Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books) (2 page)

"Don't be fooled by the old lady exterior, inside she's tough as nails and will walk all over you. I'm used to her, she's got a good heart and she can be really funny, but you need to stay on top of it or else you become her lap dog."

"Woof," said Rainne.

Kirsty put an arm around Rainne's shoulder and squeezed.

"Oh, honey," she said. "Look, why don't you bring your business plan over later and I'll help you with it? Maybe we can put together some sort of advertising campaign for Christmas? Something that will benefit both our shops—like a lingerie party, or something. Two heads are better than one, don't you think?"

"I do, actually," said the deep voice behind her.

Kirsty jumped as the man stepped into view. There were men, and then there was this man. He was the kind of man that made the rest of the male population seem feminine. It was everything about him—his broad shoulders, his square jaw, the tiny dimple in his left cheek, the intense look in his blue eyes. Everything screamed man with a capital M.

"I do think two heads are better than one," he told her in an English accent that broadcast his south coast roots. "But I think the other head should be mine and not the competition's."

She reeled backwards, dropping her arm from Rainne's shoulders.

"Competition?"

He arched one eyebrow. It was the only expression he made. The rest of him—his face, his posture—seemed relaxed. Yet somehow he managed to radiate irritation.

"You do own the shop over the road, right?"

Kirsty nodded dumbly. Without thinking about it, her arms wrapped around her high-necked lambswool sweater and she hugged herself as she spoke.

"I might own the only other lingerie shop in town, but I'm trying to help here. That's how we do things in Invertary."

"If that's the case, then where have you been for the past six months while my sister's been throwing my money down the drain?"

He folded his arms over his wide chest, making the denim jacket strain across his shoulders. Her heart beat faster. Her mouth opened to defend herself, then snapped shut when she thought better of it.

"The same could be said about you," she said instead. "At least the help I'm offering is backed by expertise. What exactly do you know about the underwear business?"

He took a step towards her. Kirsty took a tiny step backwards. He noticed, and his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.

"I know that women buy the stuff for men, and I'm a man. That gives me the advantage. They'll be queuing up to get my advice."

Rainne jerked to attention.

"You're staying?" she squeaked. "You plan to run the business."

"You got a problem with that, little sister?" he asked, but his eyes never left Kirsty.

"You know what I think?" Kirsty said, saving Rainne from having to answer.

"I'm not sure I care what you think, but go ahead anyway."

Kirsty hands fell to her side and balled into fists. It had been a long time since she'd felt the urge to thump someone.

"I think you're in over your head," she said. "You obviously don't have a clue about running a shop or selling lingerie, and you've just insulted the only expert in town who was willing to help you."

His lips twitched slightly, giving the impression that he was going to smile, but nothing happened. His face was still impassive.

"Do you know what I think?" he said. "I think you're scared of a little competition."

Kirsty barked out a laugh that surprised her more than him.

"You're not competition. This"—she pointed to Betty's handmade sign—"is not competition. There's no way you could be a threat to me, or to my business."

"We'll see. Prepare to shut up shop."

Kirsty pursed her lips as she felt her cheeks burn.

"That is incredibly arrogant of you," she said.

"Or honest. It's obvious there's only room in this town for one lingerie shop. I'd rather it was mine."

"If you think I'm going to let you run me out of town then you're deluded. This is my home. You're the foreigner here."

He rocked back on his heels as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Although there was nothing in his manner to give him away, she got the distinct impression he was enjoying himself.

"Ah, that old chestnut. We hate the English. The English are the root of all our problems. Blah, blah. You guys need to get over yourselves. You lost. We won. We own you now. There's no point being bitter."

Kirsty reeled before blustering nonsense.

"That's right. The English are here to stay."

"That's it," she said at last. "You've crossed the line." She turned to Rainne with a tight smile. "I'm sorry, honey, but I can't help you now. You're stuck with him." She hooked her thumb towards the brother. "You have no idea how much I feel for you."

"I get that a lot," Rainne mumbled.

"As for you," she told the English imbecile, "bring it on. You don't stand a chance."

"So, last shop standing?"

"It'll be mine."

"I like a healthy imagination in a woman."

"You're going to regret annoying me this much."

At last he grinned. Kirsty felt her world shift as something unseen pulled her towards him.

"It's on, then?" he said with delight.

"It's on." She stepped back, feeling slightly disorientated.

"Great." He nodded. "War. This I
do
know."

"Ah, but you don't know lingerie war," Kirsty said. "Sit back and watch, soldier boy. You're about to have your backside handed to you."

With that she turned on the low heels of her tan leather boots and stalked back across the street.

"So," Magenta said once Kirsty had slammed the door shut. "It didn't go well, huh?"

Kirsty eyed her sole employee grimly.

"That man is insufferable. He has no idea how to relate to people and he sure as heck doesn't know how to run a shop." She let out a breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding. "He wants to close me down. Can you believe it? He's rude. He's ignorant and he's off his head."

Magenta blinked hard before she gave a wicked little smile.

"Been a long time since I saw you this wound up," she said.

Kirsty felt the wind go out of her. It
had
been years since she'd felt wound up about anything. That sort of passion belonged in her old life. She worried her bottom lip for a moment as she felt the will to fight drain out of her.

