"What about the new knickers you're designing?" He pointed to the clothes rack in the corner. "What if we play that up?"
"No, they aren't ready. I haven't had any time to work on them. It definitely isn't something I want to draw attention to."
Malcolm let out a long, low sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face as if to rearrange his features.
"Help me out here, Kirsty. You want the publicity, tell me what to write, because as we stand it's the most boring story in the world. I can just see the headline now: 'Local lingerie shop does okay.' It won't sell papers, lass, and it sure as jiminy won't sell knickers."
Kirsty looked around her office for inspiration. The people who'd owned the space before her had used the large back room for storage; Kirsty used it for paperwork and design. In one corner was her old wooden desk, which she'd painted lilac. Behind that were shelves stacked with magazines and paperwork. The rest of the room was taken up with mannequins and a wide sewing table, complete with machine. The walls were covered in photos for inspiration and drawings of works in progress. The clothes rack held ideas she was working on, but the mannequins stood bare. There was no way she could let him write about her collection. Heck, she couldn't even call it a collection. A few pieces of lingerie by a half-baked designer, who could barely draw, didn't make a collection.
"He's a war hero, did you know that?" Malcolm broke her train of thought.
"Aren't they all?"
"I suppose so, but this guy has medals. You wouldn't know it to look at him. If I had medals I'd be telling the world, but he never mentioned them. I found out when I looked him up on the internet."
"You met Lake?" Kirsty leaned over the desk towards him.
"Sure." Malcolm shuffled on his chair as though he was a boy sitting outside the headmaster's office. "He was in the pub last night. Nice guy. He walked old George home when he could barely stand. Dougal was ready to phone his daughter and get her to pick the old sod up, but Lake stepped in saying he needed a walk and practically carried George out of the pub."
"Well, he might be nice to old people. And he probably deserves his medals. He may even get another one for putting up with Betty, but that doesn't change the fact that he's trying to close me down."
"He says he isn't trying to close you down, he's only trying to be a success—and if your shop shuts in the process, then that's just business."
Kirsty gaped at him, making his neck break out in red patches.
"You spoke to him about this?"
"After you called yesterday, I thought it would be a good idea to hear his side." He shuffled his feet and did a bit more belly rubbing. "I don't think there's any malice in the war thing. He only had good things to say about you."
"You don't think there's any malice?" Her eyebrows went so far up her forehead they were practically on top of it. "The man doesn't care what damage he causes, he wants me to fail."
"In a nice way." Malcolm shrugged helplessly.
Kirsty couldn't believe her ears. She could feel her blood beginning to boil again. All she wanted was a quiet, safe life, and instead she had to deal with Lake Benson and the truckload of problems he'd dumped on her doorstep.
"How can you ruin someone in a nice way?" she demanded. "Never mind. I have a story for you. You can write about the threat of amateurs to professional expertise. How anyone thinks they can do anything these days because they can look it up on the internet and become an instant expert. Ask the women of the town who they would like to deal with—someone with years of experience in women's lingerie, someone who knows how to make the female body look its best, someone who's made a living doing just that, someone who understands the need for sexy but comfortable lingerie...or someone who knows how to drive a tank and carry a machine gun?" She sat back in her chair with a grunt. "Honestly. I'm competing for business with a guy who knows nothing about it. He has an evil elf for a helper and his sign says he deals in knickers. This should be a no-brainer for people. Tell Invertary not to be dazzled by his movie star looks and charm that could get you out of your underwear in ten seconds flat. We're not in the business of undressing people, we're here to sell them lingerie. Tell the town that!"
Malcolm was writing furiously.
"Can I quote you on that?"
Kirsty was too busy muttering about amateurs and arrogant army men to pay much attention to what he was asking.
"Whatever," she said.
"I'll take that as a yes."
