- Women’s Fiction
| Synopsis |
Never trust the face in the mirror . . .
It’s no surprise to anyone that Jeffrey Sachs, billionaire CEO of his own hotel chain, has a drop-dead gorgeous Estonian mistress. But stepping down to spend his retirement years with her? No one saw that coming – least of all his wife!
So now the prize of becoming Sachs CEO is up for grabs – and Jeffrey’s four children have until the day of his wedding to compete for the job.
The front runner is Conway, the older son and golden boy. But Charlotte, a glamorous social media star with an Instagram-perfect family, is hugely ambitious, fully prepared to scheme and backstab to get to the top. Then there’s the dark horse: Bella, her mild-mannered, hard-working twin sister. Or could Bart, the youngest child, a sexy, incorrigible playboy, somehow catapult himself into Daddy’s good books?
In a game where the ultimate prize is power beyond your wildest dreams, you should never underestimate your competitors, even if they are family . . . and, it turns out, twins can be the most dangerous rivals of all . . .
Bad Twins by bestselling author Rebecca Chance explores vicious sibling rivalry in this gripping thriller.
| Excerpt |
Bad Twins by Rebecca Chance: Extract
Jeffrey Sachs was neither a politician nor a ruling monarch, but when he issued an urgent summons to his presence, you obeyed. You jumped up from your Michelin three-star restaurant table, off the cross-trainer, out of bed with your lover; you told your chauffeur to turn around your limo, your pilot to alter the route your private plane was currently taking, your assistant to charter a helicopter. Whether you were a media tycoon, a Saudi prince, a Russian oligarch or a prime minister, you came when he called.
And if you were an underling, working for one of the many companies he owned, as you rushed to your meeting with him you were in a cold sweat of fear, scrambling desperately to work out why you had been commanded to his presence. Because this unprecedented command meant that the meeting was bound to be life-changing. All you could do was pray as hard as possible that it would be positive. The four employees who were converging on Jeffrey Sachs’s mansion in Maida Vale for the appointed time of three in the afternoon were his ultimate underlings: his children. They had been trained from birth to anticipate what he wanted from them even before he voiced the words, four little von Trapps who didn’t need the whistle to get in line.
So when an Aston Martin DB11 bounced over the bridge that spanned the Regent’s Canal, screeched around the corner of Warwick Avenue, hit the brakes, and reversed almost as fast into an achingly tight parking space, its driver was perfectly well aware that his other three siblings would already be sitting in their own cars, watching their phones tick the seconds away until a few minutes to three, at which point they would converge on the electric gates between two huge white colonnaded pillars set in the perfectly maintained hedge that ran around the mansion. The four of them had not convened previously to discuss why they thought their father had called this very unusual family meeting. Jeffrey Sachs had played the game of divide and conquer with his children so successfully that sibling solidarity was non-existent.
‘For fuck’s sake, Bart!’
The driver of the vehicle parked directly behind the Aston Martin, a Jaguar SUV, leapt out and slammed the door furiously.
‘You’re practically up my exhaust pipe!’ he shouted at the Aston Martin’s driver. ‘Do you know how much this cost?’
‘God, Con, be cool,’ drawled his brother Bart, sliding out of the seat of his sports car with snake-hipped ease. ‘Don’t be all . . . uncool.’
‘You’re a centimetre away from my bumper, you careless fuckwit! You nearly hit me!’ ‘But I didn’t, did I? You know, years ago in St Moritz, I accidentally shunted this German chappie in a top-of-the- range Audi,’ Bart informed his brother, his tone relaxed as he recounted the anecdote. ‘Not a big shunt, but I definitely shoved him through the snow a bit. I was terribly sorry, of course – jumped out and told him I’d pay for any damage. D’you know what he did?’
‘I hope he called you a twat and punched you in the face!’ his brother Conway snapped. ‘I’m close to doing that myself!’
‘He got out,’ Bart continued cheerfully, not a whit intimidated, ‘walked around his car and had a squint at the back of it. Then he looked at me – huge chappie, good head taller than me, they breed them really big in Deutschland – and said, completely stone-faced: “Zis is not a problem. Zis is vot bumpers are for.” Never forgot that. You need to take that attitude yourself, Con. Bit of Germanic calm’d do you the world of good.’
| Order Link |
Paperback: 512 pages
Publisher: Pan; Main Market edition (26 July 2018)
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