Pleasure Island Read Online Free
Author: Anna-Lou Weatherley
thousand ships in it.
âWhat does the small print say?â he asked.
âFormalities, by the looks of it,â she said, ignoring her sharp intuition, her mind already made up thanks to her intrigue. âIt says here it just needs one of us to sign a disclaimer.â
âA disclaimer? Ha! See, I told you it was a bloody marketing ploy. Well, Iâll have a proper look at it when Iâm back from court, and then weâll decide.â
He was standing now, making his leave, the coffee heâd spent so long making only half drunk.
âSee you in court, Angelika,â he said, turning to leave without so much as a goodbye kiss.
âGood luck getting the famous rapist off,â she goaded, as he left the room, the sound of the front door slamming behind him.â
Angelika Deyton looked at the invitation once more.
â Pleasure Island ,â she said aloud, biting her lip nervously as she hastily signed the accompanying RSVP form. She felt sure that McKenzie had something big in store for them. And she wanted to know exactly what that something was.
2
â I âm afraid itâs not bwilliant news, sugar.â
Lennard Bailey looked up at his client from his desk as she flounced into his plush New York office, swishing her long curtain of jet-black hair from her thin, delicate face and depositing a waft of her trademark Shalimar fragrance around her, a fragrance that seemed to linger inside his nostrils for days, forcibly reminding him of her presence â which, he assumed, was the whole point.
âOK, Bailey, hit me with it.â Mia Manhattan flopped into the leather chair opposite him and lit a cigarette. She already had a look of disappointment on her face which he vehemently resented. Damn woman hadnât even heard everything he had to say yet.
âWell?â she prompted him with a raised eyebrow.
Mia Manhattan was one of Baileyâs oldest long-standing clients. She had been huge once upon a time, a proper star, not like these fly-by-night flash-in-the-pan charlatans he was forced to represent today. Mia had been âThe Tiny Girl with the Big Voiceâ whoâd sung with them all: Barbara, Whitney (God rest her soul), Aretha, Shirley, Stevie, Cliff, Tom, Rod, The Bee Gees ⦠she was a quintessential child of Studio 54, which, sadly for her, was now defunct and largely irrelevant by todayâs standards.
âCanât you hook me up with that Guetta DJ chap, or how about Adele ... now sheâs right up my boulevard, darling,â sheâd announced with astonishing self-entitlement. Like it was that easy .
Bailey had welcomed the comeback conversation with Mia like an unexpected visit from the IRS, but he had expected it regardless. He suspected that the recently divorced Miaâs sudden burning demand for another shot at the limelight was largely fuelled by revenge as opposed to revenue. After all, her marriage had been purported to be one of the strongest in the industry, not least for its twenty-five-year longevity. It canât have been easy being ruthlessly cast aside for the stereotypical younger model. A woman with the kind of ego Mia possessed simply wouldnât be able to rest.
Mia blew smoke in Baileyâs direction in a deliberate bid to commence with the conversation. Surely the old bastard had something for her. He was still on a hefty retainer, after all.
Bailey had been her agent for more years than she cared to recall and their relationship had always been tempestuous at best, but he was one of a very select few people Mia actually trusted and had been surprisingly sympathetic during her recent divorce from Richard. Richard Adams , a name that was so familiar to her but now sounded like a strangerâs.
Mia felt the familiar ache in her chest begin to burn as she thought the man to whom she had given the very best years of her life, a man she had trusted so implicitly and loved so unconditionally. His betrayal
âWhat does the small print say?â he asked.
âFormalities, by the looks of it,â she said, ignoring her sharp intuition, her mind already made up thanks to her intrigue. âIt says here it just needs one of us to sign a disclaimer.â
âA disclaimer? Ha! See, I told you it was a bloody marketing ploy. Well, Iâll have a proper look at it when Iâm back from court, and then weâll decide.â
He was standing now, making his leave, the coffee heâd spent so long making only half drunk.
âSee you in court, Angelika,â he said, turning to leave without so much as a goodbye kiss.
âGood luck getting the famous rapist off,â she goaded, as he left the room, the sound of the front door slamming behind him.â
Angelika Deyton looked at the invitation once more.
â Pleasure Island ,â she said aloud, biting her lip nervously as she hastily signed the accompanying RSVP form. She felt sure that McKenzie had something big in store for them. And she wanted to know exactly what that something was.
2
â I âm afraid itâs not bwilliant news, sugar.â
Lennard Bailey looked up at his client from his desk as she flounced into his plush New York office, swishing her long curtain of jet-black hair from her thin, delicate face and depositing a waft of her trademark Shalimar fragrance around her, a fragrance that seemed to linger inside his nostrils for days, forcibly reminding him of her presence â which, he assumed, was the whole point.
âOK, Bailey, hit me with it.â Mia Manhattan flopped into the leather chair opposite him and lit a cigarette. She already had a look of disappointment on her face which he vehemently resented. Damn woman hadnât even heard everything he had to say yet.
âWell?â she prompted him with a raised eyebrow.
Mia Manhattan was one of Baileyâs oldest long-standing clients. She had been huge once upon a time, a proper star, not like these fly-by-night flash-in-the-pan charlatans he was forced to represent today. Mia had been âThe Tiny Girl with the Big Voiceâ whoâd sung with them all: Barbara, Whitney (God rest her soul), Aretha, Shirley, Stevie, Cliff, Tom, Rod, The Bee Gees ⦠she was a quintessential child of Studio 54, which, sadly for her, was now defunct and largely irrelevant by todayâs standards.
âCanât you hook me up with that Guetta DJ chap, or how about Adele ... now sheâs right up my boulevard, darling,â sheâd announced with astonishing self-entitlement. Like it was that easy .
Bailey had welcomed the comeback conversation with Mia like an unexpected visit from the IRS, but he had expected it regardless. He suspected that the recently divorced Miaâs sudden burning demand for another shot at the limelight was largely fuelled by revenge as opposed to revenue. After all, her marriage had been purported to be one of the strongest in the industry, not least for its twenty-five-year longevity. It canât have been easy being ruthlessly cast aside for the stereotypical younger model. A woman with the kind of ego Mia possessed simply wouldnât be able to rest.
Mia blew smoke in Baileyâs direction in a deliberate bid to commence with the conversation. Surely the old bastard had something for her. He was still on a hefty retainer, after all.
Bailey had been her agent for more years than she cared to recall and their relationship had always been tempestuous at best, but he was one of a very select few people Mia actually trusted and had been surprisingly sympathetic during her recent divorce from Richard. Richard Adams , a name that was so familiar to her but now sounded like a strangerâs.
Mia felt the familiar ache in her chest begin to burn as she thought the man to whom she had given the very best years of her life, a man she had trusted so implicitly and loved so unconditionally. His betrayal
Readers choose
Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue
Ian Stuart Black
Jordan Silver
Savannah Stuart
Sandra Brown
Leigh Talbert Moore
Patrick Gale
Lois Greiman
Peter David
Kat Martin