New York Valentine: A funny, feel-good romantic comedy

By Carmen Reid

'I loved her then, I love her now. Annie's back and she's better than ever! Fun, feel good and feisty - Annie Valentine is the woman you want to share a cocktail with!' Portia MacIntosh

Can she make it big in the big apple?

When Annie Valentine lands her dream job in the heart of fabulous Manhattan, it’s a pinch me moment. She’s finally made it to the city that never sleeps and will look a million dollars doing it! And this time, Annie is going to make it a family affair and take her teenage daughter Lauren with her to show her the fashion highs and lows and to have a bit of mother and daughter bonding...what could possibly go wrong?

But back home in London, husband Ed faces a scandal at work and knows, in his heart, he needs Annie back.

Suddenly Annie finds herself torn between her true love in London and her new love, New York.

Does it have to be fashion or family...or can Annie Valentine have it all?

Fans of Sophie Kinsella, Lindsey Kelk and Paige Toon will love this laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from bestselling author Carmen Reid.

What readers are saying!

"If you love shopping as much as you love a great read, try this. Wonderful." Bestselling author, Katie Fforde

"Annie Valentine is a wonderful character - I want her to burst into my life and sort out my wardrobe for me!" Bestselling author, Jill Mansell

*"You will enjoy getting to know Annie Valentine; laughing with her and crying with her. You may even fall in love with her . . . I have! A fantastic read!"⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ Reader review

"Fantastic read, couldn't put it down" ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ Reader review

"Can't wait to read the next one!" ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ Reader review*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781802805444

Carmen Reid

Carmen Reid is the bestselling author of numerous women's fiction titles including the Personal Shopper series starring Annie Valentine. After taking a break from writing she is back, introducing her hallmark feisty women characters to a new generation of readers. She lives in Glasgow with her husband and children.

Book preview

1

Lauren all set for work:

Skinny black jeans (Diesel)

Sleeveless cowl-necked, belted, complicated top (All Saints)

Skull and crossbones necklace (market stall)

White gym shoes (old PE kit)

Cloud of perfume (Gucci Floral)

Total est. cost: £215

‘Oh Muuuuuuum!’

‘Move that great big, gorgeous bum out of bed now!’

The voice in Annie’s ear was teasing but insistent.

‘Right now!’

‘Oh no,’ she protested, ‘no, no, no, no. You have got to be joking. It can’t be time. I only went to bed five minutes ago. Seriously… it can’t be time!’

But there was no mercy. The duvet was whipped off and a playful, but still surprisingly stingy, smack landed on her behind.

‘Owww!’

‘Up!’ Ed instructed. ‘Owen and I have to leave in five minutes. The twins are washed, changed, dressed and fed. The Princess of Darkness is in charge but you, my darling girl, need to get up.’

‘Yes, I’ve got that,’ Annie said huffily. Finally, she sat up, prised opened her eyes and let the room come into focus.

‘Someone should not have been out partying into the small hours when she has a full day of filming ahead. This may come as a shock, but you’re not twenty-five any more,’ Ed pointed out.

‘And thank you for reminding me,’ she croaked.

Annie’s puffy eyes were properly open now. She rubbed at eyelashes crunchy with last night’s mascara and looked at her… husband.

Husband. Husband.

They had married in June, almost exactly three months ago now, but she still wasn’t quite used to Ed, this lovely man, her boyfriend, stepdad to her older children, father to her twins… being her husband.

Her thumb moved instinctively to fiddle with the diamond-set band on her fourth finger.

Ed had understood her resistance to a traditional gold band. Annie had worn a wedding ring before, a ring which was now stored, in its leather case, along with a selection of other precious belongings, in a memory box for the husband she’d lost. So, Ed had married her in June with a delicate and sparkling ring of platinum and diamonds.

Through the crusty mascara, Annie took an appraising look at him: he had broad shoulders and a muscular build, a kind face, a teacher’s ‘firm-but-fair’ face, brought to life with the twinkle of mischief which rarely left his warm blue eyes and expressive mouth. Then there was unruly hair: sandy brown, curly and messed up, no matter what he did with it.

‘You look foxy,’ she told him.

‘You think?’ he asked modestly but gave his slim hips a little shake for her benefit.

‘Yeah, you’ve come a long way, babes. You have learned the ways of the well-dressed Annie-man.’

After a little snort, he pointed out: ‘I picked out my own clothes and put them on all by myself this morning.’

‘Yeah, but it’s taken years of living with me for you to make such good choices.’

Yes. From his sleek, indigo jeans, past the good belt, slim-fit blue shirt, nicely tailored tweed jacket up to the casually overgrown hair, he looked good. Really good.

‘Goodbye kiss,’ she said, opening her arms.

