What the Paparazzi Didn't See

Handbag. (Must carry everything including the kitchen sink but bigger isn’t always better. Co-ordinate handbag to your outfit and shoes. Choose neutral colours: black, tan, brown. Mid-size with handles and shoulder strap best.)

Jeans. (Discover which style suits you best and stick with it. But for maximum WAG wow, have denim in various cuts: skinny, bootleg, boyfriend, etc.)

Trenchcoat. (Double-breasted, belted, beige. Classic.)

Watch. (For timeless elegance, invest in an expensive watch. People notice.)

Bling. (Take the ‘less is best’ approach. Diamond stud earrings. Thin white gold necklace. Unless your sports star partner wins the World Cup or Olympics for his team, then get him to buy you a diamond mine and then some.)

With Cindy engrossed in her electronic tablet, Liza ducked into the shower, something she should’ve done the moment she’d arrived home to scrub off the lingering smell of Wade’s aftershave.

Maybe that was why she hadn’t? For the moment she towelled off, slipped on her skinny jeans and a turquoise long-sleeved T-shirt, and padded into the kitchen to say bye to Shar, she missed it—his evocative crisp citrus scent.

Irrational? Absolutely, but it wasn’t every day an amazingly hot guy left his designer aftershave imprinted on her skin.

The perky hum died in her throat as she caught sight of Shar waving a stack of messages at her.

‘These are for you.’

Liza raised an eyebrow. ‘All of them?’

Shar nodded. ‘I didn’t want to bombard you when you first came in.’

‘More like you wanted the goss and knew those would distract me.’

‘That too.’ Shar grinned and handed them over. ‘Looks like some editor from Qu Publishing is mighty persistent.’

Liza groaned. ‘Can’t those morons get a clue and stop badgering me?’

‘Doesn’t look like it.’ Shar pointed to the message slips in her hand. ‘All those are from her.’

‘No way.’

Liza flicked through the lot, twelve in all. Nine yesterday when she’d been out in the afternoon and later at the party, three while she’d been in the shower this morning.

‘She said she’d call back in ten minutes.’

‘Like hell.’ Liza stomped over to the bin and dumped the lot. ‘I’m sick to death of being pestered by this mob and I’m going to put a stop to it.’

Shar punched the air. ‘You go, girl.’

Liza grinned. ‘While I’m kicking some publisher butt, maybe you should stop watching daytime TV?’

‘Careful, cheeky.’ Shar shooed her away. ‘You’ve got an hour before I need to leave, so hop to it.’

Liza didn’t need to be told twice.

No way, no how, would she ever sell her story. Cindy needed to be protected at all costs and the last thing she wanted was a bunch of strangers reading about their lives and intruding.

For they would, she had no doubt. There’d be book tours and blog tours and a social media explosion if she told all. It was why these Qu Publishing vultures were hounding her. They knew a best-seller when they saw it.

Laughable, really. What would they say if they knew the truth? That she’d invented a fake life to protect her real one?

That every event, every lash extension, every designer gown, had fitted a deliberate persona she’d cultivated to get what she wanted.

Lifelong security for her little sis.

And when her financial adviser rang today and gave her the good news about her investments maturing, she could put away her lash curler and hair straightener for ever.

Yeah, the sooner she set this publisher straight, the better.

She yanked on black knee-high boots and shrugged into a sable leather vest with fake fur collar. While being a WAG had been a pain, some of the perks, like the gorgeous designer clothes she’d got to keep on occasion, had been great.

She’d miss the clothes. She wouldn’t miss the rest.

Time to hang up her stilettos and set the record straight.

* * *

Wade strode into the boardroom with five minutes to spare then spent the next thirty listening to a bunch of boring agenda items that could’ve been wrapped up in half that time.

He wished they’d cut to the chase.

The future of Qu Publishing depended on a bunch of old fuddy-duds that wouldn’t know a profit margin if it jumped up and bit them on the ass.

The members of the board were old school, had been best buddies with his dad and, in turn, were rather fond of his delightful wife Babs.

When the chairman had articulated that little gem at the party last night, he’d wanted to hurl.

Was Wade the only guy who could see through her fake wiles?

By the board’s decision to back Babs in her quest to sell Qu Publishing? Hell yeah.

He knew it would take a monumental effort to save this company. From the accounts down to the staff, Qu needed a major overhaul. And to do that they needed a cash injection, in the form of a mega best-seller.

Which reminded him. He needed to sign that WAG to a contract today. He’d up the ante with a massive cash injection from his own pocket, a hefty six-figure sum she couldn’t refuse. From what he’d heard in snippets from memos, her sordid tale would be a blockbuster. Serial WAG, dated an international soccer star and a basketball player, a media darling from magazines to TV, a practised socialite who’d appeared everywhere in Australia from all reports.

He couldn’t care less if she’d dated the entire Socceroos team and what she’d worn to do it but that kind of gossip drivel made the average reader drool. And sold books.

Thankfully his company had branched out into the lucrative young adult market and were making a killing but Qu readers expected factual biographies, so no use getting too radical when he’d probably only have a few months tops to save the joint.

Yeah, he needed to get that WAG to sign ASAP. He’d get straight onto it, once this meeting wound up.

‘And now, gentlemen, we come to the last item on the agenda.’ The chairman cleared his throat and glared at Wade as if he’d proposed they collectively run down Bourke Street naked. ‘As you’ve seen from the proposal Mr Urquart Junior emailed us yesterday, he wants to give the company three months to see if it can turn a healthy profit.’