Welcome to the city of Shanghai. A world of designer clothes, chauffeurs, lavish parties, and juicy scandals. Ever since the Chinese economic boom, rich foreigners have inhabited Shanghai and ruled every inch of the electric city, from the sparkling...
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"SOMEONE'S GETTING FIRED," Dakota Winslow proclaimed between clenched teeth, holding her iPhone to her ear tightly as her call went to voicemail once again. "Ugh!" She grunted impatiently and, very much in her dramatic nature, hurled her rose-gold phone across the Ritz-Carlton porte-chochére. "Seriously, where the fuck is my chauffeur?"
Natasha Kauffman watched wide-eyed as a group of fur-wearing guests dodged the flying iPhone. They ducked for cover behind white Range Rover's, black chrome Porsche's, and other luxury vehicles parked at the hotel entrance.
"It's okay, she's got like seven of them," Lennox Richmond whispered as she removed strands of chocolate-brown hair that were stuck to her lipgloss. Her black and gold Versace wristlet hanging from her arms as she crossed them underneath her chest.
The blonde, the brunette, and the redhead were shivering in their mini-dresses. It was mid-January, so Shanghai's freezing temperatures were edging on the brink of zero. The streets were cold. The sky had blacked out. The tall evergreen and ginkgo trees surrounding the hotel were dusted with snow. Dakota had even threatened to sue her chauffeur in the case they contracted hypothermia.
It was two o'clock in the morning, a rather strange time of the night; too late for the streets to be packed, yet too early for the city's hub of wealthy teenagers to put down their bottles of Chandon and return to their lavish mansions.
Few souls were still lingering at the opulent Ritz-Carlton hotel, only a couple late-night travellers, wiping tired eyes and sipping coffee from paper cups, accompanied by drunken teenage girls, hands clutching their Miu Miu heels while they walked around barefoot.
Natasha Kauffman sucked in a breath, the sparky skin-tight Balmain dress threatening to cut off her oxygen supply. As Dakota continued to leave her chauffeur a flood of not-so-nice messages laced with expletives, Lennox was watching something in the distance. Something that had caused her dazzling smile to dim.
Sitting at the outdoor bar was Leo Najjar, the sharp-witted and charming son of a billionaire oil tycoon. With a drink in hand, he entertained two teenage girls.One girl rubbed the back of his neck, while the other grazed his thigh.Natasha thought they looked European, maybe from a Nordic country.
It's crazy how they just throw themselves at him.
"I don't think I'm done yet for the night," Lennox expressed solemnly, still watching Leo at the bar as the Winslow Lincoln pulled up to the entrance. "I'll swing by the penthouse later, Kota, so we can talk tomorrow morning over croissants and coffee?"
"I'll tell Olive to prepare you the guest bed," Dakota gave her friend's hand a squeeze, managing to crack a disheartened smile. Whatever had occurred that night was not going to come out anytime soon, and Natasha knew the secrets and mysteries weren't going to end there.
