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win that crown. She had no interest in competing, even if there was competition to be had (which there wasn’t).
    Tawny was the worshipped, never the worshipper. And oh! Imagine how Kevin would worship her. She was tempted to bag him, just for the fun. Tawny loved it when a man fell under her spell—there were at least six out there right now who would take a bullet for her if she flashed them her tits and offered a BJ. Ha!
    She folded the mag, trying not to think about the lashing no doubt hurtling her way courtesy of that British cow. It wasn’t Tawny’s fault women got jealous. She was everything they wanted to be and they simply couldn’t handle it.
    Eve Harley would never get the truth, anyhow. Tawny had buried her history so deep that she wasn’t even sure she knew where to find it. No way was she going back there, not ever, and she would happily top herself before anyone else did.
    Her manager called.
    ‘Everything all right, my diamond girl?’ he crooned.
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘I’m in the mood to spoil my favourite client. Breakfast at Clementine’s?’
    ‘I’d sooner die. I’ve got a date with a spa, a hot masseur and my bed.’ Tawny paused, allowing herself a smirk. ‘Maybe his.’
    ‘Lunch, then.’
    Tawny cringed. Food after sex always seemed a grim proposition. The idea of filling herself up on cock and then cramming in Eggs Benedict on top was disgusting.
    ‘I’ll call you later,’ she said.
    ‘Oh, and babe? Remember your slot on The Bianca Show tomorrow night.’
    ‘Ugh, hell, I forgot about that.’
    She hung up.
    There was never any reprieve, but in her heart Tawny loved the attention. Wasn’t this what she had prayed for, eversince she was a girl? To be admired, to be revered—above all, to be adored! She had been granted her wish.
    Tawny smiled. Tucked into her Silvers tote was the other item she could never leave home without: the inscribed hair straighteners gifted to her by a legendary Italian designer at the beginning of her career, when she had been an upcoming starlet and named as his muse. The lemon-yellow tongs were her lucky charms: she insisted on using them for every shoot and every show, and they were emblazoned with the immortal line: ‘TO THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL, WITH LOVE & ADMIRATION’.
    Tawny Lascelles really was the fairest of them all. She always would be.
    She would rather die than have that crown taken.
    Satisfied in that knowledge, she fell fast into a deep and dreamless sleep.

5
    Boston
    A ngela Silvers hated to fly. She had always possessed an irrational fear of airplanes. She hated the roaring take-off, the jumps of turbulence and the way that every sound and shudder convinced her they were about to fall out of the sky.
    She closed the blind, shutting out the sprawling blue and floozy clouds.
    ‘Excuse me?’ She smiled at a passing attendant.
    ‘Yes, Ms Silvers?’
    ‘Would I be able to get a drink, please? A martini?’
    ‘Coming right up.’
    Noah would tease her. Angela had a fleet of jets at her beck and call—why not make the trip in luxury? But there was something ugly about jumping on a plane for one as easily as if you were hailing a cab. Besides, her father’s aircraft were way too light for her liking: at least on a 737 it felt as if there were something between her and the ground. Her drink arrived and she threw it back in one.
    She hoped the liquor might knock her out, but while it took the edge off it wasn’t enough to relax her completely. The knack was to focus on something else, anything to detract from the fact they were 35,000 feet up in the air in a rattlingtin can. Normally the promise of landing was enough to pull her through—thoughts of arriving at her hotel, taking a long soak in the tub, ordering room service, slipping into bed and Skyping Noah—but today, the flight was just the beginning.
    Angela was heading to company HQ, the house in Boston where she had grown up. She intended to thrash it out with her father once and for