Fiction
Angel
Crystal
Angel Uncovered
Sapphire
Paradise
The Comeback Girl
Santa Baby
In the Name of Love
He’s the One
Make My Wish Come True
Non-Fiction
Being Jordan
Jordan: A Whole New World
Jordan: Pushed to the Limit
Standing Out
You Only Live Once
Love, Lipstick and Lies
Reborn
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Epub ISBN: 9781473507500
Version 1.0
Published by Century 2017
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Copyright © Katie Price 2017
Cover image © Shutterstock
Katie Price has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is a work of fiction. In some cases true life figures, places and brands appear but their actions, conversations and all related events are entirely fictitious. All other characters, and all names of places and descriptions of events, are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons or places is entirely coincidental.
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Century
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The Penguin Random House Group Limited
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Century is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781780893495
‘INDI! We’ve run out of champagne, a journalist is badgering the bride-to-be, and two girls from TOWIE are having a row.’ The words came tumbling out of Ben’s mouth in one sentence. The lanky 23-year-old, with a mop of blond hair falling over his red face, was out of breath from running through Park Lane Club in Mayfair to find his boss at the VIP entrance.
Indigo Edwards smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. Poor Ben, she thought. He’d only been working as an assistant at her company, Glamour To Go Events, for a month, and this was his first gig: an engagement party for a millionaire investor and his supermodel fiancée in the swankiest club in London, packed wall to wall with rich and famous faces. It was just after midnight and the party was in full swing; the top-floor bar was completely sealed off for VIP guests, boasting sumptuous blue velvet sofas and dim lighting. A huge circular bar stood in the middle of the room, in the centre of which waiters were mixing up delicious red cocktails (the bride’s signature colour). A series of doors led out on to the rooftop, where waiters carried silver trays of drinks, and the guests – footballers, actors and models – partied under the stars, gazing out over the London skyline. Indigo (Indi to her friends) had organised a lavish firework display for the stroke of midnight and a world-class DJ had flown in from Las Vegas just for the night. A glossy magazine was covering the event with gossip columnists lurking in every corner trying to get a story.
But Indi never lost her cool. Now twenty-seven, she’d worked since she was sixteen. At her local hairdressers, Halo Hair, she’d gone from receptionist to unofficial PR guru, turning huge profits for her boss after putting on a series of events to boost business, before studying Business and Marketing at Sussex University. After graduating with a 2:1 degree, she had landed a PA job in a local events company and had quickly risen up the ranks. Three years ago she had set up on her own. Soon enough, she’d quickly secured beauty clients for Glamour To Go, who paid Indi to put on launch parties for products and press days for journalists and bloggers. She also organised the grand opening for a high-end restaurant in London’s Soho, another in Brighton and a high-street fashion show for a hot new brand. This was where she had met Tasha Phelps, the gorgeous English model who had begged Indi to organise her high-profile engagement party to Nicolas de Souza. It had taken five months to plan.
Indi took a deep breath.
‘There’s a crate of Veuve Clicquot in the basement,’ she told Ben. ‘Grab two waiters and tell them to start bringing the bottles up and make sure everyone’s glass is full. Get the photographer over to the TOWIE girls; they’ll start smiling and stop rowing as soon as the camera’s on them.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We finish at two a.m. so at one fifteen a.m. radio the security team downstairs to make sure they’re all on alert and that the cars are waiting for our star couple. They can’t be the last to leave.’ Flicking her long wavy hair – naturally chocolate-brown – and adjusting her headpiece, Indi headed into the crowd.
‘I’ll handle the journalist,’ she called back confidently. She fought her way through the rooftop crowd as hands waved in the air and cheers erupted to the latest Beyoncé track played by the DJ. She spotted Miles Horner, a showbiz writer for the hugely successful website News Hub, hanging around Tasha, waiting to pounce on her for an interview.
‘Indigo Edwards, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ Miles grinned. Indi sighed. Miles had fancied her since the two had become friends while studying at Sussex University. Most of the boys at uni had fancied Indi. With the huge, dark blue eyes that had inspired the name her parents had chosen, naturally olive skin and long thick, wavy hair, a slim figure and five feet six inches in height, she was stunning.
‘A roomful of models and you’re the best-looking in here,’ he continued. ‘When are you going to let me take you for dinner?’
Indi broke Miles’s gaze and cleared her throat. At six foot, with messy brown hair, an unshaven face and wearing black skinny jeans, a white shirt and black leather jacket, he was certainly attractive. In fact, he looked like he should be in a band rather than working for a tabloid website. But, despite his flirting with her, Indi had always found him immature and, dared she say, a bit of a sleaze when it came to girls. He certainly wasn’t the type she’d go for, though she was so focused on work, it had been a while since she’d had any ‘type’ at all.
‘Come on, Miles, you know I’m too busy to date anyone. I can’t keep my business and a relationship afloat.’ Indi didn’t know how any career girls did.
‘Always the same with you,’ sighed Miles, knocking back his champagne and scrolling through his phone as it buzzed with alerts and emails.
‘Anyway, listen,’ said Indi. ‘I told you that you were only allowed in here if you behaved yourself. Why am I hearing that you’re harassing guests?’ Miles opened his mouth to object but Indi placed a palm in front of his face.