He stood, snapped off a couple of shots of her at her desk, then quickly made an exit, promising that the story would be in the paper the following day. Kirsty was long past caring what Malcolm was telling her. All she wanted was for him to run her ad and write something interesting beside it that basically said "buy from Kirsty and not that dodgy English guy". Was that too much to ask?
It was mid-morning the following day when Lake noticed something was wrong. Every time he looked through the shop window out into the street, there seemed to be at least one woman staring at him. They would quickly lower their eyes and rush away. The younger ones would giggle. At first he put it down to the novelty factor—man, lingerie and that damn sign over the door—but soon he began to notice something else the women had in common. They all clutched a copy of the local newspaper. Eventually the stream of women became too distracting and Lake gave up painting the walls. He wiped his hands on a rag, finished off the water in the bottle he kept on the ladder and shrugged into his denim jacket. It was time to buy a copy of the local paper.
Lake said hello to everyone he met on his way up the high street to the newsagent. He wasn't stupid. He knew that people's loyalty would instinctively lie with Kirsty. She was, after all, a local. But if he could insinuate his way into the community, they would feel warmly towards him and their loyalty would be torn. If they saw him as one of them, then they would shop wherever they got the better deal, which would be his shop. It was a basic war tactic—win over the locals, win the war.
Today he noticed something different about the smiles he got in return—they seemed knowing. An uneasy feeling made the hair on his arms stand on end. The townsfolk, as a whole, seemed to know something he didn't know. Something about him. As he pushed open the door to the newsagent, the bell above rang to announce his arrival—as though he wouldn't be easy to spot in a shop the size of a dog kennel.
"Hello," shouted the aging owner Archie. "Look, Maggie, it's Mr Charming."
For a second Lake froze. He kept his smile in place while he assessed the atmosphere. It didn't seem threatening.
"Hello, Lake," Maggie said as she patted the iron-grey curls that were wound tight in rows around her head.
Lake did a double take. For a minute he thought she was batting her eyelashes at him.
"Hi," he said. "How are you two today?"
"Oh, we're good, very good," Archie said. There was that knowing smile again. "Selling a lot of papers."
"Uh, great," Lake said.
"Thanks to you," Maggie said.
Lake's smile faded.
"Thanks to me?"
The two oldies shared a look, then giggled like teenagers.
"Better have a look, son," Archie said.
Lake picked up a copy of The Invertary Standard with a sense of foreboding. The nudge Maggie gave her husband didn't help—it smacked of seaside postcard humour. He half expected Benny Hill to appear during the next round of nudge, nudge, wink, wink. The front-page headline was something to do with the need for a new community hall.
"Go to page three," Archie said with a grin.
Obediently, Lake opened the paper and stilled. There, filling half the page, was a stunning photo of Kirsty. She was wearing one of the high-necked sweaters she normally wore—this one was sky blue and really made her rust-red hair glow. She was sitting back in her chair behind her desk, arms folded over her breasts and cheeks flushed. Her emerald-green eyes flashed with anger. She epitomised passion. She was so alive it took his breath away. Alive, passionate and obviously furiou
s. And it appeared the reason for this was him.
He glanced up at two grinning faces.
"Go on, have a read," Maggie said. "It's priceless."
He wasn't sure what that meant, but he read anyway. As his eyes flew over the words, he started to grin. He looked up at the owners, who grinned back.
"How much do I owe you?" he said.
"Take it," Maggie said. "It's been years since we've seen Kirsty mad about anything. She used to be so full of life. It's worth every penny to see that look on her face again."
"Who knew it would take a foreigner to make it happen," Archie said, causing Maggie to frown and elbow him in the ribs.
"This war of yours could be the best thing that's ever happened to her," Maggie told him.
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that this war of his was an attempt to wipe out the competition. Kirsty Campbell might not be so full of life when it was over.
When the bell over the door jingled to signal that Kirsty had a customer, she called from the back room where she was working.
"I'll be out in a minute."
