HALLIE BENNETT had been selling shoes for exactly one month. One long, mind-numbing month working solo at the exclusive little shoe shop in Londonâs fashionable Chelsea, and she really didnât think sheâd last another. Back in the storeroom sheâd sorted every pair of shoes by designer, then model and finally by size. Out here on the shop floor sheâd arranged the stock by colour and within the colours, by function. Dusting and vacuuming? Done. Serving customers? Not yet but, hey, it was only midday.
Hallie picked up the nearest shoe, a pretty leopard-print open-toed sandal with an onyx heel, and tried to figure out why anyone would actually pay three hundred and seventy-five pounds for a pair of them. She dangled it from her fingertips, turned it this way and that before finally balancing it on her palm.
âSo what do you think, shoe? Are we going to cram a sweet size six like you onto a size eight foot today?â
A quick jiggle made the shoe nod.
âI think so too but what can I do? They never listen. These women wouldnât be caught dead in a size eight shoe. Now if they were men itâd be different. As far as men are concerned, the bigger the better.â The door to the shop opened, the bell tinkled, and Hallie hurriedly set the shoe back on its pedestal and turned around.
âDarling, what a thoroughly daunting shop! I swear, until I saw you talking to that shoe I didnât dare come in.â
The woman who had spoken was a study in contradictions. Her clothes were pure glamour, and her figure was a triumph over nature considering that she had to be in her late fifties. But her wrinkles were un-ironed, her hair was grey, and her âdarlingâ had been warm, possibly even genuine.
âCome on in,â said Hallie with a smile. âLook around. Trust me, they never talk back.â
âOh, youâre an Australian!â said the woman, clearly delighted with the notion. âI love Australian accents. Such marvellous vowel sounds.â
Hallieâs smile widened, and she spared a glance for the womanâs companion as he followed her into the shop, a glance that automatically upgraded to a stare because, frankly, she couldnât help it.
As far as womenâs fashion accessories went, he was spectacular. A black-haired, cobalt-eyed, dangerous-looking toy who no doubt warned you outright not to bother playing with him if you didnât like his rules. He was like a Hermès handbag; women saw and women wanted, even though they knew the price was going to be astronomical. And then he spoke.
âShe needs a pair of shoes,â he said in a deep baritone that was utterly sexy. âSomething more appropriate for a woman her age.â
âYouâre new at this, arenât you?â muttered Hallie before turning to stare down at the womanâs shoes, a stylish pair of Ferragamo man-eaters with a four-inch heel. They were a perfect fit for the womanâs perfectly manicured size-six feet. They were fire-engine red. âThere is nothing wrong with those shoes,â said Hallie reverently. âThose shoes are gorgeous!â
âThank you, dear,â said the woman. âWhy a woman turns fifty and all of a sudden certain people to whom she gave birth start thinking she should be wearing orthopaedic shoes is completely beyond me.â The woman seemed to age ten years as wrinkles creased and unshed tears leached even more colour from eyes that would have once been a bright sparkling blue. âYour father would have loved these shoes!â
Ah. It was all starting to make sense. He of the indigo glare was the womanâs son and right now he was in big trouble. âRight,â said Hallie brightly. âWell, Iâll just be over by the counter if you need me.â
He moved fast, blocking her escape. âDonât even think of leaving me alone with this woman. Give her some shoes to try on. Anything!â He picked up the open-toed leopard-print sandal. âThese!â
âAn excellent choice,â she said, deftly plucking it from his hand. âAnd a steal at only three hundred and seventy-five pounds. Maybe your mother would like two pairs?â
His eyes narrowed. Hallie smiled back.
âIf only I had something to look forward to,â said the woman with a sigh that was pure theatre as she sat on the black leather sofa and slipped off her shoes. âGrandchildren, for instance. I need grandchildren.â
âEveryone needs something,â said her son, looking not at his mother but at her. âWhat do you need?â
âAnother job,â said Hallie, kneeling to fit the sandals. âThis oneâs driving me nuts.â She sat back on her heels and surveyed the sandals. âThey fit you beautifully.â
âThey do, donât they?â
âHow do you feel about travel?â he asked her while his mother preened.
âTravel is my middle name.â
âAnd your first name?â
âHallie. Hallie Bennett.â
âNicholas Cooper,â he said and gestured towards the woman. âMy mother, Clea.â