China Rich Girlfriend (30 page)

“And to think, I almost wanted to skip the party. But with my family doing business with the Yangs, I felt like I needed to show my face,” Mehmet said.

“I'm so glad we went,” Astrid said. “It was total serendipity! I'm just sorry your brother and his girlfriend couldn't join us.”

“I think Carlton wanted to, but he felt obligated to stay at the party with Colette. And she couldn't leave, being the guest of honor.”

“Colette's quite a character. I've never had someone want to know about every single thing I'm wearing. I was half afraid she was going to end up asking what brand of underwear I had on.”

“She very well might have, if she hadn't been so shocked that you bought your dress at Zara!” Rachel laughed.

“I don't know why anyone would be shocked by that. I buy clothes everywhere—vintage shops, street vendors…”

“Colette and her friends live and breathe for high fashion. Frankly, I've hit my limit with them,” Nick admitted.

“It has been nonstop shopping since the minute we arrived. It was fascinating for the first couple of days, but then it just got tedious,” Rachel explained. “I don't want to complain, since Colette's been so generous with us, but I only came because I thought I'd get to spend more time with my brother.”

Astrid leaned closer in. “What's it been like getting to know your new family?”

“Quite frustrating, actually. I've only managed to see my father once since arriving in China.”

“Only once?”

“We can't quite figure out what's happening, but we think it has something to do with my father's wife. We haven't met her at all since setting foot in China. Rather odd, don't you think?”

“Maybe you should take a break from China and come down to Singapore for a week,” Astrid suggested.

Nick's brow furrowed. It was already challenging enough getting Rachel through this trip with her family. He didn't want to complicate things any further by going to Singapore and facing all those minefields. Where would he and Rachel even stay?

As if reading his mind, Astrid said, “You're welcome to stay with me. Cassian would be thrilled to see you. As I'm sure many others will,” she couldn't help adding.

Nick went quiet for a few moments, and Rachel didn't know quite what to say.

“Or you two could always come back to Istanbul with me,” Mehmet said, breaking the awkward silence.

“Ohh! I would love to visit Istanbul!” Rachel said.

“It's only three hours from Paris on my plane, and we're having the most glorious weather this summer,” Mehmet said tantalizingly. “You should come too, Astrid. Come for a few days.”

After dinner, the four of them strolled leisurely along the terrace steps of the Palais de Tokyo leading up to avenue du Président Wilson. Rachel checked her phone and saw that Colette had left a number of text messages.

Rachel gasped upon reading the last message and immediately dialed Colette's cell number.

“Hello?” a muffled-sounding voice answered.

“Colette? It's Rachel. Is this Colette?”

“Rachel! Oh my God! Where have you been? Where are you?”

“What's wrong, Colette? What happened?” Rachel said, alarmed by Colette's near-hysterical tone.

“It's Carlton…You
must
help me. Please.”

PARIS, FRANCE

“Oh thank God you're here! Thank God!” Colette cried as she opened the door, letting Rachel, Nick, Astrid, and Mehmet into her sprawling duplex suite. Rachel gave her a concerned hug, and Colette immediately broke down in sobs against her shoulder.

“Are you okay? Is Carlton okay?” Rachel asked, leading the suddenly fragile girl to the nearest sofa.

“Where's everyone?” Nick asked, noticing that Colette was unusually sans entourage.

“I told everyone I was exhausted and sent them to their rooms. I couldn't let them find out what was happening!”

“What
is
happening?” Rachel asked.

Trying to compose herself, Colette said, “Oh, it's been terrible! Just terrible! After you guys left the party, this baby grand piano was wheeled out on the stage. Then John Major appeared and asked me to stand next to him while he serenaded me—”

“The former prime minister of Britain serenaded you?” Nick cut in, utterly bewildered.

“I'm sorry, I mean John Legend.”

“I'm so relieved,” Mehmet remarked drily to Astrid.

“So John began to sing ‘All of Me,' ” Colette continued tearfully, “and at the end of the song, Richie got onstage, dropped to his knees dramatically, and asked me to marry him.”

Rachel and Nick both gasped.

“He ambushed me right in front of everyone! Apparently my mother and the girls were in on this—that's why so many friends from China showed up at the party. I didn't know what to say. I just stood there and noticed Gordon Ramsay over by the carrot truffle fries and all I could think was,
What is Gordon going to think if I say no?
”

“What did you do?” Rachel asked.

“I tried to laugh it off. I said, ‘Oh come on, Richie, this is a prank, right?' And Richie said, ‘Does this look like a prank?' He takes a velvet box out of his pocket and thrusts this ring in my face. I'm looking at it, this thirty-two-carat blue diamond from Repossi, and I'm thinking,
AS IF I would ever wear a ring from Repossi! This man doesn't know me, and I'm not in love with him
. So I said, ‘I'm so honored, but you're going to have to give me time.' Richie said, ‘What do you mean
give you time?
We've been dating exclusively for three years now.' And I said, ‘Come on, we haven't exactly been exclusive,' and all of a sudden Richie's face got all twisted up and he began ranting, ‘What the hell do you mean by that? You've strung me along for three years now! I'm sick of waiting, and I'm sick of your games. Do you have any idea how much I've spent on tonight? Do you think John Legend flies to Paris for just anyone?' Then suddenly Carlton, who had been standing right in front of the stage, hollered,
‘Hundan!
^*1
Can't you get the message? SHE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU!' And before I knew what was happening, Richie screamed
‘Nong sa bi suo luan!,'
^*2
leaped off the stage onto Carlton, and started punching him in the face!”

