Read Manolos in Manhattan Online
Authors: Katie Oliver
Manolos in Manhattan
She’s a fiancée of good fortune…
Strutting down Park Avenue in her new Manolos, Holly James looks like a woman who has it all. But beneath the Prada sunglasses, Holly has a mounting list of decidedly unfabulous problems. Right at the top? The fact that since her fiancé Jamie started spending all his time at his new restaurant (with his impossibly gorgeous sous-chef!), Holly has practically forgotten what he looks like…and started to feel a teensy bit paranoid.
…but has Holly found the
right
Mr Darcy?
So being kissed by film star Ciaran Duncan should have been a much-needed boost to Holly’s ego. But losing herself in the moment is impossible, since she’s still fuming after meeting English lawyer Hugh Darcy. He’s easily the most arrogant man in Manhattan and she’s engaged to be married…so why can’t Holly stop imagining kissing him? Suddenly, Holly finds herself torn torn between three eligible bachelors…and it’s proving more difficult than choosing between a Manolo Blanik and a Jimmy Choo – especially since men are non-refundable! What’s a New York fashionista to do?
Also by Katie Oliver:
The Dating Mr Darcy trilogy:
Prada and Prejudice
Love and Liability
Mansfield Lark
The Marrying Mr Darcy series:
And the Bride Wore Prada
Love, Lies and Louboutins
Manolos in Manhattan
Katie Oliver
KATIE OLIVER
loves romantic comedies, characters who “meet cute”, Richard Curtis films, and Prosecco (not necessarily in that order). She currently resides in northern Virginia with her husband and three parakeets, in a rambling old house with uneven floors and a dining room that leaks when it rains.
Katie has been writing since she was eight, and has a box crammed with (mostly unfinished) novels to prove it. With her sons grown and gone, she decided to get serious and write more (and hopefully, better) stories. She even finishes most of them.
So if you like a bit of comedy with your romance, please visit Katie’s website, www.katieoliver.com, and have a look.
Here’s to love and all its complications...
Acknowledgments
There are so many people involved in putting a book together.
I’d like to thank my agent, Nikki Terpilowski, for her faith in me and her perseverance in getting me published; my editors, Clio Cornish and Lucy Gilmour, for their astute editorial guidance and support; the Carina UK art department, for the stunning cover art for my various books; the supportive and informative team of writers at Carina UK; my eagle-eyed copy editor, Nicky; the bloggers who dedicate their own time to read, review, and promote my books; my friends and family for their understanding, suggestions, and patience; and finally, the readers who’ve made the Darcy books such a great success.
Thank you, all.
Dedication
To Mark, my real-life Mr Darcy. You made it all possible.
Contents
The taxi came to a stop halfway down Christopher Street. Holly James emerged from the back seat and tugged at the hem of her short back sheath. The fitted knit seemed to have a mind of its own and kept creeping up her thighs. She leaned back inside to pay the driver and gave him her last five dollars.
He nodded. “Thanks. Enjoy your evening, blondie.”
Blondie
? Holly managed a curt nod and turned away. As the taxi drove off, she tucked her clutch under her arm and joined her friend Chaz on the sidewalk. She glanced past him through the gathering dusk to study the brownstone in front of her. Built before the turn of the last century, it was an art deco jewel dropped in the middle of Greenwich Village. Spotlights in the grass illuminated the elegant, four story-façade. The front steps led up to a set of leaded double doors; potted topiaries flanked the entrance.
“Dashwood and James,” she read aloud from the newly installed plaque above the door. “London/New York. Established 1859.”
Months of preparation had gone into planning tonight’s event. Judging from the limos jockeying for position in front of the building and the taxis lining the street, the private pre-launch of her father’s department store ‒ the first Dashwood and James in America ‒ was already a resounding success.
“How do I look?” Chaz asked her with a trace of anxiety. “This suit’s a Tom Ford. I got it at that sample sale last week, sixty percent off ‒ can you
believe
it?”
“You look fabulous,” Holly told him, and meant it. His suit was three-piece, a dark, almost purple-blue that made the most of his dark hair and olive skin. “You’ll have all the boys drooling.”