‘Tell you what, you leave my guests alone now and I’ll give you an exclusive tomorrow that Bella Hadid is flying over for the wedding. Tasha told me yesterday and said I could give the story to one journalist. She met her at the Victoria’s Secret show in Paris last year and now they’re friends. I’ll give you source quotes too but you have to back off now, OK?’
Miles draped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. ‘That’s what I’m talking about. Thanks, Indi!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m buying you a glass of champagne to show my gratitude.’
Indi noticed Ben across the room and, ever the professional, mouthed, ‘Everything OK?’ at him. He grinned and gave her a thumbs up before gabbling into his headpiece.
Turning back to Miles, she said, ‘The booze is free, Miles, and you know I never drink while I’m working at a big event like this.’ Too late. He’d already grabbed her arm and was off in search of a waiter.
‘I have to work!’ she protested. Not listening, Miles charged into the crowd, dragging her along, weaving through the sea of people with such speed he didn’t even notice the group they were about to barge into. It was Nicolas de Souza, the millionaire business investor, with three men huddled around him, deep in conversation. Miles crashed into them, Indi stumbling behind him. She tripped right into one of the men, who quickly caught her before she fell right on top of him.
‘Miles!’ she fumed, standing upright and straightening her black pencil dress. He sheepishly shuffled away as she glared at him. Typical, Indi thought furiously. The four men looked at her in disbelief. ‘Nicolas, I’m so sorry.’ She blushed. ‘Miles there was getting a little overexcited at the sight of your fabulous fiancée.’ She was mortified. Then, to her relief, the men erupted into laughter. The one who’d broken Indi’s fall grinned, showing perfectly straight white teeth, and draped his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not the first time a girl’s fallen into my arms,’ he said with a wink.
She looked up at him and a pair of striking dark green-brown eyes gazed down on her appreciatively. He was tall, at least six foot, with short dark brown hair and a square face with a hint of stubble. Taking in his tailored grey suit, she clocked that the top buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing a hint of very muscular brown chest. He was drop-dead gorgeous, resembling Tom Hardy with his cheeky grin, gorgeous face and masculine features. For the first time she could remember, Indi was momentarily speechless. ‘Um, sorry,’ she muttered, blushing a deep red and quickly turning to Nicolas. ‘Again, I’m so sorry,’ she said, with more confidence now. ‘Let me find a waiter to bring you all a brandy before the party ends?’
‘Ahh, don’t worry, Indigo, you have put on a wonderful engagement party for us and my Tasha couldn’t be more delighted.’ Nicolas beamed, his speech slurring a little (from too much champagne, no doubt). ‘Have you met my friend Connor?’ he said, gesturing at the tall, green-eyed Hardy-lookalike.
‘We hope to do business together very soon. Connor, this is the beautiful and very intelligent Indigo Edwards, who made tonight happen.’
‘Nice to meet you, Indigo.’ Connor stretched out a hand, his emerald eyes looking straight into her own. ‘Events? In that case, I’d love to hear more about what you do.’
Shaking his hand, Indigo was about to reply when Ben waved to catch her attention from across the room, frantically pointing to his watch.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Connor. I’m so sorry, Nicolas, but I’ve just noticed the time and there are dozens of paparazzi outside so I must make sure your car is ready for you and Tasha, and ask the DJ to make an announcement that the party is nearly over.’ And with that, she smiled, turned on her heels and got back to work. She might have been imagining it, but she could have sworn Connor was staring at her as she walked away.
It was past two a.m. by the time Indi returned to her north London flat. It took twenty minutes for the guests to file out of the club, security leading the celebrities into blacked-out SUVs that Indi had made sure were booked well in advance. She stayed back to ensure everything was in order at the bar. She gave her event staff instructions on how to dismantle the equipment, and checked that the photographer had taken plenty of fabulous pictures before jumping into her own taxi. ‘Manor House, please,’ she told the driver, slumping into the seat. Indi was exhausted. She gazed out of the window at the neon shop fronts and twinkly streetlights as the car sped through central London. Indi loved London at night. Her home town was so beautiful all lit up, the views made her feel calm and reflective. She ran through the evening’s highlights in her head – the celebrities, the DJ, photographers, a guest list so packed that many were turned away at the door. The night had been a complete triumph and Indi knew she should feel proud. Why, then, was she not feeling more elated? There was a tension inside that she couldn’t escape, a nagging feeling that followed her everywhere and the growing unease that something was missing from her life. But the anxiety wasn’t going anywhere. She curled a long strand of hair around her finger, deep in thought. Her best friend, Hollie, would tell her to, ‘go out and find a hot man’, but Indi baulked at the notion that she needed a man to complete her. She did flash back to meeting Connor, though, his intense eyes resting on hers for a second longer than they should …
Indi’s thoughts were broken by her phone vibrating in her hand: dozens of Instagram and Twitter alerts. She scrolled through rapidly. All the TOWIE girls had tweeted selfies with Tasha, pouting their glossy lips to the camera. Before he’d got steaming drunk, Miles had tweeted a picture of himself looking proud as punch with four Arsenal football players. Indi laughed to herself and was about to put her phone back into her black Michael Kors clutch bag when another picture caught her eye. It was of Nicolas, Tasha and Connor on Glamour To Go’s very own Instagram account. Ben must have posted it earlier in the night, as promoting the event on social media was one of the jobs Indi had assigned him. Connor had his arm around a very slim, very beautiful woman with long jet-black hair and dark eyes. Indi didn’t recognise her. The woman rested her head on Connor’s shoulder and the group smiled to the camera. Of course, Connor would have a girlfriend, Indi thought. He was too gorgeous not to. She felt silly for thinking he was staring after her and stuffed the phone into her bag.
