Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1)

PROSECCO & PAPARAZZI

B
OOK
O
NE
, T
HE
P
ASSPORT
S
ERIES

C
ELIA
K
ENNEDY

Booktrope Editions

Seattle, WA 2015

COPYRIGHT 2011, 2015 CELIA KENNEDY

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Attribution
— You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

Noncommercial
— You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

No Derivative Works
— You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

Inquiries about additional permissions

should be directed to:
[email protected]

Cover Design by Michelle Fairbanks

Edited by Kathryn Galan

Previously self-published as
Charlotte's Restrained, The Accidental Stalker, 2011

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

PRINT ISBN: 978-1-5137-0166-0

EPUB ISBN:
978-1-5137-0188-2

Library of Congress Control Number:
2015913666

When I was writing
Prosecco and Paparazzi,
my children asked me repeatedly to whom I was going to dedicate my book. My answer was, “Myself! I did all the hard work.” Initially they looked shocked, but, when the surprise wore off, they had a good laugh. The truth of the matter is that there are many people to thank, most of them unknowing contributors.

First, my family, because they are ultimately important. They make you laugh, make you think, they are the people who you develop your emotional bank with. From that, all things are possible.

I want to thank my lovely husband, Paul, who dreams with me. I was going to say he is my ballast, but the dictionary defines ballast as “
a heavy substance placed in such a way as to improve stability and control.”
While he provides stability, he makes me weightless and gives me wings.

To Claire and Shane, in addition to my loving you for exactly who you are, you inspire me by watching you try to do new things on a daily basis. I would not have tapped into the gift almost all children possess and most adults forget:
the unwavering belief that trying to do new things is normal.

Then, my friends who talked me off the ledge: Thea, Lisa, Marie, Victoria, Carol, and the Crusher Ladies. I am blessed a thousand times over.

To the authors extraordinaire at Chick Lit Chat and Author’s Cave—you are indispensable. I would particularly like to thank authors Kathryn Biel, Gina Henning, Whitney Dineen, Maggie Le Page, and Tess Woods. Alongside being brilliant authors, you are fabulous friends. Thank you for a most fruitful and hilarious summer afternoon. I am in your debt.

I would also like to thank my dream team at Booktrope. Samantha March, Brenda Kissko, Kathryn Galán and Michelle Fairbanks: I am forever indebted for your support, guidance, and hard work. Thank you also to Jennifer Gilbert for bringing me into the fold.

As Always,

Thanks for reading!

Celia Kennedy

www.celiakennedy.weebly.com

Lemon and Elderflower Fizz

Ingredients

75 ml gin

Juice ½ lemon

2 t. caster sugar

50 ml elderflower cordial

750 ml bottle prosecco

4 T. lemon sorbet

To decorate

2 T. caster sugar

Juice and strips of zest from ½ lemon

Method

To decorate the glasses with a sugar rim, tip the sugar onto a flat plate and the lemon juice into a bowl. Dip the rim of each glass in the juice then twist on the plate of sugar to stick.

Put the gin, lemon juice, sugar, and elderflower cordial into a large jug. Stir until the sugar has dissolved. Add the prosecco then the sorbet, and give it a good stir.

Pour into the prepared glasses and pop in a few strips of lemon zest.

This is my favorite prosecco cocktail… but, I’ve been known to enjoy an ice cold glass of the lively sparkling wine all by itself!—Celia

Recipe from:
http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/lemon-elderflower-fizz

May 2012

“DES BANNERMAN’S LAWYERS
are on the phone!” Taylor, my roommate, held the phone out to me so I could read the Caller ID and see their names myself. “Do I need to remind you how much we have riding on this week? We do not need this! Not now!” She punctuated her thoughts by stabbing the air with her index finger.

Trying to remain calm, I decided that answering the phone call from Mead, Jameson, and Kelly was not the best course of action. There was only one thing to do. Call the King of Romantic Comedies himself and ask what was happening.

I tapped my teeth with a freshly manicured fingertip. For the trillionth time I wondered what had been misinterpreted so gigantically.

Heading down the short hallway toward the bathroom, I called over my shoulder, “I’m going to take a shower.” A preemptive strike to alleviate my soon-to-be-overwhelming headache.

“What? How can you take a shower?” Taylor squawked as she looked around the apartment wildly. “Shouldn’t you finish packing and get the hell out of here?”

“Listen, I’m going to take a shower and think of a way to get ahold of him. Then everything will be fine! Remember, Gemma promised,” I said, wanting to allay her fears as well as my own.

It was simple enough
, I thought as I washed my hair. The day before, I’d seen Des having lunch at The Volstead, a midtown bar. As I was leaving, there had been no option but to walk past his table, so I’d taken a deep breath and stopped to say hello. We’d exchanged stilted pleasantries and, when the short conversation came to an end, I’d said goodbye and left.

Technically, I did violate the restraining order by coming within five hundred feet of him. Technically, I did violate the restraining order by talking to him. But he hadn’t seemed any more frightened or perturbed than the last several times our paths had crossed.

I stood under the hottest water my skin could stand for a full five minutes, the scent of lavender body wash floating in the mist, before I suddenly remembered something Gemma had said that made me regret not answering the phone.

Pulling back the shower curtain and reaching for a towel to wrap around my hair, I called out to Taylor, “Did they call again?”

“No, you still have a chance to get out of here before the police arrive!” she yelled anxiously from the living room.

I muttered to myself, “If I haven’t been arrested yet, I doubt today is the day,” then rushed through my routine of lotions, potions, spritzes, and sprays.

My earlier bravado had been replaced with total confusion.

While I was rooting around the closet for clothes, Taylor entered the room, emitting an aura of panic. Sitting on the foot of my bed, she patted it. “Charlotte, come sit down. We really need to talk about your situation with Des Bannerman.”

With more confidence than I felt, I said, “Hang on a second. I know it’s bad timing, and, if your mother finds out, we could both get fired or worse! But listen, while I was in the shower, I remembered something Gemma said when I was in London. I need to get ahold of her. She might know what’s going on. But first, I need to get dressed, find her phone number, and
then
just maybe I’ll get to the bottom of all of this so I can get my life back!”

She remained silent throughout my declaration, but her blue eyes expressed all her uncertainty. “Charlotte, you’ve finally lost it.”

Twenty minutes later, and after a thorough search of my briefcase, I found Gemma’s business card, sat on the edge of the sofa that dominated our living room, and dialed her number. While listening to the ring of the telephone, I gnawed my knuckle.

I was startled when a voice on the other end of the phone said, “Creative Artists Agency, Mr. Allen’s office. How may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I was given Mr. Allen’s phone number by Gemma Newley. My name is Charlotte Young of Faith Clarkson International. If possible, I would like to speak with her.”

“Just one moment, please.” Silence filled the airwaves. No elevator music, just silence.

I knew from Gemma that Mr. Allen also represented Des Bannerman. The silence abruptly ended when the same woman’s voice said, “I’m sorry, but Mr. Allen is unavailable. May I direct your call elsewhere or take a message?”