She quickly tacked the silk material so she could pick up where she left off. She checked herself in the mirror behind her office door, fluffed her short hair, pulled the neck of her jumper up to her chin, made sure the sleeves were down properly and smoothed out her long skirt. She was covered. It was fine. With a deep breath, she went to greet her latest customer. She'd been hoping that the spread in the paper would generate more business. Instead there had been a steady stream of women gawking through the windows in Betty's shop all day long. It made her blood boil to think that her last bit of spare cash had gone on an idea that had backfired. An idea that had unwittingly helped the enemy.
As though her thoughts had conjured him up, Lake Benson was leaning against the counter. Kirsty frowned. He grinned and waved a copy of the paper. She stopped dead. For a second, it seemed like the sensible thing to do would be to run. She told herself not to be an idiot and walked towards him instead.
"Loved your ad," he said sweetly. "How's it working out for you?"
Kirsty frowned as she glanced around the empty shop.
"Great. This is just a wee slow patch."
She folded her arms over her green sweater and stood as tall as she could. Normally her height advantage helped in situations that unnerved her, and she was sure it would have helped in dealing with Lake—if he didn't have a couple of inches on her.
"Good to hear," he said cheerily. "Thought I'd pop in and thank you. Your ad is helping my business no end. It's generated a lot of interest in the shop and we're not even open yet. Still, I'm sure they'll come back."
Kirsty bit her tongue to stop herself from answering. There were no words in her head polite enough to say.
Lake's blue eyes did that twinkling thing that unnerved her. She was one big ball of entertainment for the guy.
"Of course," he continued blithely, "it isn't just the ad that's helping."
He opened the paper to the double-page spread. Kirsty wanted to melt into the carpet. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.
"I'm sure there are a lot of women in town who'd like to buy lingerie from someone who has—and I'm quoting here..." He cleared his throat as if he was imparting sage information. "'Movie star looks and charm that could get you out of your underwear in ten seconds flat.'"
His triumphant smile made Kirsty scan her surroundings for something to brain him with.
"So," he said in that smarmy boarding school voice of his, "you think I have movie star looks? More importantly, you think I have the ability to charm you out of your underwear? Now that's interesting."
"No, it isn't interesting. Not in the slightest. In fact, you're boring me to tears here. It was taken out of context, as most things in the paper are—keep that in mind while you're primping your ego."
He pushed away from the counter and swaggered towards her. Kirsty made a big deal out of feigning a yawn while her heart picked up the pace. Lake stood inches from her, and although she wanted to flee and lock herself in her office, possibly to never come out ever again, she stood her ground.
"Do you think I could get you out of your underwear in ten seconds flat?"
"No." Of that she was certain at least.
"No?" He did that eyebrow-raising thing that made her want to hit him.
"No."
"That's interesting, Kirsty girl," he said. "Because I have it in black and white that you think otherwise."
He waved the paper under her nose to make his point. For a second she thought of snatching it and using it to wipe that cocky smile off his face.
"I was referring to other women. Weaker women who are more susceptible to your charms."
"But you think I have charm."
"Sure." She gave a dismissive shrug. "I've seen it work on Betty."
He made a little choking noise that made her think he was swallowing a laugh.
"But not on you?"
She shook her head. Suddenly, she was weary of the whole conversation. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she moved behind her counter. Lake's eyes narrowed, as though he could read her mind and see that she wanted a barrier between them.
"That feels a lot like a challenge," he said softly.
"Of course you would think that. You're a man. You reason with your ego and think with your..."
His lips twitched.
"Still, I feel like I have a point to prove now. I'm wondering how much charm it will take to get you out of your underwear, Kirsty Campbell."
"More than you have."
Kirsty sighed heavily as her temples began to throb.
"Look," she told him. "Even if you did have enough charm to get me undressed—which you don't—what makes you think that I would go anywhere near you? You're trying to ruin me. Or did you forget that?"
She placed her palms on the counter in front of her as she wondered what it would take to get Lake Benson out of her life.