“Jesus! Is Carlton okay?” Rachel asked.

“He's a bit battered, but he's okay. Mario Batali, though—”

“What happened to Mario?” Astrid cut in, alarmed.

“As Carlton and Richie were rolling on the ground trying to kill each other, my bodyguards tried to get in there and break it up, but it just made things worse, because the four of them bashed into Mario's food station, and this vat of olive oil where he was deep-frying the fritto misto got toppled over and burst into flames. The next thing you know Mario's ponytail was on fire!”

“Oh no! Poor Mario!” Astrid clasped her hands to her face in horror.

“Thank God Mrs. Shi was standing nearby. She knew exactly what
to do—she grabbed the can of baking soda and immediately emptied it onto Mario's head. She saved his life!”

“I'm so glad Mario's all right.” Astrid sighed in relief.

“So what happened after that?” Nick asked.

“The fight pretty much ended the party, and I managed to drag Carlton back to the hotel, but as I was trying to help him clean up his wounds, we got into the biggest row we've ever had. Oh Rachel, I know he was drunk, but he started spewing such hurtful things…he accused me of playing him against Richie…he said I had no one to blame for this whole fiasco but myself, and then he stormed out of the room.”

Rachel thought her brother's accusations weren't actually that far off the mark, but she tried to be sympathetic. “You probably need to just let him cool down a bit. Things will be better by the morning.”

“But we can't wait until morning! After Carlton left, I got a call from Honey Chai the gossip columnist. She's in Shanghai, but she had already heard all about Richie and Carlton's fight. Then she told me something even more alarming—apparently several months ago, Richie challenged Carlton to a drag race, and it's happening tonight!”

“Drag race? You must be joking,” Rachel said.

“Do I look like I'm joking?” Colette frowned.

“Aren't they a little old for this?” Rachel asked. Drag racing sounded so juvenile to her, like something out of
Rebel Without a Cause
.

“Hiyah, you don't understand! This isn't some kiddie race—they'll be driving these super-fast cars through the streets at night, evading police all the way. It's going to be so dangerous! Honey Chai heard that Richie and Carlton are staking ten million dollars against each other, and people all over Asia are betting on this race—that's why so many of Richie's friends are here in Paris! Almost every guy I know is obsessed with racing these days.”

Nick chimed in, “Actually, I read an article about this in the paper. All these Chinese kids from rich families are taking part in illegal drag races around the world—Toronto, Hong Kong, Sydney—getting into huge wrecks and damaging millions of dollars in property along the way. Now I know why Carlton was doing so many test laps around the track at Bugatti the other day!”

Colette nodded grimly. “Yes, I thought he was just buying cars for his side business, but now we know the real reason. And he's been so emotionally erratic these past few days—the disappearing act, the drinking,
the fighting—it's all because of this goddamn race! I feel so stupid, I should have seen this coming from a mile away.”

“Come on, none of us suspected either,” Rachel said.

Colette looked around the room uneasily, trying to decide how much of the story she wanted to tell. “You know, this isn't the first time Richie and Carlton have tried this. This happened before in London.”

“That's how Carlton got into that car wreck, wasn't it?” Nick asked.

Colette nodded sadly. “He was racing Richie down Sloane Street, and his car”—her voice was suddenly cracking—“his car spun out of control and crashed into a building.”

“Wait a minute, I think I read about this…wasn't it a Ferrari that smashed into the Jimmy Choo boutique?” Astrid piped in.

“That was it! But that's not the whole story. There were other passengers with Carlton. Two girls were inside the car—a British girl who will never walk again and a Chinese girl who…who
died
. It was a horrible tragedy, all covered up by the Baos.”

Rachel's face went pale. “Carlton told you all this?”

“
I was there
, Rachel. I was in the other car—the Lamborghini that Richie was driving. The girl who died was a friend of mine who went to LSE,” Colette tearfully revealed.

Everyone stared in shock at Colette.

“It's all beginning to make sense now,” Nick said in a hushed tone, thinking back to what his mother had told him about the accident.

Colette continued. “Carlton hasn't been the same since the crash. He's never been able to get over it—he blames himself and he blames Richie. I think he feels like he can somehow redeem himself by winning this race. But we can't let him get into any car tonight. He's in no condition—not physically and especially not mentally. Rachel, can you please talk some sense into him? I've been calling him nonstop, and of course he isn't picking up my calls. But I think he'll listen to you.”

With the full gravity of the situation finally sinking in, Rachel picked up her phone and dialed Carlton's number. “It's gone straight to voice mail.”