Although Ed was on a tight schedule, he knelt down in front of her, put his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. Pushing the peachy slip she’d worn to bed out of the way, he kissed her breast.

‘Good looking and feeling frisky,’ she said, pulling him in for another kiss.

‘Lucky old you,’ he replied.

They kissed long and lovingly before Ed had to break off because it really was time to go. Getting up and sliding into her dressing gown, Annie followed him out of the bedroom.

‘I’ve got to say goodbye to my mini Sir Alan Sugar.’

‘More like your tiny Tony Soprano!’

They hurried down the narrow flights of stairs to the hallway where Annie’s fourteen-year-old son, Owen, was already waiting, his heavy rucksack rumpling his blazer, his narrow trousers a little too high above scuffed black shoes.

‘Come on!’ Owen urged Ed, ‘chop, chop, chop, let’s look perky.’

He made an exaggerated movement towards his watch, slowly pulling back the cuff of his school shirt and flashing the bling golden timepiece on his wrist.

‘Owen?!’ Annie began, ‘what piece of old tat have you been lashing your cash on now?’

‘Genuine,’ Owen said, tapping at the face of his watch.

‘Yeah,’ Ed shot the watch a glance, as he scrambled his bags, guitar and violin cases together. ‘Genuine fake Swiss watch, made in China and flogged down the market by the wide boys.’

‘You don’t have to believe me,’ Owen said, replacing the cuff and shooting his mum a smug smile.

He ducked his head slightly as she approached, but still allowed her to kiss him on the cheek and run a hand through his hair.

‘That’s my boy,’ she said, realising with a pang that he was just half an inch or so shorter than her. Any week now and he would overtake. He would be her big boy and she would have to look up to him – how could this have happened?

He picked up his flashy sports bag and as he headed towards the door, gave her a wave which made the gold strap on his wrist twinkle.

For several months now, Owen had been making serious pocket money working on a market stall for his entire weekends. Just like his mum, after Owen had earned hard, there was nothing he liked to do more than spend hard.

Owen loved to work and he loved to buy and sell. Annie still found it funny, because he’d once been so shy and introverted. The kind of little boy who’d found it easier to talk to his toy trains than to his friends. But now, the market trader Owen worked for at the weekends was paying him £90 a day, plus commission, because he was so good at his job.

Yes, there was a certain amount of ear-grating, market-stall lingo that Owen’s family now had to endure. Annie could just about stand it because when Owen talked about his used computer games stall, he just lit up with excitement. And wasn’t that what you had to encourage your kids to do? Find the things in life which fired them up and made them happy to get out of bed every morning?

Annie kissed Ed one more time, waved her two boys out of the door, then headed towards the kitchen where her nearly-eighteen-year-old daughter Lauren, who had definitely not yet found the things which lit up her life, was looking after the twins.

‘Good morning, my love,’ Annie said cheerily as she entered the room, her smile widening as she spotted the freshly made pot of coffee. Ed really was too good to be true.

Lauren made a grouchy ‘umph’ in reply and carried on sipping from her mug, behind a curtain of long, dark hair. The babies, almost a year old now, began to scurry across the kitchen floor towards their mummy.

‘Hello, hello, my darlings,’ Annie cooed, squatting down and opening her arms wide to hug them both. They were far too big and heavy now to be picked up for a cuddle together.

‘Mumma!’

First to reach her was Minette with her dark, soulful eyes and creamy cheeks. Max wasn’t far behind, nappy bottom waggling busily. They buried sticky faces straight into Annie’s dressing gown, but she didn’t mind one tiny bit, just stroked their silky heads devotedly.

‘Lauren, my darlin’, can you pour me a coffee… and maybe, just because you’re extra super nice, can you make me some toast?’

Lauren let out a long sigh and dragged her slim, entirely black-clad body up from her chair.

‘Thanks, Lauren, you’re a star,’ Annie said, as generously as she could, though really she’d have liked to seriously shake Lauren or maybe even administer a little kick to her pointy, skinny-jeaned behind.

How many other teenage girls would kill, or at least donate vital organs, to be spending their gap year working in television? And did Lauren thank her mother for arranging this amazing work placement? Did Lauren look forward to her exciting day ahead at the studio? No. Lauren was pretty much in a grump from morning till night and there didn’t seem to be a thing that Annie could do about it. So, because complaining about the grumpiness hadn’t worked, Annie was currently trying to tune it out entirely and respond with relentless joy and positive vibes.

As she sat down to her coffee and toast, the babies, bored with cuddles, scuttled back to their play mat and the rolling balls, blocks and other drool-soaked objects of baby delight.

Registering the time, Annie gulped her toast and swallowed the coffee with speed.