Indi’s alarm buzzed at nine the next morning and she lazily shut it off. She always gave herself a lie-in after a big event. And it was Sunday, after all. Snoozing for another half-hour, she finally dragged herself from her bed and immediately flicked open her silver iMac laptop to check the coverage of the previous night. The party was the top showbiz story on the Mail Online and News Hub, the website Miles worked for. As Indi eagerly read the article it told of how splendid all the guests looked, how lavish the club was and that Nicolas and Tasha were the perfect couple. Not a scandal in sight! Indi sank back into her white, plump pillows.
I surely deserve another ten minutes in bed, Indi thought dreamily. She was about to drift off when keys turned in the door and she heard the jingle of bracelets.
‘Rise and shine, happy camper!’ came a cheery voice – far too cheery and loud for this time in the morning, Indi thought suspiciously. It was her best friend Hollie. ‘You decent in there, Ind?’ Hollie asked as she burst into the bedroom before waiting for an answer and threw her slouchy grey shoulder bag on the floor.
‘What if I hadn’t been?’ asked Indi in mock horror as her friend flung opened the curtains.
‘Pah, like it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.’
Indi flinched at the bright May sunlight. ‘Remind me why I gave you a key to my flat again?’ Hollie gave her best friend a kiss on the cheek and slumped at the end of her bed. ‘Because I’m your oldest friend in the world and your favourite person. And you said you’d come to a yoga class with me before Sunday lunch at your dad’s. But first I want to hear absolutely everything about last night – don’t miss out any details.’
Indi looked at her friend and smiled. Hollie was the biggest celebrity fan she knew, devouring all the gossip magazines every week. If the Kardashians were her subject on Mastermind, Hollie would win easily. Indi sat up in bed and stretched. ‘OK, but I need coffee before I do anything, so let’s go into the living room and I’ll tell you everything.’
Indi’s flat was small but she loved every inch of it and had taken pride in decorating it herself when she’d moved in the year before. Her bedroom was in a minimalist style with white walls and a huge built-in wardrobe with mirrored doors. Her king-sized bed sat in the centre of one wall with a wooden table on one side and a matching chest of drawers on the other. Ivory candles were scattered over them and a huge purple velvet armchair in one corner provided the only flash of colour. Indi liked her bedroom to be tranquil and sparse, but the rest of the house was a cluttered contrast. She followed Hollie through to the open-plan kitchen and living room, separated by a breakfast bar. A purple sofa facing an ancient TV was covered with pink and blue cushions and piles of washing, and the dark wooden coffee table was littered with magazines, notepads, coffee cups and a takeaway pizza box.
Hollie sat on one of the bar stools as Indi filled the kettle and placed a generous spoonful of coffee into huge mugs with the words ‘What would Beyoncé do?’ emblazoned over them – a housewarming gift from Hollie.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ Indi said as she took a pint of milk from her fridge and sniffed it to check it was still drinkable. Actually, there was nothing in her fridge aside from half a bottle of white wine and some yoghurt she was sure had seen better days. ‘I’ve just been so busy with the event.’
‘Oh please, like I’m one to talk,’ replied Hollie, clasping her hands round the steaming mug of coffee. ‘If I ever actually move out of Mum and Dad’s, can you even imagine how long I’d last on my own before all the mouldy plates attracted a rat infestation?’
Indi giggled. The first thing she’d done when she’d moved into her rented, one-bedroom flat was get Hollie a spare key cut. Hollie often crashed over and Indi loved having her around. They’d watch films from Indi’s bed, falling asleep before the ending as they’d done since they were kids.
‘I’m bad enough when I’m alone but when you’re here we’re definitely a health hazard,’ she said drily. ‘How’s the saving going anyway?’
Hollie shrugged. ‘You know my parents are awesome, and I barely pay any rent, but travelling from Potters Bar into central London costs a fortune and it’s not like I’m making big bucks.’
‘And half your wages go straight to Zara and Topshop,’ pointed out Indi.
Hollie worked as a make-up artist for MAC cosmetics at the department store House of Fraser on Oxford Street. The only thing she loved more than celebrities was make-up and fashion, forever obsessing over the latest trend. It utterly suited her though. Where Indi favoured classic blazers, blouses, skinny jeans and pencil skirts, Hollie always looked far cooler and more hip. Her outfit today was faded blue jeans, gold Converse trainers and a blue crop top, with a chunky gold necklace. She was five feet four inches and curvy, but knew exactly how to flaunt her features. Her mixed-race skin glowed with a hint of shimmer and her eyes were outlined with expertly applied electric-blue eyeliner while her dark Afro hair, dyed ombre blonde, was scraped back in a headband. The two had been best friends and inseparable since they were at primary school together.
