Me and Mr Carrington: A Short Story
A short story from the author of Cupcakes at Carrington’s – and a prequel to Christmas at Carrington’s!Georgie Hart can’t believe her luck. It looks like Tom, the hunky boss of Carrington’s Department Store, in the picture-postcard town of Mulberry-on-Sea, is as hot for her as she is for him. After a romantic Italian get-together leaves her on Cloud Nine, Georgie is brought back down to earth with a bump when she has to get back behind the counter of the Luxury Handbags section.But when Georgie is left open-mouthed by a revelation from one of her well-heeled customers, it seems like Tom hasn’t been entirely honest with her. Has Georgie done her usual trick of adding two and two together to make five?Ever wondered what happened when Georgie first got together with Mr Carrington himself? This deliciously funny short story is perfect for anyone who loved Cupcakes at Carrington’s, and for those discovering the lovable Georgie Hart for the first time. The story also features an exclusive peek at the next book, Christmas at Carrington’s.
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ALEXANDRA BROWN
Me and Mr Carrington
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2013
Cover illustration © Sarah Gibb
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © October 2013: 9780007552535
Version: 2014-09-25
It’s Monday morning in Mulberry-On-Sea and to say that I’ve come down to earth with a bump would just be a massive understatement. A crash landing, more like. On this feeble excuse of a spring day, I’m about to start work in Carrington’s department store and don’t get me wrong, I love my job running the Women’s Accessories section. But it’s a trillion miles away from sunning myself beside an infinity pool on an exquisite Italian hillside, with a Parma Violet cocktail in one hand and Tom, aka hottest man alive for sure, in the other. And that’s exactly what I was doing this time last week.
‘Georgie! Baby cakes, I’m literally dying to know what happened next …’ Eddie pants like he’s just run a half marathon to catch up with me as I pull back the metal cage door of the staff lift and step inside.
‘Oh, it was just another week in paradise, you know how it is …’ I say, shrugging nonchalantly.
‘Well, if your post-sex glow and lack of real tan is anything to go by then you definitely went to your happy place, sprawled across the Venetian four-poster bed all week long. Dirty girl.’ Eddie follows me in to the lift, shuts the cage door and presses the button to take us up, then takes a sip of his Costa coffee before winking and giving me a saucy up-and-down look.
‘Stop it. Do you really have to embellish everything quite so extravagantly?’ I shake my head.
‘Oh, why not. Certainly livens up this boring place.’ He pulls a face.
‘Mulberry-On-Sea isn’t boring, it’s just … well, it’s pretty and quaint,’ I venture.
‘Exactly.’
‘And homely,’ I quickly add, but he’s not convinced. ‘And what about the new marina … All those super yachts are bound to bring a bit of glamour to the area.’
‘Hmm, maybe. Anyway, enough of Mulberry. I want to hear all about your fabulous adventure in Italy. I still can’t believe Tom turned up out of the blue to surprise you like that! He sure gets my vote. Swoon.’
‘Nothing happened. And I always use SPF 50, I’m very fair-skinned, if you really must know.’ I turn to check my brunette bob in the mottled mirror on the lift wall, wishing again that I could magic myself back in time. But I can’t. And there’s nothing more depressing than returning from a sun-soaked idyllic holiday full of fabulous moments wearing flip-flops to then shoehorn your feet back into last winter’s boots because it’s blooming raining. I brush the front of my drizzle-covered mac as if to underline the point.
‘Don’t be coy. Sam told me everything went to plan and Tom turned up right on cue, I just wish I’d been there to witness the look on your face. Bet you couldn’t keep your hands off him, and who can blame you? I mean, he is delicious, in a ridiculously beautiful, chiselled Henry Cavill kind of way. All messy dark curls and velvety brown eyes nestling in those extra-long dark lashes. Such a shame he isn’t gay.’ Eddie pouts. I smile at the memory – Tom in black Daniel Craig-style trunks, his naturally tanned body all solid, muscular and magnificent. His lips on mine, his fingers entwined in my hair, his cheeky grin, his divine chocolatey scent, his … Stop it. I have to get a grip. It’s the only way. I’ll pop otherwise. I’m convinced of it. Unadulterated lust that can’t be acted upon right away will do that for sure. Send me insane. ‘Such a shame he’d disappeared by the time I got there. Why didn’t he stay for the duration?’
‘He had a family matter to attend to in Sicily; his mother is Italian,’ I explain, trying once again to push away the nagging creep of doubt.
