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Contents (76)
  1. The Christmas Swap
  2. SANDY BARKER
  3. Prologue
  4. Twenty-two years ago
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Lucy
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Jules
  9. Chapter 3
  10. Chloe
  11. Chapter 4
  12. The May Ladies
  13. Chapter 5
  14. Lucy
  15. Chapter 6
  16. Jules
  17. Chapter 7
  18. Chloe
  19. Chapter 8
  20. Lucy
  21. Chapter 9
  22. Chloe
  23. Chapter 10
  24. Jules
  25. Chapter 11
  26. Lucy
  27. Chapter 12
  28. Chloe
  29. Chapter 13
  30. Jules
  31. Chapter 14
  32. Lucy
  33. Chapter 15
  34. Chloe
  35. Chapter 16
  36. Jules
  37. Chapter 17
  38. The May Ladies
  39. Chapter 18
  40. Chloe
  41. Chapter 19
  42. Jules
  43. Chapter 20
  44. Lucy
  45. Chapter 21
  46. Chloe
  47. Chapter 22
  48. Jules
  49. Chapter 23
  50. Lucy
  51. Chapter 24
  52. Chloe
  53. Chapter 25
  54. Lucy
  55. Chapter 26
  56. Jules
  57. Chapter 27
  58. Chloe
  59. Chapter 28
  60. Lucy
  61. Chapter 29
  62. Jules
  63. Chapter 30
  64. Lucy
  65. Chapter 31
  66. Jules
  67. Chapter 32
  68. Chloe
  69. Chapter 33
  70. Chapter 34
  71. The May Ladies
  72. Acknowledgements
  73. Keep Reading …
  74. About the Author
  75. Also by Sandy Barker
  76. About the Publisher

“Mmm-hmm,” Steph replied, her attention fixed on the platter of roast potatoes she was dishing up.

“Do you think we could find some time to talk later?” Steph looked up and a flicker of concern crossed her face. “It’s just that there’s something happening at work that I need your help with.”

“Of course, honey.”

Lucy smiled. Everything was still leaning towards pear-shaped, but perhaps with Steph’s help she would manage to sort it all out.

Chapter 24

Chloe

It was impossible to enjoy soaking in the bath after what had happened. The adrenalin crash had left Chloe feeling anything but mighty, and the water was too cold to save with a top-up. She gave up after a few minutes of bobbing about, got out, dried off, and went about the business of cleaning up the water on the floor.

She knew she was in a five-star hotel and all she needed to do was phone housekeeping, but the task would allow her to get out of her head and focus on something she could control.

But as she sopped up the last of the water and threw the sodden towels into the bathtub, she gave up on clearing her mind. Nothing was going to cut through her whirlwind of thoughts and the nauseating feeling they left in their wake.

She simply couldn’t ignore that Archer’s ex-girlfriend had shown up in his—rather, their—hotel room, or that she’d felt entitled to do that. Or that she’d seen Chloe naked!

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Archer had been gone a little more than an hour. If Madison hadn’t shown up, she would have been slathering herself in high-end toiletries and ordering room service by now.

She eyed the bed, surveying the wreckage. They’d managed to make quite a mess of those high-thread-count sheets and that fluffy doona; most of the bedding was trailing onto the floor. Ordinarily, she’d have tidied it up before housekeeping arrived, but a more pressing thought took hold.

What would it have looked like to Madison? she wondered.

“It would have looked like he’d made mad, passionate love to some other than her,” Chloe said aloud. No wonder Madison had behaved like a bear with a thorn in its paw. She’d probably thought she would sneak into Archer’s room first thing in the morning and climb into bed with him.

Chloe’s stomach lurched. She didn’t want anyone to crawl into Archer’s bed ever again—except her.

“Well, bugger,” she muttered to herself. She was completely smitten with the world’s biggest film star.

Housekeeping called mid-morning to ask when it would be a good time to service the room. Chloe, who’d been biding her time by scrolling her social media accounts, welcomed the prompt to leave the room, and situated herself in the Rotunda Lounge downstairs where she nibbled on a £20 croissant.

It was excellent and so were the strawberry jam and butter she slathered onto it and the pot of breakfast tea, which she finished. And apparently, in a swanky hotel in inner London, it was not called English breakfast tea—that part was implied. In any case, it was perfect—strong with a heady scent and served with a small jug of Jersey’s creamiest milk.