Armani Angels Read Online Free Page A

working so hard lately: Mercedes at her hair salon, Gemma in the demanding role of temporary CEO of the Australian branch of IQPR, and even Chantelle – in between bouts of retail therapy. So when Mercedes suggested spending a Saturday enjoying Plethora Day Spa’s latest indulgence – The Ancients – Chantelle and Gemma had quickly agreed.
    First all the hair from their bodies, except some eyebrow hair, would be removed with the Middle Eastern art of threading – fine cotton lines twisting and rubbing over the flesh. Then they were to be wrapped in desert mud while a therapist performed soothing Paudi scalp massages and applied a nourishing hair mask. Finally they would undergo a ritualistic rock treatment where ancient polished stones were stacked upon their bodies.
    Mercedes lay on the chaise across from them, fussing with her robe. ‘These things are so unflattering,’ she complained, pulling the towelling closer around her scrawny frame. ‘They’re always so shapeless and would it kill the owners to offer them in extra small? I have darling robes at my salon. They’re designer, they’re figure fitting, and they look delightful. Of course, we have to supply this kind of shit for our more sizeable clients, but my thin clients look fab.’
    She stopped her fussing and sat bolt upright. ‘By the way –’ Mercedes stuck her hand on her hip in anger.
    â€˜What?’ Chantelle and Gemma said, looking at her in surprise.
    â€˜What the bloody hell were you thinking, sending me to that lame-arse book launch last week?’
    Gemma looked at her blankly. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
    â€˜That menopause lady, she was a nightmare! The whole thing was a nightmare. How could you, Gem? I thought for sure you would be coming with me, which is the only reason I said yes.’
    Gemma pursed her lips and worked it out in a second. Chantelle, the little minx. She glanced at the suspect who had lain back and closed her eyes in a faux meditation on her other side. Yep, Gemma thought. Guilty. It hadn’t been the first time. There was the other incident when Mercedes had been so excited to attend the UGG Australia launch and had hurried off expecting Pammy Anderson, great nosh and free boots only to find it was the launch of the new sole cutter at the manufacturing plant, and she’d had to endure an hour of deafening machinery, ear protectors that flattened her curls and free samples of rubber.
    Rather than dob in Chantelle, although she deserved it, Gemma covered for her.
    â€˜Oh, that. So sorry, darling, I just had to be represented at that do, for strategic reasons, and I knew you’d be the girl for the job.’
    â€˜Hmph, well, warn me next time,’ Mercedes said in a sulk.
    A therapist in wide-leg chocolate linen pants and taupe tunic top placed steaming glasses of herbal tea at each side table.
    â€˜Do you have any espresso?’ Gemma asked with hope.
    â€˜I’m afraid not,’ the girl said with a gentle smile. ‘We promote holistic health: mind, body and spirit here at Plethora.’
    â€˜Never mind,’ Gemma said, running her hands distractedly through her bob. She sighed deeply. ‘I guess I’m just a bit hooked on my regular caffeine hit,’ she added, her voice apologetic.
    She turned to Chantelle. ‘I’m just so exhausted lately,’ she said, ‘but it’s weird; no matter how tired I am, I can only seem to sleep for about four hours a night.’
    â€˜Of course you’re tired, luv,’ Chantelle said as she reached out to pat her friend’s hand. ‘How’s work? Any better?’
    â€˜It’s a freaking nightmare,’ Gemma said. She leaned her head back onto the bolster and shut her eyes.
    â€˜You should do a line of cocaine. It works wonders for balance,’ Mercedes offered, her head also back with eyes closed.
    â€˜You know I don’t do that shit,