“Hope so.” He glanced with approval at her fitted black dress and leopard-print kitten heels. “You look pretty fabulous yourself. Too bad Jamie’s working tonight or you wouldn’t be stuck with me.”
“I’m not ‘stuck’ with you,” she corrected him as she linked her arm through his, “I adore you, and you know it.”
It was true. She and Chaz had clicked the minute they’d met last month at Dashwood and James, where both were employed for the summer...she, because the teen magazine she’d worked on in London had folded, Chaz because he was Rhys Gordon’s new personal assistant.
“Thanks.” He squeezed her arm briefly as they made their way up the walk to the brownstone and went up the steps. “What’s Jamie whipping up for everyone tonight? Pâté de foie gras? Raspberry and lime macaroons? God, those were seriously to
die
for…”
“Sorry, no. He’s doing an American menu, with Angus beef burger sliders and mini BLT wraps, zucchini frites, and chocolate whiskey cake.” Holly recited the list without thought; God knows, she’d heard Jamie discussing the menu often enough.
“Oh, lord,” Chaz groaned. “There goes my diet. Again.”
The doorman checked their invitations and smiled. “Welcome. Enjoy your evening.”
Holly paused in the open doorway, still holding Chaz’s arm, and surveyed the crowd with satisfaction.
Under the glittering Empire chandelier in the entrance hall ‒ purchased at Sotheby’s in London by her father and shipped at no small expense to New York ‒ crowds of elegantly attired men and women mingled. Laughter and conversation filled the air, along with the muted sound of a three-piece jazz ensemble playing on a raised dais in the corner. Waiters in black tie balanced drink trays on their fingertips and circulated through the crowd.
Chaz leaned forward to grab two drinks from a passing tray. He handed one to Holly and took a sip from the other. “Ugh. Chardonnay. I was hoping for champagne.”
“Oh, please. Dad wouldn’t splash out on champers for something as mundane as this. He spent more on the invitations than he spent on the entire evening. It’s all about priorities.” Holly took an experimental sip of the chardonnay and wrinkled her nose. “I could never be an alcoholic.” She set the glass aside.
“Well,” Chaz mused as his glance swept over the glittering crowd, “it doesn’t look mundane to me.” His eye moved past the men in suits and the fashionably clad guests to land on a tallish young man surrounded by a bevy of women. “Wait a minute. Who’s that?” he demanded as he set his drink down on a nearby table. “Isn’t it...? Oh my God, it is. It’s Ciaran Duncan!”
Holly followed his rapt gaze. “So it is,” she said, and glanced at the film star with disinterest. “I thought I told you he’d be here tonight.” She was far more interested in finding another drink tray, preferably one with mojitos. “He promised to come to the pre-launch tonight as a favor to Mum. He was a guest on
Good Morning New York!
a couple of years ago, when my parents separated and she was a presenter for about ten minutes.”
“Ooh, your lucky mom,” Chaz murmured as his eyes devoured the movie star.
“She said he was pretty full of himself. Still is, I imagine. Like most actors.”
“Holly,” Chaz said in a low voice as he turned to her and clutched her arm, “you know I
adore
Ciaran Duncan. He’s the most amazing actor since...since ever! Why didn’t you tell me that your mom knew him? Or that he’d be here tonight? Oh. My. God.” He began to hyperventilate. “I’m breathing the same air as Ciaran Duncan.”
“What’s the big deal? He’s just another floppy-haired English actor with a posh accent...and he probably has wonky teeth. Oh, and sorry, but he’s also hetero.”
“What’s the big
deal
?” Chaz echoed. “Are you serious? The big deal, my dear clueless Holly, is that Ciaran is...well, aside from the fact that he’s gorgeous, he’s...”
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Holly looked up to see the subject of their conversation standing before her, his right hand outstretched, an amused smile on his lips. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit of charcoal gray and a dark-red tie. She gave him her hand, temporarily mesmerized by the greenish brown of his eyes and the scent of his aftershave and the dazzling white of his perfect, even, decidedly
not
wonky teeth.
His clasp was firm and warm. “Ciaran Duncan,” he added.
As if she didn’t already
know
who he was. He was far better looking in person than he was on the screen, if that were possible. “Your teeth are perfect,” she blurted.
