Manolos in Manhattan (27 page)

“Oh. The concert.” He frowned. “I told Natalie this morning that with all of this going on, I can’t possibly go.”

Chaz’s face fell. “No, of course not. I should stay, too. I’ll call my date and let him know I can’t make it. I’ll stay here,” he added bravely, despite his disappointment, “and help.”

“No.” Rhys’s words were firm. “There’s really nothing to be done until tomorrow, when I’ll get a crew in to help rearrange things. I have paperwork yet to do, but you’re going to Christa’s concert tonight. And that’s an order.”

“Thanks,” he said gratefully. “You’re the best!”

“Excuse me.”

The two of them looked up to see the fire inspector standing in the doorway, a clipboard in hand.

“That’s all, Chaz,” Rhys said, and stood up as his personal assistant turned towards the door. “Have fun tonight.”

“I will, thanks.” Shooting him another grateful smile, he nodded at the fire inspector and left the office.

“Chief Inspector Doolan,” the man in the doorway said by way of introduction as he came in and extended his free hand.

“Rhys Gordon,” Rhys replied as he took it. “And have you finished your inspection, Mr Doolan?”

“I have. And what I found is a bit disturbing.”

Rhys frowned. “Disturbing? I don’t understand. It was a simple sprinkler system malfunction. Wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Doolan replied. “There were smoke marks on the sprinkler head, and it was bent.”

Rhys’s frown deepened. “Do you mean to say…?”

He fixed a straightforward blue gaze on Rhys’s. “Someone held a match or a lighter underneath the sprinkler head and hit it with a wrench or a hammer, to boot. They wanted to make sure that sprinkler came on.”

Stunned, Rhys stared at him. “I can’t believe this. Who would
do
such a thing?”

“Could be anyone. Kids. Pranksters. A disgruntled employee, perhaps.” Doolan added, “But whoever it was – the bottom line is this. The system didn’t malfunction, Mr Gordon. Someone deliberately tampered with it.”

Chapter Forty-Six

“I can’t find my diamond wristwatch,” Holly complained that evening. “How can I go to the première with Ciaran if I don’t have my diamond wristwatch?”

Natalie flicked off the TV program she was watching with a sigh of resignation and stood up from the sofa. Blimey, but it got a bit harder to manage the getting-up-and-standing bit every day – her belly was only slightly larger, yet her equilibrium was definitely off.

“Did you look on your dresser?” Nat asked as she paused in the guest room doorway.

“Of course I did – that was the first place I looked.” Holly, with her hair in hot rollers and a mudpack on her face, looked like a demented alien as she ran around the room, opening and closing drawers and flipping the chair cushions up in her frantic search for the missing wristwatch.

“What if I left it at the hotel? What if…” Her eyes widened. “What if the cat burglar
stole
it?”

Natalie let out an exasperated breath. “Holly, unless the cat burglar is invisible, he couldn’t have got past me. I’ve been here every minute since you landed on our doorstep last night.”

Barely twenty-four hours, Nat thought grumpily, and already Holly was driving her bonkers. With Alastair’s daughter, everything was a drama – from forgetting to make a hairdressing appointment to buying the wrong brand of mascara, to misplacing her bloody diamond wristwatch.

“That watch was a present from my
dad
,” Holly wailed, “for my eighteenth birthday. It isn’t very valuable, but it means a lot to me.”

“Here, let me help you look.”

As Natalie knelt awkwardly onto the floor and peered under the bed, sneezing as she did, she heard Holly exclaim, “Oh, look ‒ here it is! It must’ve fallen into one of my trainers when I threw everything in my carryall.”

“Imagine that,” Nat muttered as she struggled to her feet and sneezed again. “Well, in that case, my work here is done. I’m going to bed.”

“Bed? But it’s barely five-thirty.” Holly regarded her in dismay just before she disappeared once again into the en suite bathroom to rinse off the hardened mudpack. “It’s far too early to even
think
about sleeping.”

“I’m taking a nap,” Natalie said. “Dom and I are going to Christa’s concert at Madison Square Garden tonight, so I need to rest up. I’m really looking forward to it.”

And she was, even if Rhys couldn’t go. She’d bought a new outfit, consisting of palazzo pants (with an elasticized waistband) and a T-shirt emblazoned with a pair of hot-pink, glittery lips.

