Nicole Richie

Priceless


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       PRICELESS

      NICOLE RICHIE

      

       To the priceless moments in your life

      CONTENTS

      

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Chapter ELEVEN

       Chapter TWELVE

       Chapter THIRTEEN

       Chapter FOURTEEN

       Chapter FIFTEEN

       Chapter SIXTEEN

       Chapter SEVENTEEN

       Chapter EIGHTEEN

       Chapter NINETEEN

       Chapter TWENTY

       Chapter TWENTY ONE

       Chapter TWENTY TWO

       Chapter TWENTY THREE

       Chapter TWENTY FOUR

       Chapter TWENTY FIVE

       Chapter TWENTY SIX

       Chapter TWENTY SEVEN

       Chapter TWENTY EIGHT

       Chapter TWENTY NINE

       Chapter THIRTY

       Chapter THIRTY ONE

       Chapter THIRTY TWO

       Chapter THIRTY THREE

       Chapter THIRTY FOUR

       Chapter THIRTY FIVE

       Chapter THIRTY SIX

       Chapter THIRTY SEVEN

       Chapter THIRTY EIGHT

       Chapter THIRTY NINE

       Chapter FORTY

       ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

       Also by Nicole Richie

       Copyright

       ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

       Chapter ONE

      As the beautiful young woman strode through the international arrivals terminal at JFK, several people turned to look. A flight attendant noticed the way she carried herself, the clothes she wore, her shoes, and guessed she’d just walked out of first class. She was right. A young man pulling espresso paused, distracted by the girl’s obvious sexuality and lovely figure. She felt his gaze and turned slightly, favoring him with a brief smile that made his hand jump, causing him to scald himself. A man in a Savile Row suit lowered his Wall Street Journal and raised his eyebrows. Hmm. Charlotte Williams was back. Her father would be happy. The market would go up. He folded his paper and called his broker.

      Charlotte descended the escalator, scanning the crowd waiting for arrivals. She smiled; there was Davis. He caught her eye and smiled back. He already had her bags.

      “Hello, Davis, how nice to see a familiar face so soon.” She shook his hand.

      “Miss Charlotte, it’s a pleasure to have you back in New York. The city has been very quiet without you.”

      She laughed. “I doubt that, Davis, but thanks. Is the car very far? My shoes are killing me.” She’d worn sweats for the flight, but just before they began their descent, she’d changed into her city clothes. Louboutins, which were pinching her feet after only a hundred yards, a Marc Jacobs dress from spring ‘09, with a wide wrapped belt, a cashmere sweater coat. Still comfortable and easy to wear but appropriate for public viewing.

      He shook his head. “Just outside, Miss.”

      Indeed, the long, low Mercedes was