LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      HOW MANY CALORIES are there in a caramel-swirl cupcake? Juliet typed into her smartphone on the way to the Chatsfield Hotel for a hen’s party high tea. Oh no! She bit her lip as she typed in a chocolate éclair and then a macaroon. Double oh no! And that wasn’t counting the champagne cocktails Kendra Ashford would have flowing like...well, like champagne.

      Juliet typed again. Groaned again. The smoked salmon pinwheels and sausage rolls were not much better. A weekend of this and she would have to nibble lettuce leaves and drink wheatgrass shakes for a month. Probably two.

      But it would be worth it, because for forty-eight hours she would finally be part of the In Group. She would no longer be on the fringe where the less popular and less trendy were shunted. She would be part of Kendra’s Clan: the posse of pampered heiresses who partied at all the right places with all the right people.

      She would belong.... Even though she was not an heiress and she couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a party...unless you counted the first birthday for her neighbour’s little boy, Haseem, three weeks ago, where she had baked the cake—a teddy-bear-shaped one—because his mum had been too sick with the flu to make it for him.

      Juliet walked into the swish foyer of the hotel. Crystal chandeliers overhead threw bright prisms of light over the polished marble floor. The air was filled with the scent of fresh peonies and roses and lilies from a giant and artfully arranged bouquet in the centre of the area.

      The recent appointment of a new CEO at the Chatsfield had brought about some major changes to the hotel brand, and already they showed and glowed. Everyone wanted to be seen at the sparkling new hot spot in town. High tea at the London Chatsfield was now a premier event with parties having to book months in advance. Cocktails in the bar where the rich and famous gathered before they dined in the restaurant took sipping drinks and fine dining to a whole new level of decadence.

      The Chatsfield signature colours of blue and gold had been totally revamped with plush new velvet and silk furnishings, and when you added the smartly uniformed and attentive staff members, who were intent on giving professional and yet personalised service, the hotel had the atmosphere of a royal palace.

      The new broom, Christos Giantrakos, was implementing marketing initiatives, programs and codes of accountability that were rumoured to be causing shockwaves amongst the Chatsfield siblings. Christos was known in corporate circles to be a take-no-prisoners type who would not tolerate freeloaders or timewasters. The paparazzi were on permanent call outside the hotel in anticipation of a showdown with Lucca Chatsfield, one of the twin sons, who was known around town as an idle playboy who lived only to party.

      The foyer was buzzing with activity as people checked in and out. Juliet moved forward in the queue and collected her swipe key with assurances from the smiling attendant that her luggage would be sent to her room directly.

      Welcome to Kendra Ashford and Her Bachelorette Party Guests was written in gold copperplate on an antique brass notice board. It made Juliet feel like Cinderella gate-crashing the ball. She wasn’t sure why Kendra had sent her the invitation. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Juliet’s older brother, Benedict, had just finished filming the lead role in a Hollywood romantic comedy, which was already causing a stir amongst the critics and mentions of an Oscar Award.

      Suddenly she was being invited to everyone’s parties.

      The maid of honour, Harriet Penhallon, came teetering towards Juliet surrounded by a cloud of exotic perfume. It didn’t look like Harriet’s pretty floral designer tea-party dress was pinching her under the armpits or squeezing her around the waist, and her sky-high heels definitely weren’t giving her hammertoes. Harriet looked as though she had just stepped off a photo shoot with her immaculate makeup and perfectly coiffed hair.

      Juliet felt like a basset hound turning up at a pedigree poodle show.

      ‘You’re the last one to arrive.’ Harriet’s gaze swept over Juliet’s retro dress. ‘Wow, don’t you look nice?’

      Juliet knew that was code for “You look like a fat sow,” but she smiled anyway and sucked her tummy in a little harder. ‘Sorry, am I late? I had to change trains because of a breakdown on the line.’

      ‘No, we don’t kick off high tea till half-three.’ Harriet glanced at her watch. ‘That gives you thirty-two minutes

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