"I'm not trying to ruin you," he said in that annoyingly smooth voice of his that could melt butter. "I don't want to ruin you. This is about business. Nothing more. What I think of you—in fact, everything else—is separate."
She shook her head vehemently.
"It isn't for me."
With a knowing smile, Lake turned and strode from the shop, leaving Kirsty to wonder what can of worms she'd inadvertently opened this time. When the door closed behind him, she fled to her office and threw herself into her chair. The beads she'd worn on her last photo shoot mocked her from their place on her desk. She wasn't that person any more. She swept the beads, and the bowl they sat in, into her desk drawer and closed it. She was done looking at them. With new determination she pulled the phone towards her. She needed to generate money fast. She needed to buy more advertising. Time was running out. Lake's shop would be open soon and thanks to her, he'd have the women of Invertary queuing at his door. Add to that his latest challenge, which she didn't even want to think about. The faster that man was out of Invertary, the better.
"Hello," she said to the person she'd dialled. "I need to cancel my insurance."
It wouldn't give her a lot of spare cash, but it would be a start. As she went through the inane questions from her insurance company, she worked out the sums on her notepad. With the money she would save on insurance for the shop, she could get her website up and running. That would generate more sales. It had to.
"No, it's only for a few months," she told the guy at the other end of the line.
With a tight smile, she hoped that Lake Benson would be long gone from Invertary by the
time she renewed her policy.
CHAPTER THREE
It took a lot to make Lake Benson feel stir crazy, but days on end stuck in the shop with Betty and Rainne had done the job. Not to mention the steady parade of women gawking at him through the shop window. It'd been a week since Kirsty's article and there was still no let-up in the number of women pointing and giggling. He was beginning to feel like
one of those guys in the Diet Coke commercials. His breaking point was when Betty started calling him a "wee hot totty"—whatever the hell that meant. After that, he covered the windows with newspaper and ran from the shop.
Lake turned right towards the black waters of Invertary loch. It was barely October but the chill of the Scottish Highlands managed to work its way through his denim jacket and his woollen sweater—in fact, right through to his bones. The cold didn't bother him so much as the mood it brought with it. He wasn't one for introspection, but on nights like these when the wind was sharp and darkness was black like coal, his mind turned inward. He'd made exactly two spontaneous decisions in his life—join the army, leave the army. He didn't regret the first, but the second was proving to be a huge pain in his backside. Especially after almost a month in Invertary with little to show for it.
The old pub sat huge and imposing on the corner of the high street opposite the loch. Its walls, like the rest of the buildings in the centre of town, were whitewashed. The smooth surface reflected the warm light from the street lamps and made the place glow. As usual, the hanging shingle made him smile. The pub was called The Scottie Dog. Not a name meant for smugglers and Highland bandits. The leaden windows let flickers of light from inside seep out, and as someone pushed open the heavy wooden door the din of chat, and laughter, wafted into the street. It was busy. Crowded. For a minute, he wondered if he wouldn't rather be alone.
He pushed the door open before he could chicken out and spend his evening feeling sorry for himself in his '70s throwback flat. The door swung inwards quickly, hitting the person on the other side. Lake stepped inside and tripped over Kirsty Campbell. Words of apology fell out of his mouth before he realised who he'd trodden on. For some reason, the fact that he'd stumbled over Kirsty lifted his spirits no end.
"Seriously," she grumbled. "You're here too? You're everywhere. I can't get away from you."
"It's been almost a week since we talked," Lake pointed out.
Not a week since he'd seen her. He'd had that pleasure every day. Kirsty bent over to rub the ankle he'd trodden on. Lake smiled at the sight of Kirsty's rear wrapped in a wine-coloured skirt. His fingers tingled. They wanted to reach out and curl around her hips. Someone jostled him as they exited the pub—it broke his concentration, but not before Kirsty spotted where he'd been staring. Her perfect eyes narrowed.
Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books) Page 3
