Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle Read Free

paler blue and dotted with iridescent beads. As I stare at it, I can feel little invisible strings, silently tugging me toward it. I have to touch it. I have to wear it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The girl looks at the label. “Reduced from £340 to £120.” She comes and drapes the scarf around my neck and I gape at my reflection.
    There is no question. I have to have this scarf. I
have
to have it. It makes my eyes look bigger, it makes my haircut look more expensive, it makes me look like a different person. I’ll be able to wear it with everything. People will refer to me as the Girl in the Denny and George Scarf.
    “I’d snap it up if I were you.” The girl smiles at me. “There’s only one of these left.”
    Involuntarily, I clutch at it.
    “I’ll have it,” I gasp. “I’ll have it.”
    As she’s laying it out on tissue paper, I take out my purse, open it up, and reach for my VISA card in one seamless, automatic action—but my fingers hit bare leather. I stop in surprise and start to rummage through all the pockets of my purse, wondering if I stuffed my card back in somewhere with a receipt or if it’s hidden underneath a business card … And then, with a sickening thud, I remember. It’s on my desk.
    How could I have been so stupid? How could I have left my VISA card on my desk? What was I
thinking?
    The nice blond girl is putting the wrapped scarf into a dark green Denny and George box. My mouth is dry with panic. What am I going to do?
    “How would you like to pay?” she says pleasantly.
    My face flames red and I swallow hard.
    “I’ve just realized I’ve left my credit card at the office,” I stutter.
    “Oh,” says the girl, and her hands pause.
    “Can you hold it for me?” The girl looks dubious.
    “For how long?”
    “Until tomorrow?” I say desperately. Oh God. She’s pulling a face. Doesn’t she understand?
    “I’m afraid not,” she says. “We’re not supposed to reserve sale stock.”
    “Just until later this afternoon, then,” I say quickly. “What time do you close?”
    “Six.”
    Six! I feel a combination of relief and adrenaline sweeping through me. Challenge, Rebecca. I’ll go to the press conference, leave as soon as I can, then take a taxi back to the office. I’ll grab my VISA card, tell Philip I left my notebook behind, come here, and buy the scarf.
    “Can you hold it until then?” I say beseechingly. “Please?
Please?
” The girl relents.
    “OK. I’ll put it behind the counter.”
    “Thanks,” I gasp. I hurry out of the shop and down the roadtoward Brandon Communications. Please let the press conference be short, I pray. Please don’t let the questions go on too long. Please God,
please
let me have that scarf.
    As I arrive at Brandon Communications, I can feel myself begin to relax. I do have three whole hours, after all. And my scarf is safely behind the counter. No one’s going to steal it from me.
    There’s a sign up in the foyer saying that the Foreland Exotic Opportunities press conference is happening in the Artemis Suite, and a man in uniform is directing everybody down the corridor. This means it must be quite big. Not television-cameras-CNN-world’s-press-on-tenterhooks big, obviously. But fairly-good-turnout big. A relatively important event in our dull little world.
    As I enter the room, there’s already a buzz of people milling around, and waitresses circulating with canapés. The journalists are knocking back the champagne as if they’ve never seen it before; the PR girls are looking supercilious and sipping water. A waiter offers me a glass of champagne and I take two. One for now, one to put under my chair for the boring bits.
    In the far corner of the room I can see Elly Granger from
Investor’s Weekly News
. She’s been pinned into a corner by two earnest men in suits and is nodding at them, with a glassy look in her eye. Elly’s great. She’s only been on
Investor’s Weekly News
for six months, and