‘Like I always tell you, you should try to go freelance,’ said Indi. ‘I bet you’d earn a fortune if you could get a few celebrity clients.’
Hollie sighed. ‘I’d love to but I’m not experienced enough.’
Indi tutted. ‘You do such amazing, creative make-up. I can totally see you creating make-up looks for magazine campaigns and adverts. You belong in the fashion world! When Tina and I get you to do our make-up before a night out, you genuinely love it!’ Tina was Hollie’s sister, younger by three years.
‘Well, I am doing the models at Essex Fashion Week again and hopefully my first London Fashion Week in September, which would be incredible, but we’ll see. Anyway, enough of me. Tell me about last night. Who snogged who and who got the drunkest? And, most importantly, what did Tasha wear?’
Indi laughed and proceeded to fill Hollie in on every detail of the event, omitting only her stumble into Nicolas and Connor. In all the excitement of the press attention, she’d forgotten all about them. She regaled Hollie with the row between the TOWIE girls, how two models had sneaked off with a Premiership footballer, and that a singer from Little Mix had even made a fleeting appearance. Of course, she described Tasha’s floor-length red Valentino dress in head-to-toe detail.
‘This is going to be great for you, Ind,’ said Hollie when Indi had finished. ‘Do you think you’ll get booked to do her wedding?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve never organised a wedding before so wouldn’t know where to start, but Nicolas has so many restaurants I’d love to be his go-to events girl. In fact, he’s having a summer party on Tuesday at The Square if you want to come? I don’t really fancy it alone.’ The Square was a boutique hotel on Hanover Square in Mayfair, just one of Nicolas’s many investments. Its first summer party of the year was hotly anticipated. Despite organising parties for a living, Indi was perfectly happy watching Netflix from her sofa with Hollie and a bottle of wine, but she knew that networking was vital for her business. And that she should learn to let her hair down once in a while. Fortunately, her friend was the best date she could have, and loved chatting to new people. Hollie was the most self-assured person Indi knew. She worked in a job she only half-liked (and was nowhere near challenging enough for her talent, Indi thought), spent so much of her salary on funding a fashion addiction that she wouldn’t be moving out of her parents’ place any time soon, but was perpetually upbeat. ‘Nothing’s as bad as you think,’ she’d always say when Indi was stressed about a client or event. Her motto was, ‘don’t worry, just be happy’, and she lived by it. Indi wished she could be so relaxed. Hollie was also the life and soul of any party, another trait Indi envied. She didn’t like to use the term ‘control freak’, but …
Hollie’s eyes widened. ‘The Square? I’d love to, yes! I love it there. Will Tasha be there? You have to introduce me. And you deserve to let your hair down, hun.’
The two chatted excitedly for the next two hours, planning what to wear and whipping out their phones to look at different make-up looks on Pinterest. They completely forgot about their yoga class.
‘Shit, it’s almost twelve, we need to be at my dad’s by one and I have to pick up dessert on the way,’ exclaimed Indi, dashing to the bathroom. ‘I’ll jump in the shower.’
‘Chill, babe, I’ve got Mum’s car outside so it will only take a few minutes to drive us over to Alan’s,’ called back Hollie.
Twenty minutes later, Indi emerged dressed in a denim shirt dress and flat gold ballet shoes. Her long slender legs were golden brown from an unusually hot spring in London. Unless she was hosting a work event and had her hair professionally blow-dried, Indi didn’t bother with much maintenance. Instead, she ran some L’Oréal mousse through her towel-dried hair and let it dry naturally into long tousled waves. For make-up she just put on some Benefit Lash Effect mascara, peach blusher and nude MAC Honeylove lipstick (a donation from Hollie’s vast make-up collection) and she was good to go. Hollie stared at her friend enviously.
‘God, Indi, I wish I looked that good in twenty minutes. It takes me forever to sort my massive Afro.’
It was customary for the girls to bat compliments back and forth. ‘You have the best skin in the world, though,’ protested Indi. ‘Come on or we’ll be late.’
It was just before one p.m. when Hollie parked her mum’s blue Peugeot 206 outside Alan’s house in Palmers Green, north London. He had bought the house when Indi was seventeen and her younger brother Kyle, was eleven. Their mother, Alan’s beloved wife Lou, had died two years before that, after a short battle with cancer. Despite being just fifteen, Indi had quickly become a mother figure to Kyle – and even sometimes her dad. She had taken on the bulk of the cooking, cleaning the house and sorting out bills. Indi went to university, thanks to her saved wages from the salon and her inheritance from Lou. Though she loved living alone now, she could never move too far from her family. They were her world and she loved fussing over Alan and Kyle, though Alan constantly told her that they were perfectly fine and that she should go out and see the world, even get a boyfriend. Indi would simply roll her eyes, though she did wonder what it would be like if she ever moved out of her comfort zone. She had a long-held fantasy to travel around South America, but never entertained it as something that might actually happen. Truth be told, going out of her comfort zone made her feel very tense.
Lunch at her dad’s was her favourite time of the week. She let herself and Hollie into the house, a delicious smell of garlic welcoming them. Alan was pottering about in the kitchen wearing jeans, a faded Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops, muttering cooking instructions to himself while a muffled football commentary came through the radio. He beamed when he saw the girls and gave them each a hug.
