Lindsey Kelk 2-Book Bestsellers Collection: About a Girl, I Heart New York
Two of Lindsey Kelk’s biggest books - and series openers - I HEART NEW YORK and ABOUT A GIRL.In I HEART NEW YORK, get ready to meet Angela Clark as she flees the world’s worst wedding and her cheating boyfriend clutching little more than a crumpled bridesmaid dress, a pair of Louboutins and her passport. Jumping on a plane, Angela’s looking for a new life: destination – NYC. Before she knows it, she’s dating two sexy guys and has a new BFF, Jenny, who gives her an NYC makeover and a whirlwind tour of the city that never sleeps. And, best of all, Angela gets to write about it in her new blog (Carrie Bradshaw eat your heart out). But it's one thing telling readers about your romantic dilemmas, it's another figuring them out for yourself …In ABOUT A GIRL, Tess Brookes has always been a Girl with a Plan. But when the Plan goes belly up, she’s forced to reconsider. With nothing left to lose, she intercepts her flatmate Vanessa’s photography assignment to Hawaii – she used to be an amateur snapper, how hard can it be? Right? But Tess is soon in big trouble. And the gorgeous journalist on the shoot with her, who is making it very clear he’d like to get into her pants, is an egotistical monster. Far from home and in someone else’s shoes, Tess must decide whether to fight on through, or ‘fess up and run…
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Lindsey Kelk’s Bestsellers Collection
I Heart New York
About A Girl
Lindsey Kelk
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
I Heart New York first published by Harper 2009
About A Girl first published by Harper 2013
Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2009, 2013
Jacket layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
I Heart Christmas Cover illustration © Adrian Valencia
About A Girl Cover illustration © Bree Leman
Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007331604, 9780007497997
Ebook Edition © October 2013 9780007536221
Version: 2017-08-22
Contents
About the Publisher
LINDSEY KELK
I Heart New York
To the people that taught me everything I need to
know: Nana, Granddad, Janice, Phillip and Bobby
And to the people that taught me everything else:
James, Della, Catherine, Beth, Mark and Louise
Seventeen shades of thank you to everyone that made this book happen, especially Lynne Drew, Claire Bord and Victoria Hughes-Williams, I heart the second floor. Thank you to Katie Fulford for not putting my manuscript in the bin and telling me she’d read it in the first place. Thank you to Ayshea for putting your foot through that glass door and sending me to New York for the very first time. Thank you to everyone in the children’s team (past and present) for putting up with me for so long and keeping quiet from here on in. Thank you to Beth and Janet for putting up with me every time I need to ‘research’. And thank you to the dollar for being so weak for the last eighteen months. And thank you to Marc Jacobs for your never-ending parade of pretty. I owe you everything.
Contents
Epilogue
The aisle looks really, really long.
And my tiara feels so tight.
Can you put weight on around your head? Have I got muffin top on my scalp? And my shoes really hurt. No matter how beautiful or how expensive they might be, the balls of my feet feel as if they’ve been up and down a cheese grater and then dipped in TCP.
I saw Mark standing at the end of the aisle, looking relaxed and happy. Well, I suppose he doesn’t have to walk down it in four-inch Christian Louboutins and a fishtail floor-length gown. You can’t even see the bloody shoes, Angela, I chide myself. Not even the tip of the toe.
And now my hands feel sweaty. Do I have sweat patches? I tried to sneak a peak under my arms without dislodging anything important from my bouquet.
‘Angela? Are you all right?’ Louisa frowned at me, a picture of perfection, calm as anything, immaculate make-up and not teetering a touch. And her heels are higher than mine.
‘Uh-huh,’ I replied, as eloquent as ever. Thank God it’s her wedding and not mine. And please God, while I’m at it, could you not let Mark focus on what a shoddy bridesmaid I’m turning out to be, just in case it puts him off setting our date. Seriously though, sweat patches would show horribly, the dress is a light coffee colour, specially selected to make me look sick as a dog.
I stumbled down the aisle behind Louisa, with a small smile for my mum and dad, looking appropriately happy whilst acknowledging the solemnity of the occasion. I really hope that’s how I look, anyway. There is a good chance I look as if I am wondering whether or not I’ve left my hair straighteners on. Shit! What if I have left my hair straighteners on?
I’m always struck by how short wedding ceremonies are. The months of engagement, hours of planning, a whole weekend for the hen do even, and the lifelong deal was done inside twenty minutes and a couple of hymns. Even the photos took longer than the actual service.
‘I can’t believe I’m married!’ Louisa breathed. We’d got to the not-at-all cheesy bride and head bridesmaid smiling by a fountain section. Oh dear. The poses came naturally, we’d been practising them with each other since we were old enough to hang pillowcases off the back of our heads, after all. ‘Angela, can you believe it?’
