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Stolen Kiss with Her Billionaire Boss Page 18


  ‘Not if you’re ready to go now.’ And if he drove just a tiny bit faster than was strictly advisable on winter city streets.

  ‘I am, I am.’ Grabbing her bag from the floor by the window, she rushed towards the door, half colliding with him on her way, which only served to make her more flustered. ‘Sorry!’

  With a smile, Damon calmly took Rachel’s elbow and led her in the direction of the exit.

  She’d always been like this, he reflected. The day he’d met her she’d managed to dump half the cup of tea she’d just made over herself, the floor, and the biscuit tin as he’d walked into the kitchen and Celeste had introduced them. Rachel was Rachel—a little shy, a lot clumsy. She still wore the same, oversized knits she’d worn at university too, and her hair still curled around her face the same way. She was a constant; he’d almost call her part of the family if that wasn’t actually an insult, given his family. He had to put up with them. What made Rachel put up with Celeste he’d never been entirely sure.

  He had a pretty good idea what Celeste got from being friends with Rachel, though. On his bad days, it made him a little jealous.

  ‘So, what happened to the window display that couldn’t wait until morning?’ he asked.

  Rachel pulled a face, still looking frazzled. He supposed her evening so far couldn’t have been the most fun: playing dress up with her stepsisters, then having to fix the window. He hadn’t stopped to look at the Christmas displays on the way in, but these things were all much of a muchness, right? Bit of tinsel, a fake tree, a mannequin wearing a Christmas jumper and some boxes covered in wrapping paper. Much like the vignettes littering the inside of the shop—and Damon was pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed them at all if it weren’t for the latest project he’d taken on, occupying his brain.

  ‘Hannah was right, it was all my fault. It was the mice, you see. Too tempting, I suppose.’

  ‘Mice?’ Where did they fit into the Christmas theme? Or were these the same mice he saw scuttling about on the London Underground, on the rare occasions he travelled on it?

  ‘Come on. I’ll show you.’ As they left via the side door, she dragged him around to the furthest window. ‘Can you see the mouse?’

  Damon blinked as he took in the display. Not a string of tinsel to be seen, although there were plenty of fairy lights, illuminating the scene for passers-by.

  There were no mannequins in Christmas jumpers either, or fake presents. Instead, the window opened up onto another world filled with what looked like a whole village made of gingerbread—iced houses and shops with tiny Christmas cakes and cookies for sale behind their windows. There was a Christmas tree, of course—two, in fact. One was made from a giant stack of gingerbread stars, with iced decorations and pinprick fairy lights. The other was actually a tower of perfect white iced Christmas cakes, stacked from biggest to smallest, with a golden iced, star-shaped cake on top.

  In between the trees, in front of the buildings and surrounded by icing-sugar snow, was a mirror lake with an ice-skating hedgehog, rabbit and even a deer with tiny skates on all four hooves. But no mouse.

  ‘I don’t see it,’ he admitted, peering harder.

  Rachel grinned. ‘Then I’ve done it right. Try getting down to child level.’

  Giving her a sceptical look, Damon squatted down closer to the pavement—and suddenly the scene took on a whole new dimension.

  He’d assumed that the shop windows, with their tiny fake treats, were all there was to the buildings. He’d been wrong. From this level—the level at which the shop’s younger visitors would be viewing it—he could see far more. Behind the windows there were whole new worlds: decorated living rooms, shops with tiny animal customers, and there, curled up on an armchair by a Christmas tree, a small mouse. ‘I see him!’

  Even Damon could hear the delight in his voice, and it made Rachel’s smile widen further. ‘There’s a mouse in every window,’ she explained. ‘Hidden, as a sort of treasure hunt for the kids.’

  ‘Are they all like this?’ He looked back at the astonishing display. ‘Because this is amazing. Did you do this?’ Of course she had. It was total Rachel—nice to look at on the surface, but with so much more to offer underneath.

  Stop thinking about it. He mentally pulled away from thinking about Rachel, even as she was standing beside him. It was easy enough. He’d had years of practice.

  Unaware of his roving thoughts, Rachel ducked her chin modestly. ‘Yeah. I do them every year. It’s kind of my thing. But they’re not all exactly like this; this one is for our food and drink gifting range. There’s one for womenswear, one for homewares, one for kids’ gifts...’ She shrugged. ‘Basically, I split the six windows to cover all the big areas of the store.’

  ‘Can I see them?’ In the back of his mind an idea was forming. One that had nothing to do with spending more time with Rachel, and everything to do with business. Just as it should be.

  If all her window displays were as cool as this one, Rachel could be just what he needed to get his latest project working at last.

  ‘Have we got time? Won’t Celeste be waiting?’ Rachel’s teeth pressed against her plump lower lip, a line of concern forming between her brows.

  Damon flashed her his best ‘Trust Me’ smile. ‘Celeste can wait. I want to see your work.’

  Spots of pink appeared in her cheeks, and he knew the smile had worked its usual magic. ‘Okay. Come this way.’

  Copyright © 2020 by Sophie Pembroke

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  ISBN-13: 9781488065378

  Stolen Kiss with Her Billionaire Boss

  Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Susan Meier for her contribution to the Christmas at the Harrington Park Hotel miniseries.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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