‘Hello, sweethearts.’ He gestured to the radio. ‘West Brom versus Hull City. Coming towards the last game of the season. Doesn’t look good for Arsenal tomorrow.’ He shook his head and then gestured to the stairs. ‘Kyle’s watching upstairs and I can’t prise him away from the telly when any sport is on, as you know.’
Alan saw Hollie and Tina as surrogate daughters. He was great friends with their parents, Cat and Tim, who had been a tower of support to the Edwards family when Lou died.
‘Don’t we know it,’ Indi said, placing ice cream in the freezer. ‘What’s that smell, Dad? Delish!’
‘I’ve done fish pie and new potatoes and a big salad. I thought we could sit in the garden if you’re not too cold, girls? It’s a lovely sunny day. Food won’t be ready for half an hour but there’s wine in the fridge.’
‘Amazing, thanks, Alan!’ Hollie said cheerily, busying herself by grabbing cutlery. ‘I’ll set up outside. I’m sure Kyle will come down when he smells food.’
‘How’s he doing at the moment, Dad?’ Indi asked as she grabbed a knife and tomatoes from the fridge.
‘Oh, you know, love. He has ups and downs. He’s running a lot, which I think helps, but it’s difficult when he locks himself in his room and doesn’t talk to me.’
Kyle had been diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder when he was eight. Then at the age of nine, after Lou’s death, he started to lash out and become aggressive towards other children at school. Now twenty-one, if he refused to take medication he was manic and prone to picking fights. But, when he did take it, the heavy doses made him spaced out and sad.
Indi chopped vegetables quietly as she thought about her brother, then Alan broke the silence by asking how work was going.
‘Nicolas is having a big party on Tuesday which could potentially give me loads of new business,’ she explained. ‘Corporate events are where the money is. They’ll all want Christmas parties, which need organising months in advance, so it would be great to land a couple of new accounts over the summer.’
‘That sounds really good, love,’ said Alan, always impressed by his daughter’s business savvy.
‘How’s work with you?’ she replied. ‘Do you need me to take a look at the books?’ A builder and electrician by trade, Alan was self-employed and ran his own small business.
‘It’s all under control,’ he assured her. ‘I know you stepped in after Mum died but I don’t want you worrying about me when you have your own big-shot company to run.’
Indi frowned at her dad. She wished he’d let her help out more, but he would only accuse her of being a control freak. At that moment, Kyle skulked downstairs for a beer.
‘Hey!’ said Indi warmly, giving her brother a hug. Then, quietly, ‘You OK?’
Silence from Kyle.
Hollie came bounding in from outside. ‘That wine chilled yet, Alan?’
Alan sensed that Kyle might open up to Indi in private. ‘Indeed it is, love. Tell you what, let’s you and me take a drink outside and leave these two to finish making the salad. You can tell me how Tina’s teacher-training course is coming along.’
As soon as they were out of earshot, Indi sat down at the wooden kitchen table. ‘How did the job interview at the leisure centre go? Don’t worry, I haven’t told Dad. I know he’d only make a thing of it.’
Kyle stared at the ground. ‘Really well until they saw on my application form that I was on prescription meds. Then they thought I was mental and didn’t want to employ an unstable lifeguard.’
Indi slammed her wine glass down. ‘Discrimination. Fully illegal, they’re not allowed to say that.’
‘They didn’t say it in so many words, but you could tell that’s what they thought,’ Kyle said meekly.
‘They won’t think that when I’m through with them. I’ll phone them first thing tomorrow.’
‘No, Ind, don’t do anything,’ Kyle objected. ‘It’s not worth it and it’s not important. I’ll carry on working with Dad, it’s fine. The other lads are teaching me the ropes. It was just for some extra money.’
Bless him, Indi thought. Kyle was insecure enough about being on medication, he didn’t need judgement from anyone else.
‘I just think being outside in the lido would be so good for you,’ she said. ‘You sure you don’t want me to have a word?’
Kyle shook his head. ‘Dr Sutton is starting me on a new drug next week. Might have fewer harsh side effects, he says.’
‘That’s good, mate,’ Indi said, standing up and putting an arm around her little brother. ‘I bet he thinks all the exercise you do helps, too. And hopefully you’ll get on that Sports Therapy course next spring, right?’
‘Yeah, but, Indi, I still don’t feel right letting you put me through college,’ Kyle protested.
‘Quiet, you,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s decided, and if you keep working for Dad over the summer you’ll have a nice bit of money saved for yourself.’ She sat back down and took a gulp of wine.
‘Screw Live Leisure, anyway. When we were little, Hollie peed in that pool. You don’t want to bloody work there, do you?’
At this, Kyle burst out laughing. ‘She didn’t,’ he said.
‘Yep, and if you tell her I told you I’ll burn your Arsenal scarf! Come on, let’s go outside.’
As they ventured into the garden Hollie ran past them.
‘Just off to the loo, I’m desperate,’ she said, which prompted Indi and Kyle to look at each other and fall into hysterics.
