Hiring Mr. Darcy - Valerie Bowman Page 0,30

Mr. Darcy?” Mitchell finally asked him as he was measuring his inseam for the third time. I secretly suspected he was doing it for fun, and I kinda envied him.

“At the moment, I’m working construction,” Jeremy replied.

I winced. I could just picture Mitchell telling Harrison and Lacey, when they came in for Harrison’s final fittings, that I’d replaced him with a construction worker. I loved Mitchell, but Gossip was his middle name.

“But he’s starting his own business,” I hastened to add, feeling crappy for even caring. What was it to Harrison if I’d replaced him with a construction worker anyway? It just stung, I told myself, because he’d replaced me with a gorgeous, famous actress. But I’d have plenty of time, specifically during our lunch the next day, to explain everything to Harrison. Maybe.

“Your own business?” Mitchell said to Jeremy, his eyelashes batting a-plenty.

“Yeah,” Jeremy answered, flashing me an inscrutable look.

“What sort of business?” Mitchell asked.

“Woodworking,” Jeremy said. “Custom woodworking.”

“Oh, that sounds hot,” Mitchell said, giving me a jellie glare. “I do so like a man who’s good with his hands.”

Jeremy looked as if he was about to choke, and I nearly swallowed the cap of my pen that I’d temporarily placed in my mouth while I jotted down the names and inventory numbers of the fabrics we’d chosen.

Finally, the clothing ordeal was over, and we made our way wearily toward the door. Mitchell followed us, holding Ms. Julia under his arm.

“Now y’all don’t worry,” Mitchell said. “I’m calling in all of my favors. My designer friends are pitching in. We’ll sew like the wind. Hmm. Sew like the wind? I like that. I think that’ll be the name of my autobiography.”

“You’re writing an autobiography?” Jeremy asked.

I shook my head. Mitchell came up with a new title for his nonexistent autobiography at least once a week. It was addictive. I’d started to do it too.

“Not yet, sweetie,” Mitchell told him. “I’ve still got a lot more livin’ ta do.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, well. Thank you, Mitchell. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It’ll be reflected in my bill, don’t worry,” he replied saucily, flipping the ‘open’ sign over and trailing us outside.

“As I expect,” I said.

Jeremy raised his brows.

“You’re a nice friend,” Mitchell said to Jeremy. “To help Meg here in her time of need.”

Jeremy merely smiled and nodded.

“You are...friends, aren’t you?” Mitchell prodded, plucking at Ms. Julia’s scarf, and not meeting my eyes.

Why that nosy little faux-Southern man! He was fishing for information. Information he would no doubt pass on to Harrison and Lacey. Damn it. Why did the best tailor in the state have to be such a busybody?

Jeremy tugged the cuff of his dark-blue merino wool sweater down to his wrist. “Can you keep a secret, Mitchell?” he asked in a conspiratorial voice.

Mitchell nodded so vigorously that Ms. Julia’s little scarf flew up. “Of course.” He used his free hand to cross his heart. The liar. He’d never met a secret he didn’t rush to spill.

I folded my arms over my chest, waiting to hear what sort of a ‘secret’ Jeremy would tell him. Jeremy’s quick wink at me told me he was just messing with Mitchell, but he leaned down to Mitchell’s ear and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “The truth is I’ve been love with Meg for years, but she just wants to be friends.”

“What?” Mitchell looked positively horrified. I’m sure I did too. Jeremy had gone too far. No one was going to believe Foxy here was pining for short, squat, nerd-alert me.

“It’s true,” Jeremy said, with a wink to Mitchell this time.

Mitchell glanced back and forth between us a few times, clearly deciding whether to believe the unbelievable.

“It’s true, isn’t it, Meg?” Jeremy said. “Didn’t I ask you to dinner last night, and you kept turning me down?”

“She didn’t!” Mitchell gasped and clutched his chest. His mouth opened in an O.

“Yes, she did. I had to beg her. She relented after I told her it would only be for half an hour.”

Mitchell shook his head. Ms. Julia looked a little affronted, as well. “Young women these days.” As if that was a complete sentence and explained anything. Plus, Mitchell was probably no more than fifteen years older than me. It’s not like he’d lived through the actual Civil War.

“Isn’t it true, Meg?” Jeremy prodded.

For my part, I stood there with my mouth partially open, blinking at the man. I didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss him or