China Rich Girlfriend
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It’s the eve of Rachel Chu’s wedding, and she should be over the moon. She has a flawless Asscher-cut diamond, a wedding dress she loves, and a fiancé willing to thwart his meddling relatives and give up one of the biggest fortunes in Asia in order to marry her. Still, Rachel mourns the fact that her birthfather, a man she never knew, won’t be there to walk her down the aisle.
Then a chance accident reveals his identity. Suddenly, Rachel is drawn into a dizzying world of Shanghai splendor, a world where people attend church in a penthouse, where exotic cars race down the boulevard, and where people aren’t just crazy rich … they’re China rich.
to the Maldives when he came bursting into the office and started going through the filing cabinets. “Where are all the files related to the sale of Cloud Nine Solutions, my first company?” “Acherley,*5 wouldn’t those old files be in the archive room on forty-third floor?” Krystal suggested. “Come with me, we need to find those files now!” They raced down to the archive room, which Michael had never even entered before, and began digging through the file drawers. “I need to find the original
sitting beside him right now, he would’ve hightailed it to Colette’s house and shoved her face into that ridiculous reflecting pool, with Celine Dion blaring full blast. Leaning her head against Nick’s broad shoulder, Rachel remained the calmest of the trio. From the moment Roxanne began talking in that interrogation cell, Rachel started to feel a tremendous sense of relief. The ordeal was over. There wasn’t some crazy irrational stranger after her. It was just the crazy personal assistant of
almost as obsessed with food as they are with status, perhaps the best-kept secret of the dining scene is that the finest cuisine arguably isn’t found at the Michelin-starred restaurants in five-star hotels but rather at private dining clubs. These members-only establishments are sanctuaries of luxury hidden away on upper floors of office buildings, where the famous and well-heeled gather to enjoy their meals far from the prying eyes of paparazzi. These clubs often have years-long waiting lists
shallow reflecting pool. A travertine walkway ran down the middle of the pool toward tall lacquered doors the color of espresso, and bamboo block plantings ran along the walls of the courtyard. The lacquered doors parted silently as the three of them approached, revealing the inner sanctum. Before them was an immense, eighty-foot-long living room decorated entirely in tones of black and white. Maids in long, black silk qipaos*1 stood in a silent line by gray shikumen brick pillars hung with
first, enjoying the balmy breeze through the open top, but as he turned onto Holland Road, Michael picked up the conversation again. “How much do you think your earrings are worth?” “Probably more than this car.” “I paid $8.9 mil for this ’Rari. You really think your earrings are worth more? We should get them valued.” Astrid found his line of questioning slightly tacky. She never thought of jewelry in terms of prices and wondered why Michael even brought it up. “I’m never going to sell them,