over any gathering. But, clueless or not, this was her party. It was just one more mountain to climb. And climb it she would.

  Dusting off the crampons of her ambition, she got to work. The phrase ‘party planner’ sang in her mind as she spotted the telephone directory, but then remembering the tone of Lorenzo’s instructions, she changed her mind. He had asked her to organise the party; he hadn’t asked her to delegate. This was just another of his little tests, Carly concluded, determined to play Lorenzo at his own game.

  Playing Lorenzo at his own game involved seeing him again during his working day, and he didn’t welcome her interruption. But he could turn on the hard stare all he liked, she wasn’t going anywhere until she had the information she needed. ‘I must know more before I can start to plan.’ She used a firm voice to distract him from the papers he was studying.

  ‘For instance?’ His gazed pierced her.

  ‘Budget?’ She held her ground even though Lorenzo was so tensely poised behind his desk he looked like a cougar about to pounce. ‘I must know the budget I’ll be working to …’ It was hard to block out images of chocolate fountains and multiple crates of champagne. Having perused the guest list, she knew a number of eminent QCs and judges from other chambers would be attending, and they’d expect the best. Her confidence was growing by the minute. Party planning wasn’t so bad. It was just a question of making lists and sourcing suppliers—

  ‘Budget?’ Lorenzo barked, cutting her off mid self-congratulation. ‘Slim, Ms Tate!’

  Was that an instruction? She sucked in her stomach, just in case.

  Lorenzo fixed her with a basilisk stare. ‘Bring every quotation to me. Don’t agree to anything without my direct permission. Do I make myself clear, Ms Tate?’ His voice had dropped to a penetrating whisper.

  Crystal. She would use lawyer’s discretion, which meant that anything she could get away with, she would. Unfortunately she didn’t have such an immediate answer to the irresponsible behaviour of her body, which was responding frantically to the stern note in Lorenzo’s voice. She liked that. She liked it a lot. Probably because she could see all sorts of erotic possibilities in her mind’s eye. She gave a brisk nod to cover for her abstraction as her fantasies played out.

  Lorenzo scribbled something on a pad, which he handed over to her. ‘Here’s your guideline spending limit …’

  Taking the paper from him, Carly read it and tried not to gulp. Her scholarship was definitely teetering in the balance, not on a champagne fountain, as she had hoped, but on a beer mug and a plate of curling sandwiches. She could forget the graceful twelve-foot tree, tastefully decorated with colour-coordinated baubles and flashing lights—clear, of course, she knew that much. With the budget Lorenzo had just handed her she’d be lucky if she could afford a pot-plant and a torch.

  ‘If the task’s too much for you—’ he began wearily.

&n
bsp; ‘Not at all,’ she interrupted him.

  ‘Then, if you don’t mind …’ He stared pointedly at the pile of papers on his desk.

  ‘Of course,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll start working on it right away.’

  When the door had shut behind her he sat back. Would she crumble? He hoped not. Closing his eyes briefly, he thought he could detect the faint aroma of wildflowers in the air. Ms Tate was proving a lot harder to blank from his mind than he had anticipated. And his body would have some striking images to dip into as well if she didn’t find a suit jacket that fitted. The end result was he found it impossible to concentrate.

  Springing up, he paced the room. So what if the task he had handed her was impossible? A working lawyer rarely encountered anything ordinary or expected in court. He wanted to see how she reacted, how she thought on her feet when she was up against a wall …

  He had to shake his head to drive away that disturbing image before he could progress his thoughts. Her development as a lawyer was under his command. On paper she was the front runner for the scholarship, but was it enough? She was a hopeless public speaker, which put her future as an effective advocate in jeopardy. And maybe she did have the best possible paper qualifications, but was her memory suspect? Was it possible she had forgotten what was happening tonight? She certainly hadn’t mentioned it. Yet she faced a crucial test. Had it slipped her mind? And if it had, what could possibly have distracted her to that extent?

  Lorenzo. Lorenzo. Lorenzo. Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? He seemed to have taken up permanent residence in there, Carly thought, raking her hair in frustration. And it was imperative she concentrate on the task at hand. Four days was hardly enough time to organise a cup of tea in this place, let alone a full-blown Christmas party!

  Chewing the top of her pencil, she wracked her brain for that one brilliant idea that would astound everyone.

  And failed.

  The only clearly focused thought in her head was the knowledge that Lorenzo would never look at her in the way her body thought he should. Why would he, when he was older and worldly-wise, wildly successful and far better looking? Face it, he wouldn’t, and that was that.

  Lorenzo rasped his beard with one firm thumb pad. He was still pondering Carly’s inexplicable lapse of memory. Tonight was the Grand Court, a legal ceremonial notorious as the killing ground of pupils. He would have thought she’d be prepared for it. The Grand Court was geared to weed out the weaker members of the bar before they had chance to gain a foothold in the profession. It went without saying that any pupil of his would succeed and pass the test with flying colours—and without any prompting from the sidelines. But on this occasion he wondered if there might be too large a gulf between his expectation and Carly’s performance. He refused to believe she could simply forget, just as he refused to give her an unfair advantage over the other pupils. He felt a little reassured when her determined face flashed into his mind. Of course she had everything in hand. If she hadn’t she’d be squashed like a bug.

  Back in her cubby-hole Carly sat with her head in her hands. There wasn’t a chance she could organise the type of party Lorenzo was expecting on the measly budget he had allowed. Hard work wasn’t enough in this instance. She needed a miracle.

