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“I’ll buy your gown. It’ll be my wedding gift to you.”

      “Nat, it’s Saturday, and your new job doesn’t start until next week, so you won’t get paid until the end of the month. You can’t afford a knock-off from Marks and Sparks right now, much less a designer gown.”

      “No, but with this—” Natalie held up a credit card “—I can afford anything. Besides, I want to do something for you. You’ve done lots for me, over the years.”

      And it was true. When thirteen-year-old Nat snuck off to Glastonbury with a friend and nearly got arrested, Caro brought her home, and didn’t tell mum. She’d given Nat lifts, turned a blind eye when Nat borrowed her Barbour (until Nat ripped the lining and Caro slapped her, hard), and offered advice (most of it rubbish) and a shoulder to cry on.

      Her sister deserved to have the wedding of her dreams, just as Tarquin and Wren deserved a truly fabulous wedding gift. And so Natalie would buy Caro the perfect dress.

      She found it, as she’d hoped, at the Vera Wang atelier. A slim column of cream silk with a low, draped back, the dress was simple but stunning.

      “Oh, Caro, it’s beautiful!” Natalie breathed. She turned to the bridal assistant. “We’ll take it.”

      Doubtfully her sister demurred. “It’s far too expensive,” she murmured. “I can get a perfectly nice dress off the rack.”

      Natalie shrugged. “It’s pricey, but you only get married once.” She smirked. “Well – let’s hope so, anyway.”

      As Caro tried on the dress and a fitter made adjustments, Natalie followed the bridal assistant to the front desk and handed over her card. A minute later the assistant returned, her face looking like the back end of a horse.

      “I’m sorry, Miss Dashwood, but your purchase was not approved. Your credit has been declined.”

      Rhys wiped his face with a towel and draped it around his neck. “I win again. Better luck next time, mate.”

      Ben Harris thrust his squash racket into its case and tossed Rhys a bottle of water. “Not bad for an old guy,” he conceded.

      “This old guy just kicked your arse.” Rhys drank his water down in one go and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are we on for a re-match next Saturday?”

      Ben followed him off the squash court and into the changing room. “Can’t. Sophie needs help choosing wedding napkins.”

      “Wedding napkins?” Rhys raised his brow. “A napkin’s a napkin, or so I thought. You wipe your mouth with it.”

      “They’re to have our initials. And she wants them folded into flower shapes.”

      “Origami napkins…bloody hell.” Rhys stripped off his sweat-drenched T-shirt and shorts and stepped into the shower. “Better you than me, mate.”

      Ben towelled himself off. “What can I say? It makes Sophie happy. You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t you?” he called out over the rush of water.

      “Of course…sorry I couldn’t be your best man. I just can’t fit it in right now.”

      “Yeah, saving Dashwood and James’s arse must keep you busy. How’s that going, by the way?”

      Rhys emerged from the shower. “With the exception of Sir Richard’s granddaughter, Natalie – who thinks it’s her mission in life to bankrupt the company – it’s going OK, I suppose. No one likes change.”

      “Least of all you,” Ben observed dryly. He glanced at Rhys. “Sorry it didn’t work out with you and Cat.”

      Rhys threw his locker door open and began to get dressed. “I was a fucking idiot for ever getting involved with her.” Rhys slammed his locker shut. “Have time for a coffee before I go to work?”

      “Sure.” Ben dropped the subject of Caterina. He and Rhys had known each other a long time, but even best mates didn’t talk much about their relationships. They shared a drunken regret or two over a pint, and never spoke of it again.

      As they left the squash courts and emerged onto the street, they passed a newsstand. Photos of Rhys and Natalie Dashwood featured prominently on most of them.

      “Well, you and Natalie Dashwood are certainly popular with the paparazzi these days,” Ben remarked, and smirked. “Sorry, but I have to ask. Are you two really—”

      “Sleeping together?” Rhys finished tersely. “No.” He thought of Natalie, wearing a T-shirt that barely covered her bum, and shoved the image resolutely aside. “Sir Richard and Natalie are clients. And I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

      Ben grinned. “Maybe you should. You know what they say…all work and no play—”

      “—makes Ben a dead man, if he doesn’t shut the hell up,” Rhys retorted.

      Ben followed Rhys into the coffee shop. “Are you bringing a plus one to the wedding?” he asked as they took their cups and sat down.

      “No.”

      “Why not bring Natalie?”

      “And give the tabloids more fodder for speculation?” Rhys said, and sipped his espresso. “No, thanks.”

      “Isn’t that what you want? It’s more publicity for the store. Besides, you like her, I know you do—”

      “Miss Dashwood is spoilt and selfish and has no concept of what it’s like to do without. I’m sure she thinks ‘austerity’ is a clothing label. And even if I were – hypothetically speaking – attracted to her, a relationship between us simply can’t happen. Natalie works for me, or will do soon, and Sir Richard – her grandfather – is a client.”

      “So? Plenty of girls marry their bosses.”

      “Fuck me! Who said anything about marriage?” Rhys glared at him. “Drop it, Ben, or I won’t come to your bloody wedding at all.”

      “Just think about it,” Ben said, unfazed by Rhys’s outburst. “That’s all. You’re only inviting her to a wedding, not proposing. Now – more importantly,” he added, and leaned forward, “when can we schedule a rematch? Because I’m wiping the floor with your arse next time.”

      Natalie plunked her bag on the counter and frowned. “Declined? That’s impossible. Run it through again. Must be some sort of a-a credit glitch thingy.”

      The clerk handed her card back. “There’s no mistake, madam. Your credit has not only been declined, the account’s closed out.”

      “Closed out?” Natalie knew she sounded like a demented parrot, but what was going on? “That’s impossible! I’m Natalie Dashwood. My family own Dashwood and James department stores.”

      “I’m sorry,” the clerk said firmly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—” she reached out to take the cocktail dress Natalie held, ready to whisk it behind the counter “—I’ll return this to the floor.”

      Natalie clutched the hanger more tightly. She’d searched everywhere for the perfect dress to wear to Caro’s wedding; the violet silk dress was divine, and she wasn’t about to let it go. “Wait! Here—” she reached in her purse and scrabbled until she found another card “—try this one.”

      The clerk took it, her patience rapidly diminishing, and swiped it through the machine. She looked at Natalie with a chilly smile and handed the card back. “Declined. And closed. Sorry.” She snatched the dress.

      Natalie knew she wasn’t sorry, not one bit. The rude cow.

      Caroline reappeared next to her, a look of concern etched on her face. “Is there a problem, Nat?”

      “My cards have all been declined!”

      “Is your credit maxed out?”

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