Free The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop in London by Beth Good Page B

the phone. ‘Oui?’ He listened for a moment, frowning, then
nodded abruptly, and shot off a long, incomprehensible reply in machine-gun
French.
       Without
further conversation, he suddenly said, ‘Non, au revoir,’ and rang off, chucking
the phone down on the sofa unceremoniously.
       She
retrieved the telephone as it threatened to slip down behind a cushion, and
replaced it on the table. ‘Problem?’
       But
Dominic did not seem in the mood for conversation. He shook his head, then yawned,
stretching his arms above his head as though he had just got out of bed, not
worked a full day.
       ‘Not
at all.’
       There
was something mesmerizing about the long, powerful stretch of his body, his
white cotton shirt slightly untucked, and Clementine had to remind herself not
to stare.
       Dominic
threw himself down on the sofa beside her, despite the fact that there was not enough
room for him, her, and a fluffy white Persian. The cat raised her head in disapproval
as her cushion tilted like the deck of the Titanic, then yawned too, revealing
white teeth and a long pink tongue, and stretched out both pure white paws. He
leant over Clementine and stroked the cat’s head.
       ‘Belle,’
he murmured, then looked into Clementine’s face, their mouths suddenly only a
few inches apart. ‘But not as belle as her companion.’
       Knocked
off balance by his intoxicating proximity, Clementine found her pulse racing
and her poor brain melting. Which immediately made her suspicious. Her new boss
had barely looked at her today, except for that brief interlude by the till
before the old lady came in. She had been beginning to think he was no longer
interested in her romantically, that Dominic had only kissed her, in fact, to
keep her malleable in case he needed her again.
       Which
was a very cynical attitude, she told herself crossly. Though not necessarily
inaccurate.
       ‘Who
… who was that on the phone?’
       ‘Nobody
important.’
       She
met his gaze, holding it sternly. ‘Is that why you’re trying so hard to
distract my attention from the phone call, Dominic?’
       He
threw himself back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, shrugging.
‘Bien alors, it was my father.’
       ‘That
was your dad on the phone?’ Much to her embarrassment, her voice came out
squeaky. She counted to ten in her head, then tried again, hoping to sound less
like an overwrought gerbil this time. ‘I have to admit, I’m surprised to hear
that. You didn’t speak to him for very long.’
       ‘It’s
complicated.’
       She
sighed. ‘Families always are.’
       ‘He
lent me the money to get this place off the ground,’ he explained, opening his
eyes to stare at her broodingly. ‘I paid it back, of course. I paid his loan
back within the first six months. But he still thinks he has a right to ask for
every detail of my business.’
       ‘He’s
probably just worried about you.’
       ‘He
is not worried. He is … how do you say it? … nosy! My father knows we reopened
today, and wanted a breakdown of our first day sales. I told him to … to go
stuff himself.’
       ‘Dominic!’
       His
shrug was eloquent. ‘My father is always interfering in the way this shop is
run, telling me which lines to sell, how to arrange the displays, when to run
my promotions. It was partly because of the endless pressure from him that I
closed in the first place, having to explain our sales figures at the end of
every week. He has a very successful chocolaterie business in France, several
shops spread across two departments, and he thinks the same approach will work
here. I keep telling him, Londoners are not French. They have different ways of
shopping, so I need to try new approaches to marketing and promotion. But he
refuses to listen.’
       ‘I’m
sorry to hear that,’ she said, a little primly, perhaps deliberately snarking
him. ‘Your father sounded like a very nice man on the