  Her head bounced as her eyes fired with inspiration. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She didn’t have to compete with some glitz and glamour event. All she had to do was land on something bold and different, something novel and unexpected—

  And hope she didn’t fall flat on her face.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SLURPING COFFEE without tasting it, Carly continued scribbling notes. The ideas were coming thick and fast now, and driving her hard towards party nirvana was the knowledge that she had less than a week to put everything in place … food, drink, music, decorations, dress—

  Dress!

  Pushing back from the desk, she yelped in alarm. How could she have forgotten tonight? How could she have forgotten a night as crucial to her career as the Grand Court?

  Lorenzo. She blamed him entirely.

  He had shot everything from her brain in less time than it took to …

  Clear your mind, Carly.

  Pressing her fingertips against her temples, she battled hard to erase images of her stern pupil master performing all sorts of pre-sentence examinations on her all too eager and totally irresponsible body.

  And failed.

  She was doing quite a lot of that recently.

  But the Lorenzo effect was a concern for another day. The Grand Court was so important to her future she couldn’t believe it had slipped her mind. Nothing slipped her mind ever.

  Before Lorenzo.

  The Grand Court was a rite of passage for every pupil barrister, and as such should have taken precedence over everything. And she didn’t have a thing to wear. If there’d been room in her cramped cubby-hole she would have paced up and down. It was too dreadful to contemplate. All the senior lawyers, including Lorenzo, would be attending; there was no getting out of it. And she hadn’t given it a thought.

  He’d known that and let her stew?

  His sardonic face flashed into her mind. Of course he had.

  So she would fight fire with fire. The Christmas party would just have to take a back seat until tomorrow. If she failed the Grand Court she wouldn’t make the Christmas party anyway, Carly thought, grimacing. Plus the golf and bridge clubs would be forced to fly their flags at half-mast, which was out of the question.

  Settling back down, she tried to remain calm. The Grand Court was no picnic—unless you took into account the bread rolls flying your way if you messed up. The ceremony was held annually in the vaulted dining hall of one of the ancient Inns of Court. If you failed the test you were a laughing stock, and if you succeeded you could expect no praise. Following centuries of tradition the senior lawyers were expected to heckle the pupils as they stood to make their formal application to join the circuit. There were no rules, no quarter given, and only last year a judge’s daughter had been sick in her own handbag. She told herself to concentrate on the positives.

  All one of them.

  Her middle name was Viola, like Shakespeare’s heroine in Twelfth Night. The play had first been performed in 1602 in the very same hall where the Grand Court was held. What more mojo did she need? Everything would be fine.

  Hopefully.

  All she had to do was stand up and state her name, along with the date of her call, and the ancient Inn that had called her to the bar. After that, she just had to declare her wish to join the circus—

  Circuit, Carly corrected herself grimly.

  A slip like that could cost her her career. If she stumbled over the words, tradition demanded she start her little speech all over again, which was when the seniors’ fun began. It was their task to shout her down, drown her out, and ultimately destroy her.

  Calm, Carly commanded herself a second time, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. Everything would go to plan, but she must leave no stone unturned, which brought her thoughts full circle to the question of her outfit for the occasion. Fortunately, she had a secret weapon …

  Madeline Du Pre, the most senior pupil in chambers, was Carly’s elder by three years. Madeline was the recognised expert in fashion by virtue of a stint at a Swiss finishing school. Rumour had it that Madeline had been forced to repeat her first six months of training several times due to … Well, no one really knew, and Madeline wasn’t telling, but the pupil master in charge of broadening her experience, one Judge Roger Warrington, never visited Madeline’s office unaccompanied these days.

  Madeline the modiste if not the modest, Carly thought as she rapped smartly on Madeline’s door.

  Carly didn’t have long to wait for Madeline’s verdict.

  ‘Black? Are you mad?’

  ‘Black’s safe,’ Carly protested. ‘Legal-black is practically a definition,’ she pointed out. ‘In fact it should be a colour in the paint box. I can see it
now—black, with a silvering of dust, and a touch of green mould … Don’t look at me like that, Madeline. You know as well as I do that wearing black will take you through anything.’

  ‘Except a wedding.’ Madeline sniffed. ‘For you …’ cocking her head to one side, she gave Carly a long, considering look ‘… it has to be orange.’

  ‘Orange?’ Carly’s eyes widened as she pictured her flame-coloured hair framed in orange. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure … Orange will be perfect with your colouring.’

  It was important to get this right, and Madeline’s scarlet talons were already drumming the desk.

  ‘If you really think so …’ Carly’s voice trailed away as a horror snap in some down-market journal flew into her mind. There would be a banner heading with her looking fat, proclaiming, ORANGE JUISTICE!

  But Madeline was already leading her by the arm towards the door …

  ‘Stop worrying. Orange is absolutely your colour,’ Madeline soothed. ‘You mustn’t even think of wearing black. You can only wear black when you’ve been accepted by the Grand Court. You’ll cause an uproar if you go against tradition, Carly. Now, fortunately I can help you out. There’s a fabulous second-hand designer clothes place, just about half a mile from here. I saw a dress in their window this morning that would be perfect for you. I even have their card …’

  She handed it over and Carly read, ‘One Starry Night: Model gowns by Madame Xandra … Available to hire, or to buy …’

  ‘Thank you,’ Carly said, frowning uncertainly.

  It wasn’t that Carly was fat, Madame Xandra explained helpfully, it was just that ball gowns were meant to fit snugly.

  Which was all right for Madame Xandra, Carly thought mutinously, since she was thread-thin. Viewing her red face in the mirror, she knew she couldn’t possibly hold her breath like this all evening, but on the other hand she couldn’t bear the humiliation of trying to squeeze her plumpness into any more undersized Barbie-frocks. ‘Yes, this one is absolutely perfect,’ she said in answer to Madame Xandra’s pained look.