“Your outfit’s totes adorbs, by the way,” Holly called out as she dried her face. “Why isn’t Rhys going?”

Briefly Natalie explained about the sprinkler system.

“Oh, no.” Holly paused. “That sucks. Well, at least Dom’s going. It’s perfect – you’ll have a rock star to escort you to the concert. Just be sure to wear comfy shoes.”

“Chanel ballerina flats,” Natalie called back smugly as she turned away. “All right...I’ll see you later. Have a lovely evening with Ciaran.”

“Thanks! I need to hurry, he’ll be here at seven... Oh, shit,
where
is my eyelash curler...?”

Ciaran’s car arrived to pick Holly up promptly at seven.

As she appeared downstairs and slid onto the back seat, Holly eyed the actor in approval. “You clean up very well.”

“Thank you.” He glanced down at his tux before studying her in return as the Town Car merged into the flow of traffic. “So do you. You look stunning.”

Holly blushed. “Thanks.” She’d chosen a strapless blue velvet Zac Posen gown (blagged from a photo shoot during her time at
BritTEEN
) and a pair of von Karles she’d borrowed from the shoe department. Diamond stud earrings sparkled in her ears, and the diamond wristwatch from her father gleamed on her wrist.

As the car glided down 54
^th
Street to the Zeigfeld Theater and Ciaran responded to text messages, Holly felt a flutter of nervousness. She turned her head and gazed out the window as the lights of the city slid by.

Jamie hadn’t called since she’d left the hotel last night. She knew he was being stubborn. She sighed. She was, too. He was at the restaurant right now, probably being a beast to everyone in the kitchen.

Everyone except Catherine, no doubt...

Holly pressed her lips together. They’d work this out, and everything would be fine; and by this time next year, she and Jamie would be married. She was sure of it.

In the meantime, this was a nothing more than an evening out with Ciaran, a couple of hours spent posing for photos, smiling on his arm as he chatted with journalists, and watching his new film together, and she planned to enjoy every minute.

She owed Ciaran this night after all of the publicity he’d done for her father’s store, after all.

“Is everything all right?” he inquired as he put his mobile away and glanced at her. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“It’s nothing,” she assured him. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

He laid his hand atop hers. “Don’t be. God knows I’ve done enough of these things over the years. I could walk the red carpet in my sleep. All you need to do‒” His fingers squeezed hers gently. “‒is smile, and be beautiful. And you’re very good at both.”

His eyes – so greeny-brown and velvety ‒ gazed into hers. “I’m fine,” she said, her words quiet, “now.”

And then he was leaning closer, closer...until somehow, she was in Ciaran’s arms, their lips touching and fusing together in a lengthy, and completely unexpected, kiss.

“Oh, no,” Holly stammered a moment later, and pulled away, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.”

What the hell had just happened? One minute she’d been talking about how nervous she was, the next – her lips were locked with Ciaran’s.

“I’m not.” He eyed her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sorry, not one bit. Holly—”

“No,” she cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “No! That shouldn’t have happened. I’m engaged to Jamie.
Jamie
!” she wailed. “Oh, shit ‒ what am I doing sitting in the back seat of a limo, on my way to a world film première, kissing you?”

“Perhaps it’s what you wanted to do.”

Holly glared at him. “You’re no help, Ciaran.”

“Perhaps you don’t really want to marry Jamie,” he went on.

“Of course I do. I love him! We’re perfect for each other.”

Ciaran lifted his brow. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?” she demanded. “Of course I’m sure.”

“If you’re both so perfect together, then what are you doing here with me? Why do we always end up like this?”

Holly blinked. It was a fair question...and one she really didn’t have an answer for. “I...it was...I thought...”

He kissed her again, cutting off her words with the heat of his lips. “Tell me, Holly,” he said a moment later, as he dragged his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh, “that you don’t want me as much as I want you. Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

And although she knew he was wrong ‒ she wasn’t one bit attracted to him, not one tiny bit ‒ and although she knew she should
tell
him so, somehow she couldn’t, and instead she let him kiss her again.

Chapter Forty-Seven

The limousine came to a stop in front of the Dunleigh just before seven on Saturday evening. As the chauffeur came around to open the rear passenger door, a small crowd gathered on the pavement to see who was inside.

“Dominic!” someone called out as the rocker, clad in snakeskin trousers and a Stones T-shirt, emerged. A few flashbulbs went off and a woman squealed. Ignoring them – he was in
no
mood – Dominic strode past the doorman with a nod and went into the lobby.

