Megan Cole - Riches - Snog, Steal and Burn

‘VAN DER BERGS FEARED DEAD.’

And in smaller print underneath:

Argentinean archaeologists missing after ambush on Kashmir border.

At that point Celine’s world shifted on its axis. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Chapter Two Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thrity Epilogue Credits Previously by Megan Cole About the Publisher

Mumbai, India.

‘You’re a skank, you know that?’

Eighteen-year-old Jhumpa Mukherjee looked up from her iPhone and gave a death stare. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me!’ Katrina Kapoor, the biggest slut in Mumbai, stood there, hands on skinny hips. Jhumpa wanted to laugh in her face. If anyone knew about being a skank, it was Katrina.

‘What’s so funny?’ Katrina demanded.

‘You,’ drawled Jhumpa. ‘If you weren’t so tragic. Was there anything in particular?’

‘Don’t act Little Miss Innocent! My man has just tagged you in some photos on Facebook and you’re all over him.’

The music was pounding through hot new members club Eden. The beautiful crowd stood round sucking on lurid coloured drinks, six massive TV screens over the bar beaming down MTV. Jhumpa tossed her curtain of silky black hair over her shoulders, the very same hair that had won her the star role in the new L’Oreal India advert. ‘Your man?’ she enquired, looking Katrina up and down. ‘And who might that be?’

‘You know! Bhanu.’

‘Bhanu? Bhanu Mallik?’ Jhumpa snorted derisively. ‘As if.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Katrina demanded. Her badly applied eyeliner made her look like a rabid baby panda. ‘You totally know I’m seeing him.’

Jhumpa raised a perfectly threaded eyebrow. ‘As amazing as it might seem, keeping up with your sad little love life isn’t one of my priorities.’ She looked round the bar and saw Katrina’s equally ugly friends giving her death stares. ‘You know, if he is your man I would have words after the things he was saying to me.’

Katrina’s expression faltered. ‘Like what?’

Jhumpa went back to her text message. ‘He’s your boyfriend, darling, why don’t you ask him?’

The phone was ripped out of her hands. Jhumpa narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ve got precisely five seconds to give that back or I’ll have you thrown out.’

Katrina hung on to the phone, then thought better of it and slapped it back into Jhumpa’s hand. ‘You think you’re big time now, because of one lousy L’Oreal advert,’ she hissed. ‘I heard you practically begged them to let you do it for, like, free .’

Jhumpa considered her words for a moment and smiled. ‘You know Katrina, you’re completely right.’

She watched Katrina’s stupid mouth hang open with surprise. ‘I am?’

‘It was only the million dollars,’ Jhumpa said casually. ‘As you say, practically nothing. I’ll have to get my agent to negotiate harder next time.’

As Katrina’s face filled with jealous rage, an advert suddenly flashed up on the televisions behind the bar. It was Jhumpa’s new L’Oreal commercial, her walking along a beach looking stunning in a full-length dress. As she watched herself stop and smile effortlessly into the camera, Jhumpa turned back to Katrina and gave her the same smile, live and direct.

‘Come and talk to me when you’re up on that screen, hey?’ Grabbing her Hermes clutch bag off the bar, she sashayed out.

Strictly speaking her contract wasn’t a million dollars. It was more like $1,100,060 US dollars.

Give or take.

Not that she felt the need to show off to stringy-haired types like Katrina Kapoor. Jhumpa knew the precise amount because she’d done the deal herself. Her agent Bez got her the gigs, but he was hopeless with money (she thought so anyway), and Jhumpa always did the negotiating side of things. She’d already invested most of the L’Oreal money into stocks and shares and some canny real estate, including her luxury apartment in the fashionable suburb of Bandra West.

It was in the luxury apartment that Jhumpa was getting ready the next morning. The orange wraparound Donna Karan dress she’d worn last night was already hanging neatly in the wardrobe again. Jhumpa couldn’t stand mess: a slobby house meant a slobby mind. Every item of her clothing was colour coordinated, down to the nail polish, handbag and matching jewellery.

Jhumpa scrutinised herself in the full-length mirror. Glossy skin, almond-shaped eyes and audacious curves, she caused a traffic pile up every time she stepped outside. No wonder L’Oreal had chosen her over the hundreds of others. She had charisma. Star quality. This wasn’t just Jhumpa blowing her own trumpet (although she wasn’t averse to that) - enough people had told her, so she knew it was true.

Her hair was extra shiny today, which was a good omen. The commercial was great exposure and set her up financially, but today was The Big One. She was this close to breaking Bollywood. That afternoon she was down to the final three for the part of Serving Girl 2 in the new Bollywood film Emerald Summer. OK, so it was only a few lines but it was her big break. In just a few weeks time she would be starring opposite the Brad Pitt of India, Imran Khalili. Who knew where that would lead? OMG!

It didn’t even occur to Jhumpa she wouldn’t get the part. She’d been paying for her own acting lessons since she was sixteen, and it was just a natural progression of her talents. She was more than a pretty face. There wasn’t a thing the teachers at her old school could teach her about maths or logic. She’d even been offered a scholarship to study advanced physics at the prestigious MIT university in America. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, her father kept telling her, something she couldn’t possibility turn down.

Pity Jhumpa found it all so boring .

It wasn’t using her brain that bothered her: Jhumpa could sail through advanced maths challenges with all the ease of reading a restaurant menu. She’d done the MIT entrance exam while trading stocks and shares on her iPhone under the table. She liked numbers, but the ones she liked were the ones you used in the real world, the ones that got you something: money. Not just things you learned in a stuffy classroom. It was only her head for financial dealings that had persuaded her dad to let her move out of home and into the apartment in the first place.

Jhumpa loved her dad, but he just didn’t get her. Her mum had died when she was four and he didn’t seem to know what to do with this precocious little girl who loved singing and dancing. For as long as she could remember, Jhumpa had been entranced by the glamour and excitement of the film industry. In India, Bollywood stars were treated like royalty: a role Jhumpa could see herself in very well. Famous actress and president of her multi-million dollar company, Jhumpa Inc.

It was all planned out.

With happy visions of worldwide domination, Jhumpa started to get dressed. As usual, she had meticulously planned her outfit. Black J Brand jeans - tight enough without being slutty - a crisp white shirt and her black Louboutins. Taking one last satisfied look in the mirror, Jhumpa picked up her (black) Chanel handbag and left.