The four of them spent the afternoon eating, drinking and chatting. They came inside when it got colder and Alan made a fresh pot of coffee and they tucked into the ice cream. Kyle groaned when Hollie made him give his opinion on Pinterest outfits she’d whittled down for Nicolas’s party at The Square on Tuesday, but Indi knew he secretly enjoyed it. Kyle had always fancied Hollie, though she’d never see him as anything other than a little-brother figure. Not that he wasn’t a good-looking boy. He and Indi had both inherited Lou’s stark blue eyes, and Kyle’s hair was dark brown like hers, but he’d shaved it into a buzz cut. At six feet three he was tall and lean from running and weight training.
‘Hey, Kyle, guess who was there last night?’ Indi said. ‘Harry Kane and Eden Hazard. One day you’ll have to come out with me to meet some of the Premiership players.’ Indi knew exactly how to work her little brother. He beamed.
‘Aw, definitely, Ind! See if you can score me a date with one of those models you always hang around with, too, yeah?’ And, with a rare glimmer of confidence: ‘I bet they’re just waiting for a special guy like me to sweep them off their feet.’
Hollie spluttered out her wine. ‘Special looking, you mean, K!’
Kyle playfully punched Hollie in the arm, but remained in a good mood for the rest of the blissful, lazy afternoon.
Saskia Taylor slammed down her phone in frustration. It was the fifth time she’d called Nicolas de Souza in the past week and he hadn’t picked up, nor responded to any of the emails she’d sent him since the announcement. Six days ago he’d written a statement on his company’s website, explaining that the Degree Hotel was undergoing a programme of renovation and expansion and that the latest addition to the premises was a new club. ‘More news to follow when we issue an official press release,’ read the statement. ‘But I couldn’t wait to share this exciting news about the next stage in my venture.’
Saskia glanced at her gold Chanel watch. Eight a.m. For most people, it would be perfectly reasonable for them not to answer their phone at this hour, but Saskia knew full well that Nicolas rarely stopped working. She’d been on conference calls with him in the past at six a.m. while he was on the treadmill. There was no way that, on a Monday morning a week after announcing that he was carrying out all these improvements to the Degree Hotel, he wouldn’t be up and about already. She frowned to herself and tapped her shellac-manicured fingers on her kitchen table, thinking about what her next step should be.
Saskia had known Nicolas, a permanent fixture on the luxury nightlife scene, for a long time. A new club of his meant one hell of a launch party, and Saskia was desperate for the gig. At aged forty, her career in public relations spanned nearly two decades. After graduating from Cambridge University at twenty-two, her first job was as a junior PR in an interior design company, working her way up to PR manager. Eventually she set up her own company, Sass PR. In the noughties it had been hugely successful and she had landed campaigns for top fashion, beauty, lifestyle, travel and nightlife brands, even scooping an industry award for PR of the Year in 2006.
But work was drying up. In an age of social media, Saskia was lagging behind. Other than emailing and having a basic grasp of WhatsApp, she wasn’t exactly digitally savvy. Even her fifteen-year-old daughter, Millie, who used to idolise her, now seemed to think Saskia was useless. Millie was far more interested in posting Snapchat videos than chatting to her mum. Sass PR was taking a hit and Saskia needed to move with the times. She’d already lost Nicolas’s engagement party gig months earlier, to some new party girl on the block who she’d never even heard of. Sapphire someone? Topaz? Anyway, she couldn’t afford to lose this one.
Saskia’s daughter Millie sprang down the stairs, breaking Saskia’s train of thought.
‘Mum, can you give me a lift to school? I’ve got all my history textbooks and gym kit and they’re sooooo heavy.’
‘Of course, darling! I’m heading into the office now anyway. Get your things together and I’ll grab my keys.’ Saskia relished any opportunity to spend time with her daughter, who usually walked to school with her friends, or made Saskia park up the road so she wouldn’t have to be seen with her.
‘Wicked, thanks, Mum.’
For once, Millie seemed in a good mood, so Saskia decided to capitalise on it when they were in the car.
‘How’s the exam revision going, then, darling? Do you need me to help with anything?’
‘Nah, it’s cool. Just getting on with it, really.’ Millie’s eyes were glued to her phone as Saskia slugged through south London’s rush-hour traffic.
‘What’s so interesting?’ Saskia enquired.
‘This party at the Park Lane Club over the weekend looked amazing. Why can’t you do parties there, Mum?’
‘Ha! Darling, I went to the opening of that club ten years ago. Trust me, it’s had its day.’
‘Doesn’t look like it. It was Tasha Phelps’s engagement party and all the celebrities were there. It’s one of the top three showbiz stories on Mail Online, look.’
Saskia’s heart sank. Of course, Nicolas’s party had been this weekend. A few years ago, Saskia would have been the first person on the VIP list. Now she didn’t even get an invitation. As a red light forced traffic to a standstill, Saskia snatched the phone out of Millie’s hand and started reading. Her daughter was right: the homepage of the showbiz section was dominated by Saturday’s lavish party. Models, fit sportsmen and their glamorous wives, actors, TV personalities. Many of them Saskia didn’t even recognise, they were so young and cool, but she could spot a celebrity a mile off, and there was no doubt that this party had bagged plenty of them. Saskia scowled as she read through the story.