Blimey, he should’ve made Natalie meet him downstairs.

“May I help you, sir?” the front desk clerk inquired.

“Yeah. Ring Apartment 1010 and tell whoever answers that Dominic Heath’s here to pick Natalie up.”

The desk clerk didn’t bat an eyelash. He was plainly (a) unaware of the rock star’s identity and (b) unimpressed. “Very well.” He placed the call, eyeing Dominic with suspicion all the while; after a quick, murmured conversation, he rang off and informed the musician that he might go up to the fifth floor.

“There’s a private lift just around the corner,” the clerk added, his expression changing to alarm as he saw a gaggle of camera-wielding reporters swarming up the steps to the front entrance.

With a curt nod, Dominic made his way across the lobby and went around the corner to the lift, and stepped in just as the paparazzi arrived outside and began hectoring the doorman to let them in.

Thank God for doormen, Dom thought grimly as the doors slid shut...and thank
God
for private lifts.

“I can’t wait to see Christa tonight!” Natalie enthused as the limousine pulled away from the Dunleigh fifteen minutes and several dozen flashbulb-poppings later. “I’ve been looking forward to it ever since you sent me the tickets.”

“Yeah, well, I figured you might like to go.” He smiled halfheartedly. “Do you good to get away and, you know, rock out for a bit.”

Natalie, sensitive to Dom’s mercurial moods, reached out and laid her hand atop his. “What’s wrong, Dominic? You seem a bit down.”

He sighed. “Nothing’s wrong, as such.”

“Dominic,” Nat warned him, “this is me you’re talking to. I know you far too well and I know something’s wrong. Spill.”

Dom scowled. “It’s Gemma. She wants a baby.” He cast a quick glance at the swell of Nat’s belly. “And she’s on me about it all the bloody time.”

“Well...don’t you want a baby, too?”

“Yeah, course I do. I need an heir and a spare, don’t I, to carry on the Locksley family name? But...not just yet.”

Natalie lifted her brow. “When, then? You’ve been putting Gemma off for
ages
now.”

“Shit,” he grumbled, “you sound just like her! Soon, I guess...I dunno,” he added glumly. “I just don’t think I’m cut out to be a father.”

“Now you sound like Rhys,” she said, and smiled. “He said the exact same thing when he found out I was pregnant.”

“Really?” Dom looked at her skeptically. “You mean me and that knob have something in common?”

“A very wise Scottish friend of ours told him that no one’s ever ‘ready’ to become a parent. You just have to wing it, Dominic. That’s all any of us can do.”

“I suppose,” he said, still doubtful. He took out his mobile phone and began scrolling through his extensive contacts list. “Right,” he decided, “I’ll call Gems now and tell her we’re making a baby just as soon as I get back to London.”

“Order up!”

Catherine deposited her plates at the pass and glanced at Jamie, who was expediting. “What the hell’s going on in here tonight? I know it’s Saturday night – but this is crazy!”

He leaned forward to wipe a trace of garlic butter from the edge of a plate. “There’s a concert at Madison Square Garden tonight. That pop singer, Christa. That might explain the extra crowds.”

“And how do you know there’s a concert tonight?” Catherine asked as she placed a sprig of rosemary atop a lamb chop. “Are you a Christa fan?”

Jamie shook his head. “Holly and I were offered a couple of free tickets a few weeks ago. But‒” he glanced at the madness surrounding him “‒obviously, I couldn’t go.”

“You haven’t said much about Holly lately,” Catherine ventured. “In fact, you haven’t said a word.” She cast him a quick, curious glance. “Are you guys okay? Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night? Isabel’s really looking forward to it.”

“We’re fine,” he replied. “And yes, we’re still on for dinner tomorrow night.”

Even if I have to go without Holly
, Jamie thought grimly.

“Order up,” he called out as he set the plates out, “table three! Come on, you lot – move it!”

He hadn’t called Holly since she’d left, nor had she called him. What was there to say, after all? If she preferred that knob Ciaran’s company to his, then so be it. He had no intention of standing in her way.

As he turned to survey the remaining tickets, he caught Catherine’s glance. She lifted her brow and gave him a quizzical smile.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Right.” With a smirk that plainly said she didn’t believe him for a minute, she returned her attention to the lamb chops she’d just placed on the grill.