Free Bad Brides by Rebecca Chance

– ooh,
maybe we could get Pimm’s to sponsor the drinks? Everything has to be right on brand, and you just get that so instinctively. British, ethical, down-to-earth but just sheer luxury at the same
time.’
    Milly heaved a huge sigh of bliss.
    ‘God, I didn’t see this coming at
all
!’ she said, deliciously aware that even the VIPs hanging out in the backstage area were taking surreptitious photos of her
– Milly Gamble from
Dr Who
looking all blissed-out and loved-up just after Tarquin Ormond had proposed to her. ‘This is really going to take me – and Milly and Me, of
course – to a
whole
new level of brand awareness!’

Chapter Five
    Two hundred miles away from the Sussex fields across which Ormond and Co were blasting out their song ‘Moon Face’, Tamra Maloney was settling into the
hand-upholstered, leather back seat of her Bentley Flying Spur as her chauffeur drove her back to London, blessedly unaware that Brianna Jade now had a rival for the
Style
Bride of the
Year tiara. If anything could have improved Tamra’s mood at that moment, which probably wasn’t even possible, it would have been her Bentley. She just loved this car. There was nothing
like it in the States, nothing at all. Yes, you could get hugely luxurious and expensive cars over there, of course, but nothing so elegant and refined. From the ‘B’ of the Bentley logo
hand-sewn into the capacious headrests, to the built-in case of drinking glasses and the tables that slid out so smoothly from the back seats, to the DVD screens and the multimedia remote control
that lay discreetly between the seats, everything had been hand-fitted by experts; it was like relaxing into a moving work of art.
    Deciding to spend over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds for the Flying Spur had been the easy part. Picking her colour choices for the interior by contrast had been agonizing. Bentley
offered a dark-red leather called Fireglow for the seats and upholstery, with a dark stained burr walnut for the wooden veneers that was almost black. Tamra had been seriously tempted by the rich
crimson and charcoal combination of one of the showroom models. But the salesman, with exquisite tact, had murmured: ‘Very
nightclub
, madam. This colour choice is extremely popular
with our Russian and Arab clients . . .’ and Tamra, who was very quick on the uptake, had read his meaning instantly.
    ‘I got it,’ she had said, flashing him a gorgeous smile. ‘Like we’d say in the States, keep walking. What do you suggest?’
    The salesman had allowed himself a much smaller smile and advised Tamra that the combination of a damson exterior, plus beige leather seats and matching damson leather interior trim, with the
dark walnut veneer, would be the choice
he
would make for madam. Madam was modern and elegant, and the deep purple reflected her style and was contemporary without being – well,
nightclub
.
    And she loved it. The purple made her feel positively regal, and the sales guy had been right – the beige seats looked a lot classier than the red would have done. Tamra had no problems
flashing her money around, no wish to pretend she wasn’t anything but the newest of new multi-millionaires; it was a shame, she often thought, that there wasn’t a word that fitted in
between ‘multi-million’ and ‘billion’. The former didn’t really convey the scale of her wealth, and she wasn’t quite in the latter’s league.
Yet. Never
say never.
    She was perfectly happy to buy everything new and shiny and custom-made: that was her deal. But there was luxurious and there was flashy, and she knew she needed to stay on the right side of
that line. It was proving surprisingly easy: the Bentley guy had been typical of the high-end salespeople here, who were very happy to guide you along the right path as long as you learnt their
keywords. You went into their shops dressed all elegant and rich-looking –
not
flashy, Armani rather than Versace – and you