‘The star-studded party was from the genius brain of Indigo Edwards, 27, whose Glamour To Go events company has caught the eye of every celebrity in town.’
‘Mum! Green light, green light!’ Saskia was concentrating so hard on the story she hadn’t even noticed the cars beeping behind her.
‘Sorry, darling!’
Saskia lurched into gear and sped off down the road, so deep in thought and bubbling with rage she didn’t hear Millie grumble, ‘God, you’re so embarrassing.’
As always, Indi clicked straight back into work mode, her comfort zone, on Monday morning, writing pitches for new clients and starting to plan a press launch for a brand: a new, hip, online interiors shop that sold metallic cushions, neon signs and coffee tables from cool Scandinavian designers. Indi planned to get coverage in the top high-end magazines. She worked from home two days a week and three days a week in a rented office space with Ben.
Eating a box of sushi from itsu at her desk, she scrolled through Twitter and Instagram as she always did at lunchtime. There was the usual list of ‘people you should follow’ suggestions, and one of them was Connor Scott. Curious, Indi clicked on his Twitter page. In his profile picture he wore a black suit jacket with a crisp white shirt; he was smiling to the camera and looking disarmingly handsome. She scrolled down. His bio simply read: ‘Owner and manager, Print Room, Shoreditch.’ She knew the name well. Print Room was one of the coolest restaurants in London, always packed with celebrity diners, famous for decadent after-parties at the bar. Indi shut down the page and went back to work.
At seven the next evening she was hastily applying make-up in the back of a black taxi on her way to The Square hotel in Mayfair, where Hollie was waiting for her. Indi’s last meeting had run over and she hadn’t had time to go home and change, so she’d made a last-minute dash to Mango and picked up a midnight-blue, sleeveless silk blouse. It went perfectly with the slinky grey pencil skirt she already had on, plus the hot pink Louboutin heels she’d stuffed in her bag that morning. Indi was always on the go, so her standard daytime wardrobe was a pencil skirt or printed cropped trousers worn with a loose shirt or smart t-shirt and blazer. She wore Kurt Geiger pumps to hop on and off the tube, but always changed into heels for client meetings. Her clothes were all bought on the high street, but she splurged on expensive shoes and the few pairs she owned she wore all the time.
Still a few minutes’ drive away from The Square, she checked in on the Mail Online website to see what the latest showbiz headlines were. One of the stories on the website was about the happy announcement that an actor from the TV show Peaky Blinders and his girlfriend were expecting a baby. She was five months pregnant. Indi knew the actor because he and his cast mates had all come to the Park Lane party on Saturday (partly to promote the new series of the show, which would be starting any day now). The story even featured a picture from the party. Indi herself appeared in one of the paparazzi shots, behind the group of sexy British actors from the show, who she’d escorted out and had led to a waiting SUV. Indi cringed slightly. She much preferred to stay behind the scenes, and hated the idea of being pictured in public, but reasoned that every reader would be focusing on the celebrities, not her. She scrolled down to the hundreds of reader comments that were at the bottom of the story. Who’s the fat slag in the background? read one. Her boob job needs redoing, it’s all lopsided. Stupid fame-whore trying to get in the picture. Pathetic!
Indi suppressed her fury. It was hardly as though she’d asked to be in the photo! It was really shocking how bitchy some reader comments could be, and particularly annoying since the only fake thing about her in that picture were her MAC eyelashes. She shook her head and shut off her phone as the taxi pulled up to The Square.
‘You’re late,’ scolded an impatient Hollie as Indi paid the taxi driver at precisely 7.20 p.m. ‘Cheryl Cole and Liam Payne just walked in with a guy who looks exactly like a young Tom Hardy!’
‘Sorry, Hol, my meeting ran over and I was so rushed I had to do my make-up in the cab.’
Hollie peered at her friend’s face. ‘Smoky black eyeliner, check, lashings of mascara, check, nude lip and bronzer on the cheeks,’ she said. ‘You look gorgeous as always, babe, but I wish you’d let me play around with your make-up from time to time. A statement lip in bright pink or dark purple would look absolutely stunning on you.’ A smoky eye and subtle lip had been Indi’s signature party look for almost a decade. She stuck to what she knew.
Hollie looked sensational in a pale blue body-con dress, which clung to her every curve. Her sexy hair was out in full force and her bee-stung lips coated in bright red. ‘Now let’s get in there.’
The hotel’s Square Mile Bar on the twelfth floor was ultra-sleek and modern, with clusters of white square sofas and glass tables with vases of white roses and rose-scented candles. Waiters carried trays of mojito cocktails and ice-cold champagne. Floor-to-ceiling windows boasted views of the dusky pink London skyline and guests poured on to the balcony to watch the sunset and pose for selfies.
‘Ooh, let’s get a picture,’ said Hollie, scooping up two glasses of champagne.
No sooner had Indi taken her first delicious sip than she heard her name called and noticed Tasha Phelps sashaying towards her. The model looked immaculate in a figure-hugging black jumpsuit, bold red lipstick and her long blonde hair in a sleek ponytail. She hugged Indi warmly, as if they’d been friends for years. Indi loved how friendly she was, despite being one of the country’s top models, and introduced her to Hollie.
