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up with at the theatre, all the luvvie crap they dish out. I feel like Cinderella half the time, running about skivvying after them.’
    ‘One day you’ll get to the ball, Alice,’ Georgia said, popping the cork on another bottle of champagne. She hoped it wasn’t one of the really expensive ones Harry had forbidden her to open. ‘In fact, we must sort another night out soon before Katie buggers off to Bristol, and I’m a respectable married woman.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘It’s all happened so fast, I can’t quite believe I’m getting married. It’s going to be such a good party. Harry’s guests are just A-list through and through . . . There’s even talk of a magazine deal, you know, his agent said one of the big glossies has been sniffing around, asking questions.’
    ‘God,’ Katie said, wide-eyed. ‘What have the Herald said about that?’
    ‘Well, nothing’s definite. And they know they’ll get some juicy stuff from me, whatever happens. Anyway, I’m their golden girl at the moment, Isabella can’t get enough of me.’ She handed out the champagne flutes feeling heady just thinking about it. Landing the showbiz-columnist job at the Herald had been so amazing, like the best dream come true, after plugging away as a freelance for so long. Sure, she had a feeling that being engaged to Harry Stone, mega-bucks playboy, had helped enormously, but hey, they wouldn’t have given her the gig if she was completely talentless, would they?
    ‘Well, cheers to you, Georgia,’ Alice said, eyes shining as she held out her glass. ‘We’re dead proud of you, girl, you’ve done brilliantly.’
    ‘Hear hear,’ said Katie. ‘Just make sure you remember your old mates when you’re whizzing about in your limo and we’re still in the gutter. Chuck a few crumbs our way now and again.’
    Georgia laughed. ‘Don’t give me that!’ she said. ‘Nothing’s going to change. And anyway, I’m dead proud of you two, too. The best friends a girl could ask for.’ She clinked her glass against Alice’s and then Katie’s. ‘Cheers to us!’

 
    Chapter Two
    Rule The World
    Friday, 13 June 2008
    Georgia barely thought about her failed marriage these days. It hadn’t exactly been a big deal. Girl meets boy, girl and boy fancy each other’s pants off, foolishly decide to declare their commitment in public at great expense involving all friends and family, then, six months later, decide they’ve made a terrible mistake, when boy’s coke habit goes through the roof and he turns into a gibbering addict nutter. Still, at least you learned from your mistakes. She’d never be doing that again.
    Luckily, Georgia was in the perfect line of work to bestow punishments on those who strayed from the path. She dealt out the public humiliations with an almost evangelical zeal. Film stars, TV presenters, sports heroes . . . no man was too powerful to escape her wrath. If she found out a woman was being wronged by a bloke, Georgia would wreak vengeance in huge capital letters, with photos wherever possible. Bitchy anonymous quotes too, if need be. She loved making those up.
    She gave a contemptuous little snort as she twizzled to and fro on her office chair, then began typing up her notes from last night. Oh yes. Call it her stand on behalf of womankind. Although not everyone appreciated the sentiments – but that was their problem, wasn’t it?
    It was ’Stenders super-stud Martin Browne’s 21st birthday bash at the Bone Bar last night, and yours truly was invited, of course. All the soap stars were there, partying their Walford pants off – literally in some cases!
    Georgia stopped typing for a moment, popped some nicotine gum into her mouth and chewed vigorously. God, this stuff was disgusting. Back when she’d got her first job in journalism, every self-respecting hack had a full ashtray on their desk and left silvery trails of ash in their wake, like Hansel and Gretel might have done if they’d had a forty-a-day