Table of Contents
A PLUME BOOK GLAMOUR
LOUISE BAGSHAWE is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. Glamour is her second novel for Plume, following Sparkles.
Praise forSparkles
With a Jackie Collins-ish flair for soapy melodrama, Louise Bagshawe stylishly imagines pretty young things consumed with money, power, and romance.Entertainment Weekly
[An] internationally flavored fantasia on love, lies, and shopping.
Publishers Weekly
Louise Bagshawes characters are vivid and memorable. It is easy to see why this authors works are international bestsellers.
www.curledup.com
Bagshawe immerses readers in the world of the fabulously wealthy with this engaging tale of a diamond heiress and her captivating life.Romantic Times
Mouth-wateringly addictive.Ok! Magazine
Throbs with vitality from the first page.
Daily Express (London)
This book is dedicated to Kathleen Brooks,
the best mother-in-law in the world. No joke.
Acknowledgments
Id like to thank my wonderful editor Signe Pike, who picked up GLAMOUR and ran with it in record time; she made editing easy and was a joy to work with. It was one of the most painless edits Ive ever done and greatly improved the book. Im grateful to my U.S. agent Emma Parry of Fletcher Parry for an excellent deal with a wonderful house. Thanks are also due to the entire team at Plume, particularly Kathryn Court and Cherise Davis Fisher. Abigail Powers turned production of the book around at lightning speed and Nadia Kashper heroically entered every change (and there were lotsI am a copy editors nightmare) and got the MS to production. Im lucky to have such a strong team of colleagues, and every one of them a woman. Thats real girl power for you!
PROLOGUE
The name was written in brass letters, each one sixteen feet high, polished like a mirror.They glittered on the front of the store, sparkling in the California sun like a permanent firework.
What a store! In Hollywood, the city of the stars, GLAMOUR said it all. A landmark attraction since the day it first opened, the new building was a must-see on every tourist itinerary. All-American razzmatazz; a monument to luxury, money, and power.
The flagship store was ten stories high. Dwarfing Harrods in London and Saks in New York, L.A.s GLAMOUR was the ultimate shopping temple. Sleek and modern, it had been fronted with glossy black granite, so that the golden letters shone even more brilliantly. The trademark uniformed doormen and valets, both men and women, stood to attention behind the huge glass front doors, waiting for opening time. At GLAMOUR, shopping was an exquisite pleasure. Once you entered those doors, the cares of the day fell away.You were in another world: soft carpeting underfoot, exquisite fresh flowers at every corner, assistants to wait on your every whim. Every shopping trip was a vacation, and around the world, women with money just couldnt get enough. If you bought so much as a hairband in GLAMOUR, somebody would wrap it in the iconic triple-G tissue paper, tie it with mint green ribbons, and carry it to your carshould you so desire.
The clothes were fabulous. The scents adorable. The shoes haute couture.The jewels must-have.
L.A.s glitterati loved it. And the women who had founded it were set to become among the wealthiest in the world. Everybody knew their story.
Three women. Beautiful, powerful, and rich.
And, it seemed, absolutely ruthless.
Once, they had been the closest of friends. Once, they had all suffered. And together, they had triumphed.
So how had it gone so wrong?
CHAPTER 1
Its the princess!
The little girl tugged on her mothers coat sleeve, jumping up and down with excitement as a sleek black limo eased by.
Look! Momma. Its her.There she is!
Youre right, baby!
Her mother, Coco, a bank teller in her mid thirties, leaned over the thick velvet rope flanking the long red carpet that swept across Rodeo Drive. Keishas childish enthusiasm was infectious. Coco hoisted her daughter up on her shoulders so the girl could get a better look.
Across the street, forced back by security, was a gaggle of media reporters, cameramen, and boom-mike holders, the reporters all talking intently to their cameras. Two local TV news choppers whirred overhead.
Normally you only got this sort of turnout for the biggest stars. A-list actresses, the First Lady, the Lakers. But these three young women were legendary. Americaand the worldwas watching this meeting.
Coco felt her stomach knot with anticipation. She was going to be late taking Keisha to school, late for work. But it was worth it. Shed pushed her baby into the crowd, determined to show her three of the most sizzling, famous businesswomen in the world.
The American dream. Anyone could make it. It could be you in that limo. Never mind schoolthat was a lesson Keisha should learn. Coco turned toward the car as the L.A.P.D. officers shouted, motioning for everybody to get back. Keisha squealed in delight.
The security men swarmed around the gleaming black vehicle. There were olive-skinned soldiers, lean and dangerous looking, the palm tree of Ghada emblazoned on their uniformed chests. Mingling with them, brawny Americans with dark suits, shades, and earpiecesthe Secret Service.
A man stepped forward and opened the back door of the limo.
The Arab security men snapped to a salute.
A slippered foot emerged from the limo, swathed in gorgeously embroidered gold thread. It was followed by the swish of a long dress, a floor-length robe in butterscotch silk, well-cut and covered with ornate stitched designs; modest, self-assured, and beautiful.The woman stood up; she wore a simple veil across her hair, secured with a solid semicircle of polished gold; her aquiline face was calm and confident.
Shes so beautiful, Keisha gasped.Can I get a dress like that, Mom?
I dont think it would fit you, baby, Coco replied.
The crowd recovered from its fit of awe.
Princess! Princess!
Princess Haya!
Haya, over here! Highness!
The gold-robed vision smiled and waved; to the dismay of her handlers, she strode up to the barriers, shaking hands and greeting the crowd.They cheered and shouted; Haya chatted graciously.
I want to meet her! Keisha squealed.
There are hundreds of people here, honey, Coco said, not wanting her daughter to get disappointed.
But then four black-suited men brushed past herand all of a sudden, there was the princess, standing before them, resplendent in her traditional gown; gleaming, as golden as the sun, like something out of Cocos childhood fairy stories.
Keisha clapped her hands.
Youre a real live princess! she shouted.
