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.
dad’s coming to Hong Kong today, and he’s wondering if we can meet him.” “How do you feel about that?” Nick asked. Over the past few days, Carlton had shared with them everything that had happened when he had rushed back to Shanghai to confront his parents, and there had been nothing but silence from the Baos since then. “I would like to see him, but it’s going to be rather awkward, isn’t it?” Rachel said, her face clouding over a bit. “Well, I’m sure he feels even more awkward than you do. I
some hotshot from the Austin Cooper Design Museum in New York,” Lorena warned. “Aiyah, I don’t care if she’s Anderson Cooper! Who wants to pay five hundred dollars a ticket to see jewelry made of rusty nails? I came to see rubies the size of rambutans!” “Nadine has a point. This is such a waste of money, even though we got these free tickets from my banker at OCBC,” Daisy said. Just then, Eleanor entered the gallery, squinting at the bright lights. She immediately put her sunglasses back on.
discovered that the entire back area of the screening room under the projector booth contained a slick sushi bar that looked like it had been transplanted straight from Tokyo’s Roppongi district. A sushi chef in a black kimono bowed at them while his young apprentice sat at the bar carving radishes into cute little kitten faces. “Get. Out. Of. Town!” Rachel exclaimed. “And we thought we were being extravagant ordering in from Blue Ribbon Sushi on Survivor Wednesdays,” Nick quipped. “Did you
chocolate syrup painting, Bridget Riley’s migraine-inducing canvas of overlapping tiny squares, a heroin-fueled scrawl by Jean-Michel Basquiat, and, of course, an immense Mona Kuhn image of two preposterously photogenic Nordic youths posing nude on a dewy doorstep. Rounding the corner, they came into an even larger gallery that contained only one enormous piece of art—twenty-four scrolls that were hung together to form a vast, intricate landscape. Nick was taken aback. “Hey, isn’t that The
weapons of mass consumption were in town, because emissaries from the top boutiques began hand-delivering invitations to the Shangri-La this morning, all offering exclusive perks and dedicated suck-up time. We started out the day on avenue Montaigne, where Chanel opened early for us and hosted a sumptuous breakfast in Colette’s honor. As I stuffed my face with the fluffiest omelet I’ve ever tasted, the girls ignored the food and instead began stuffing themselves into these fluffy fringe dresses.