Armani Angels by Cate Kendall Read Free Book Online Page A

They’d become friends immediately. At first Mercedes seemed to be an amazingly attentive friend who had only praise and support for her new BFF. But lately Gemma wondered if maybe Mercedes was getting somewhat bored with her. She seemed more interested in the parties and events that Gemma could provide access to than their friendship.
    A drunk punter staggered past her in the dimly lit corridor and sloshed beer onto her foot.
    I’m too old for this crap, Gemma decided as she reached the much quieter, more sophisticated Bubble Bar. She stood at the entrance for a few seconds to steady her breathing; her reflections on Mercedes had managed to make her all panicky and anxious again. Gemma’s eyes adjusted to the subtle lighting of the room.
    Okay, this is better, she thought to herself, taking in the sheer curtains that muted the view of a striking Japanese-style courtyard. The decor was plush and ornate, quite French in persuasion, Yael Naim’s lovely tones were soothing, and the bar exclusively served Gemma’s favourite drink: champagne.
    She cheered up instantly and decided that maybe the night hadn’t been such a stupid idea after all.
    The girls had already secured a table in the corner. Mercedes flicked up one silver-draped arm. ‘Yoo-hoo, the party’s started. Where have you been?’
    Gemma stopped to talk to the bartender then strode over to the ladies.
    â€˜Happy birthday, darling,’ Gemma said and kissed Mercedes on each cheek and then greeted Chantelle in the same way.
    â€˜You both look divine,’ Gemma said, even though she was a bit worried that Chantelle looked slightly like a stripper. Her dress was made from white clingy cotton with rips down the sides, leaving no doubt that her underwear was absent. High gladiator bootsandals were the perfect complement to the look. The curling leaves of her bicep tattoo peaked out of the white cotton jungle.
    â€˜Here’s your present,’ Gemma said as the waiter arrived with a ninety-dollar bottle of Veuve Clicquot. She felt slightly petty doing this, but she knew from experience that she’d be buying the bubbles all night anyway and in the past she’d bought a present too and usually came away just feeling plain overgenerous and used. But it was worth it now that she witnessed the glimmer of a pout from Mercedes’s lips. It seemed the birthday princess had expected a gift-wrapped trinket as well.
    â€˜Ohhh, thanks, you shouldn’t have.’ Mercedes recovered her decorum and they all raised their glasses. ‘Happy birthday, me!’ she toasted herself. The flutes chinked and the night began.
    The girls were on their second bottle of bubbles and the hush of the room had been replaced by loud conversation and laughter as the place filled.
    â€˜So it’s just been dreadful, you know what I mean?’ Chantelle was regaling the girls with her recent dates. ‘And then, not only did he vomit all over my new shoes in the limo on the way home, but I lost my house key so had to wash my feet off with the garden hose and climb over the balcony to get in. Gorgeous shoes, they were too. He was such a wanker. Too young.’
    â€˜Ewww,’ the two others squealed.
    Chantelle went on. ‘And then today, it was just horrible; I couldn’t find a handbag the exact white of my bootsandals. I thought,’ she pronounced it ‘fought’, ‘that my Choo would do the job and all, but it was dreadful. I looked a right prat so I had to go out to Chaddy and nip into Coach for a new one. It’s fab though, innit?’
    The girls nodded enthusiastically. They were all Coach fans. Coach worked with everyone’s style; Chantelle’s urban whore, Mercedes’s European Versace glamour and even Gemma’s staid Armani elegance were all catered for at the slick American accessories boutique.
    As Chantelle prattled on, Gemma watched her and thought back to when they’d met.