‘Lovely to meet you, Hollie, and love the outfit. Indi, so good to see you. Did you get the flowers I sent you yesterday?’
‘Yes, Tasha, thank you so much. That was lovely of you. Ben couldn’t wait to post a picture of them on Instagram, of course.’
‘It was the least I could do after the engagement bash you threw us. Apparently there was some bullshit story on News Hub about Bella Hadid being my bridesmaid, though.’ That was the tabloid website Miles worked for. Typical!
‘Bloody hell, Tasha, I’m sorry. I told one of my contacts she was coming to your wedding, but I never said she was going to be your bridesmaid! He’s a nightmare. Shall I get a retraction?’
Tasha made a batting-away gesture with her hand. ‘Whatever, babe. It’s not as bad as most of the rubbish they print about me.’ With her good looks and famous friends, tabloids and websites loved printing stories about Tasha.
‘I’ll have a word with him anyway,’ said Indi.
The girls chatted about Tasha’s upcoming wedding plans and were only too happy to let a passing waiter top up their champagne glasses. Indi felt relaxed. After this drink she’d do a circuit of the room with Hollie and try to drum up some new business.
Suddenly, Hollie grabbed Indi’s arm tightly and gasped.
‘Jesus, Hol, I almost spilt my drink.’
Hollie ignored her. ‘Indi, look! It’s that fit bloke I saw come in. My God. He is gorgeous.’
Tasha followed her gaze. ‘Oh, Connor! He’s known Nicolas for years.’
Indi froze. She gulped some more champagne and turned around. Sure enough, through the crowd, dressed in beige chinos and a smart black Ralph Lauren polo shirt, with just a tad more stubble around his perfect jawline, was Connor Scott.
‘He is the most handsome man I have ever seen,’ whispered Hollie. Connor was talking animatedly to his girlfriend, the same tall, thin and extremely beautiful woman he’d been pictured with at the engagement party. She gazed back at him adoringly and Indi noticed every pair of female eyes in the room were glancing at Connor, and most of the men were eyeing up his girlfriend. They made an extremely attractive couple.
‘You know that restaurant, Print Room, where Rihanna always goes when she’s over here? That’s Connor’s place,’ Tasha continued. ‘He does really well for himself. I think Nicolas is investing in some new venture of his.’
‘And who’s that girl with him?’ This from Hollie. Indi was relieved her friend had asked; she didn’t want to let on she cared that much.
‘Anja? Oh, Connor’s girlfriend. She works in Print Room as the hostess, though I think she does modelling, too. I’ve only met her once and she just talked about herself. She wouldn’t leave Connor’s side, either. I think she’s a bit stuck up, to be honest.’
Anja slinked off in the direction of the toilet, leaving Connor alone.
‘Here, I’ll call him over,’ said Tasha.
‘Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be bothered,’ Indi said hastily, but Tasha was already waving Connor over.
‘Hey, Tasha,’ he said warmly, giving her a kiss on each cheek.
‘Connor, you have to meet Indigo. She has the most fabulous events company and threw our engagement party on Saturday. This is her friend, Hollie. She’s a star make-up artist.’
Hollie blushed as Connor said hello and then, ‘Oh, I’ve met Indigo.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘She fell straight into me last Saturday!’ Indi winced with embarrassment. God, he must think I’m an idiot!
Hollie, aghast, mouthed to her friend: ‘You met him?’ Then, to Tasha, ‘My glass is empty. Tasha, why don’t we grab us all a round?’ As the two went to the bar, Indi found herself alone with Connor.
‘How’s business?’ he asked.
‘Great,’ Indi replied, and filled him in on her latest projects.
‘That’s impressive. It’s not the easiest climate right now to get work. Investors are pulling out of all sorts of projects, but there are still pots of money to be found.’
‘How’s the restaurant business?’ she asked, genuinely interested, and the two happily talked business until Hollie reappeared clutching three champagne glasses.
‘Did I really stumble upon a conversation about profit margins? C’mon, guys, this is a party!’ Hollie passed the glasses around as the group laughed. ‘Now, Connor,’ began Hollie, ‘when are you going to invite Indi and me to your famous restaurant with the year-long waiting list?’ Classic Hollie, thought Indigo, smiling. No shame whatsoever, but everyone found her adorable instead of rude. At that moment Anja sidled up, placing an arm around Connor.
‘Connor, aren’t you going to introduce me?’ She was dressed in a short red dress and definitely had the model figure to carry it off. She was almost as tall as Connor and very skinny. Indi felt awkward next to them and took another sip of champagne.
No sooner had Connor made the introductions than they were interrupted by an almighty crash as a tray full of drinks fell to the floor. A flustered-looking woman in her early forties had crashed straight into a waiter. She apologised profusely as the waiter picked up shards of broken glass. Her own loose-fitting long white dress was covered in drink stains.
The roomful of guests stopped talking and stared. The woman looked mortified and ran to the loos, when Anja let out a laugh, not caring if the woman could hear her. ‘Jesus, what a mess,’ she said bitchily. Connor frowned at Anja, while the other guests gradually went back to their conversations.
‘That poor woman,’ whispered Indi to Hollie. ‘Shall we go and check on her?’