“I was hoping he'd pick up if he saw your number.” Colette sighed.

“We'll just have to go to him. Where's this race taking place?” Nick asked.

“That's the thing—I have no idea. Everyone's just disappeared. Roxanne's off with my security team trying to track them down, but she hasn't had any luck so far.”

Astrid suddenly spoke up. “What's Carlton's phone number?”

“It's 86 135 8580 9999.”

Taking out her phone, Astrid began dialing Charlie Wu's private line. “Hey you! No, no, everything's fine, thank you. Um, hope you don't mind, but I have a big favor to ask. Does that security whiz still work for you?” She paused, lowering her voice. “The one who
tracked youknowwho
down with just a mobile-phone number a couple of years ago? Great. Could you help me track down the location of this phone? No, really, I'm absolutely fine. I'm just trying to help some friends out—I'll tell you the whole story later.”

A few minutes later, Astrid's phone buzzed back with a text message. “Found him,” she said with a grin. “Right now, it looks like Carlton's at a commercial garage on avenue de Malakoff, right next to Porte Maillot.”

PARIS
—
2:45 A.M.

Rachel, Nick, and Colette huddled in the backseat of the Range Rover as it sped toward Carlton's location. Sitting in silence, Rachel gazed out at the mostly empty boulevards of the Sixteenth Arrondissement, the streetlamps illuminating the elegant façades with that particular golden hue only to be found in Paris. She thought about how best to handle Carlton in his current state and wondered whether they would even get to him in time.

Suddenly they had arrived at avenue de Malakoff, and the chauffeur gestured toward the lone garage that seemed to be a hive of activity. Rachel stared in astonishment as the full extent of the race operation that had been months in the planning finally became clear to her. Through the partially raised garage door, a team of mechanics bustled around a carbon blue Bugatti Veyron Super Sport
^*3
as if it were being prepared for the Formula One final, and several guys she recognized from the party stood outside the garage smoking. Rachel whispered to Nick, “Can you believe this? I had no idea it would be this much of a production!”

“You've seen how the women in this crowd spend their money; this is how the guys spend it,” Nick commented discreetly.

“Look, look! There's Carlton standing over there with Harry
Wentworth-Davies. Ugh, I should have known that wanker was part of all this!” Colette said.

Rachel took a deep breath. “I think it's best that I try to talk to Carlton on my own. He might be more receptive if the three of us aren't ganging up on him.”

“Yes, yes, we'll just stay in the car,” Colette anxiously agreed.

Rachel got out of the car and approached the garage, and Carlton suddenly looked up and noticed them. Grimacing, he staggered out to the middle of the street and blocked Rachel from coming any farther. “You guys shouldn't be here. How did you even find me in the first place?”

“Does it really matter?” Rachel said, studying her brother with concern. His left eye was blackened, he had a bruise on his jaw, a nasty cut on his bottom lip, and God knows what other injuries under his racing overalls. “Carlton, please don't go through with this—you know you're not in any condition to race tonight.”

“I've sobered up—I know what I'm doing.”

Like hell you have
, Rachel thought. Knowing it was useless arguing with someone who had clearly had too much to drink, she tried a different tactic. “Carlton, I know what happened tonight. I can totally understand your anger, I really can.”

“I don't know how you could possibly understand at all.”

Rachel grasped his arm encouragingly. “Look, you have nothing to prove to Richie anymore! Can't you see that he's already lost? He's been totally humiliated by Colette. Can't you see how much she loves you? Be the bigger man and walk away from this race now.”

Jerking his arm away, Carlton said gruffly, “This isn't the time to big sister me. Just get out of here, please.”

“Carlton, I know about London,” Rachel said, looking him in the eyes. “Colette told me the whole story…I know what you're feeling.”

Carlton looked taken aback for a moment, but then his eyes narrowed in anger. “You think you know everything, don't you? You come to China for two weeks and you think you're the expert on all of us. Well, you don't know a thing! You have no idea how I really feel. You have no clue how much trouble you've caused me, caused my family!”

“What do you mean?” Rachel looked at him in surprise.

“You don't even know the damage you've done to my father just by coming to China! Can't you get the hint that he's been avoiding you like the plague? Haven't you figured out why you're staying at the Peninsula?
It's because my mother would rather die than let you set foot in her house! Do you know I've been spending time with you just to piss her off? Why can't you mind your own business and leave us alone?”

His words hit her like a ton of bricks, and she took a few steps back, feeling momentarily winded. Colette sprang out of the car, stomped over to Carlton in her black-and-gold Walter Steiger Unicorn heels, and began yelling right in his face. “How dare you talk like that to your sister! Do you know how lucky you are to have someone like her looking out for you? No, you don't. You take everyone for granted and only love feeling sorry for yourself. What happened in London was a tragedy, but it wasn't just your fault. It was my fault, it was Richie's fault—we were all to blame. Winning this race isn't going to bring anyone back from the dead, and it's not going to make you feel any better. But go ahead, get into your car. Go and race Richie. The both of you can go measure your dicks and crash your million-dollar sports cars into the Arc de Triomphe for all I care!”