"You okay?" Magenta asked.

"Fine," Kirsty said. "I just have to figure out how I'm going to stop Betty's Knicker Emporium stealing what little business we do get."

Magenta's smile took on a pitying turn. Kirsty looked away from her.

"I'll be in my office," she told her. "Working on a marketing plan."

With that, she fled.

Lake woke with a grin the following morning. This was fun. He should have made his way to Scotland months ago instead of wandering around Europe annoying his old army mates. Although, to be fair, that had turned out quite well for him. But it wasn't as much fun as playing lingerie war in Scotland.

He folded the bedding on the couch into a neat pile, arranged his belongings symmetrically and went into the tiny kitchen to make coffee. Rainne was still asleep in the only bedroom; he could hear her gentle snores echoing down the hall. As the coffee brewed he examined his surroundings. Faded wallpaper that screamed 1970, furniture that been attacked by cats at some point and orange Formica everywhere. He'd lived in worse. If he was going to be in town any longer than the three months he needed to be there, he'd have put flat renovation on his to-do list. But for three months he could live with orange patterned carpet and old Bay City Rollers posters.

As the coffee brewed he flicked open his cell phone and dialled his army mate.

"Got my money yet?" John said cheerily when he answered the call.

"It's coming," Lake said with a grin.

"It'd better be," John said. "I have other guys begging me to get in on this deal. If you don't want to partner with me on this, let me know. I'll pick one of them."

"Go ahead," Lake said as he poured himself a mug of thick black coffee.

There was muttering that made him grin.

"I need you to send me my kit," Lake told his friend.

"You working?" He could almost hear John's ears perk up.

"I'm waging war," Lake told him.

There was a sigh.

"I know that tone. You've found something that amuses you and now you're farting around instead of focusing on the plan."

"Are you going to send my kit or not?"

"Sure, because I can see why you'd need night-vision goggles for selling knickers," John said. "Look, stop messing around in Scotland. You're needed here. We've got business piling up. I've already paid a designer to make the business cards—Prentice and Benson, International Security."

"You mean Benson and Prentice," Lake corrected.

John ignored him.

"This is what we talked about, remember? You, me, doing what we do best. Only this time we get money and fame." He paused. "And some of those tall, sexy women that hang around with billionaires."

Lake barked out a laugh.

"If they're hanging out with billionaires, they aren't going to go for the hired help, are they?"

"Not hired help. Highly skilled security consultants," John said snootily. "Plus, it's the trend to go for the bodyguard. Even Heidi Klum is doing it."

"Have you been reading women's magazines again? What did I tell you about that? It shrinks your..."

"Yeah. This coming from the guy who's selling pretty pink undies."

"Only until I get this shop in the black again. Then it's a quick sale and on to better things. I won't be here long enough for anything to shrink."

"Three months," John reminded him. "If you don't have the money to buy into the partnership by New Year's Eve, I'm going to have to offer it to someone who does and that would break my heart."

"Yeah, I'm sure it would," Lake said with a grin. "Send my gear," he ordered.

There was a grunt at the other end of the line. Lake wasn't worried. They both knew that John would be hard pressed to find someone with better skills than Lake. But that didn't change a deadline. Whether Lake was in or out, the business would have to start in the new year—there were clients waiting.

As he hung up the phone, the door to the tiny kitchen crashed open and Betty tottered in. Lake raised an eyebrow slightly.

"You still have a key?" He reached for another mug.

"I own the building. You lot just lease the shop," Betty said as she thumped a plastic carrier bag on the counter.

"You and I are going to have a little talk later about what exactly owning the business means," he told her as he handed her a mug of coffee.

If Betty was bothered by the implied threat, it didn't show. She sniffed the coffee and scrunched up her nose.

"This isn't tea." She handed back the mug. "What do you think I am, a Yank? Make me a cup of tea."

Lake flicked on the kettle. He'd been a warrior long enough to know that picking your battles was the key to victory.

"I brought breakfast," Betty said.

She opened the plastic bag and the room was filled with the smell of hot, spicy meat pies. She thrust a Scotch pie at him.

"That's a heart attack waiting to happen," he told her.

"That's the kind of rubbish I get from your sister." She mimicked Rainne's voice. "My body is a temple." Betty rolled her eyes.

Lake took the pie.

"I didn't say I wasn't going to eat it," he said. "But you can't live on this crap."

Betty scoffed.

"I'm eighty-six, son, and I've had a pie a day for as long as I can remember. You bloody well can live on these."

She took a huge bite to make her point. Lake smiled slightly as he made Betty a cup of tea. They took their breakfast into the living room.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Betty said.

She plopped into an old armchair that seemed perfectly moulded to fit her form.

"Paint. Decorate. Buy better underwear."

"There's nothing wrong with my underwear, son."

"Maybe not on you, but women who want to have sex may have a problem with it."

"Cheeky wee fart, I'll have you know that there's nothing wrong with my sex life. Why, just the other day..."

Lake held up a hand.

"You tell me anything about your sex life, I mean even one word, and I'll bury your body where no one will find it."

Betty grumbled into her mug of tea. He was glad he couldn't make out any of the words.

"One more thing," he said. "We're changing the sign."

Betty struggled to sit up straighter. It looked like the chair was trying to swallow her whole.