Manolos in Manhattan Read Free Page A

my guests downstairs. I suggest you both do the same.”
    “I’ll be right there.” Holly turned away and moved to follow him.
    “Wait.” Ciaran caught up with her. “What time shall I pick you up tomorrow?”
    “Eleven, I suppose. I’m catatonic before noon.” She paused. “Do you know where I live?”
    “Yes, I got your address from Ms. Welch earlier. She’s much more accommodating than you.” His eyes twinkled.
    Twinkled!
    “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he added with a grimace, “I really
do
need the loo.”
    She smiled. “Right. You know where it is. Goodbye.”
    “Goodbye, Miss James. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven.”
    “Not a minute sooner,” she warned.
    “No sooner, I promise. I look forward to it.” He winked one of those sexy green-brown eyes at her and made his way back downstairs.
    And so it was settled. Holly would spend tomorrow with Ciaran Duncan, internationally famous film actor, British heartthrob, and ex-boyfriend of Sienna, Keira, Olivia, and Jennifer...
    ...and a man with more hands than one of those multi-armed Hindu statues.
    As she drifted back downstairs, tugging absently at the upwardly creeping hem of her dress, Holly alternated between elation and dismay. What had she just got herself into? Ciaran Duncan was out of her league. She frowned. Jamie wouldn’t want her spending a minute with the handsome film star, much less an entire day.
    And how would she tell Chaz that she’d snared a date...with
his
dream man?
    He’d never speak to her again.
    “...perhaps you should set your sights on Alastair’s daughter. You could do worse, you know. She stands to inherit twenty-five percent of Dashwood and James one day.”
    Holly came to an abrupt stop halfway down the stairs. Thankfully, they couldn’t see her up here in the shadows, but she could see their legs in the entrance hall below. Coco Welch, the promotions manager her father had relocated to New York from the London flagship store, was talking to that self-important solicitor, Mr Darcy.
    “No thank you.” Hugh Darcy spoke quietly but firmly. “I’ve no interest in getting married, at any rate. I’m here to assist Mr James, and to work...not to romance his daughter.”
    “Just as well…she’s engaged already, to a chef,” Coco remarked. Her voice warmed. “Although I must say, Jamie Gordon is ‒ pardon the pun ‒ quite dishy.” She added, “Still, you could do far worse than marrying an heiress like Holly. You can’t deny that she’d make an excellent match.”
    “I doubt that. I’ve encountered puddles with more depth than that girl.”
    Holly’s mouth sagged open. Was he saying she was
shallow
? How dare he?
    “She’s young,” Coco agreed, “and a bit superficial. But she
is
pretty,” she added grudgingly, “if you like tall, coltish girls with blonde hair and no sense of style, that is.”
    “Unfortunately, I don’t. I prefer women with style. And I prefer brunettes.”
    Humiliation, followed closely by anger, swept over Holly. So Hugh Darcy thought she was (1) shallow (2) unstylish and (3) unattractive? Who on earth did he think he was? Had he looked in a mirror lately? Oh, he was handsome enough, in a dark-and-broody, Heathcliff sort of way; but let’s face it ‒ he had all the personality of a law book.
    She waited on the stairs until they left, then made her way quietly down the last few steps. As she hurried towards the baize door that led to the kitchen, blinking back tears of anger and wounded pride, she collided with Hugh Darcy, who’d just come back into the entrance hall to fetch his coat.
    He reached out a hand to steady her, and the touch of his skin on her bare arm and the immovable wall of his chest against hers sent an unexpected frisson down Holly’s spine. He really was attractive, she realized belatedly. If only he wasn’t such a snobby, arrogant,
opinionated
knob...
    “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “That was careless of me. Are you all right, Miss