‘Oh good grief! I’ve got to get showered, get dressed – have my usual morning melodrama at the wardrobe,’ she told Lauren. ‘Can you hold the fort for me down here just a tiny bit longer, babes? Dinah will be here in twenty minutes.’

‘Oh Muuuuuuum!’ Lauren complained, ‘I have to get ready, too, you know.’.

‘Thank you, sweetheart. You look great,’ she added, not just to try and cheer Lauren up, but also because it was true.

Lauren was rocking the funky film crew look. She was dressed practically enough for all the errands she’d be running and chores she’d be doing today. But the look came with dark eyeliner, a thick black fringe and just enough edge.

Annie had worried that maybe she was molly coddling her daughter by arranging a job for her. But unlike her friends, who were planning trips abroad for work and travel, once Lauren had left school with her impressive clutch of exam results, she’d been reluctant to make plans and didn’t seem to have any ideas about her future. So finally, Annie had made the move and arranged the lowly paid TV job because she hated to see Lauren sitting about at home, becoming more and more gloomy.

The fact that Lauren could only work up the bare minimum of enthusiasm for her new job did drive Annie slightly wild. But what could she do? Over the years, she had discovered that she could not nag, trick, encourage or even bribe Lauren into enthusiasm.

‘OK, better get to my wardrobe. I’ll try not to take too long…’ Annie said, more to herself than to her daughter.

This was the weird thing: everyone in her family now looked great, in her opinion. They all had their own individual-with-a-twist looks and they worked it. Ed was groovy jeans, plus shirts and tweed. Owen was all about sporty labels with added bling. Lauren did dark, skinny and moody. Even the babies had a look - currently, faded denim dungarees, Max’s with a green top, Minnie’s with red.

But Annie, who’d been a personal shopper for years with one of London’s best known fashion stores, who’d dressed women facing every conceivable fashion dilemma, who now presented her very own How Not To Shop fashion TV show… Annie was the one member of the family who was having a bit of an image crisis.

As she opened her wardrobe doors and looked at the collection of clothes inside, it hit her once again. There was so much in here. So many outfits. But, aside from a trusted handful which she’d worn so often that even the TV crew were starting to poke fun, there wasn’t anything she could wear because…

Annie looked down at herself. She was a whole size bigger than she used to be. An entire size. Possibly even, she had to admit to herself, two sizes; well, almost certainly one and a half. Even with double control pants (frankly a nightmare when you needed a wee), she could no longer fit into most of her wardrobe and there was no way, absolutely no way, she was buying new items in the dreaded new size – even though this was exactly what she would tell a client to do if they came to her for advice.

Buying new things in a bigger size would be giving up… it would be admitting defeat. She’d always been able to slim down and get back into her not-exactly-fashion-perfect UK size 12s and although, she’d been carrying the post-baby bulge for nearly a year now, she was not prepared to give up the battle yet.

So, her hand went out to the stretchiest black dress she owned. OK, red leggings… the patent, peep-toed, very high red shoes… red lipstick … an amazing red and pearl necklace. These items would surely distract from the fact that she was wearing the black stretchy dress once again.

Another crimp on the shopping front was the promise she’d made to Ed about her mighty credit card debt.

Ever since she’d been old enough to own a credit card, Annie had been servicing, juggling, re-distributing and re-arranging her great big designer-label-caused debt. But now she’d managed to bring the figure down to just within reach of £5,000 – the lowest she could ever remember it being. She’d promised Ed she would clear it, and only then would she be allowed to buy new items from some carefully worked out budget that Ed was apparently going to draw up for her.

Just £5,000 to go. It was still a lot of money to owe, but her card debts had once been close to ten times that amount. So now she was on track and almost certain that she could beat her promise to have it cleared by Christmas.

She’d thought that paying off a debt would just be pure denial and pain and, yes, seeing so much of her generous TV pay disappear in lump sums to Messrs Visa and MasterCard was difficult. But on the upside, being able to open those sinister white envelopes without the feeling of impending panic attack was much more rewarding than she’d expected.

As soon as she’d bound herself up in the two pairs of control pants and a minimising bra, her mobile began to ring. After a quick search of the untidy bedroom, she located it.

‘Annah!’ came the booming, gushing, heavily accented voice of one of Annie’s very best friends, Svetlana Wisneski.

Annie would probably have told anyone else in her life that she’d call them straight back as soon as she was dressed. But Svetlana, an extraordinarily glamorous former Miss Ukraine, who’d been married to not just one, but several of the wealthiest men in the world, was not a woman who waited for return phone calls.

So, Annie sat down on the edge of her bed in the de-sexing beige pants and industrial bra and prepared to listen.

‘In New York… is a disaster!’ Svetlana exclaimed dramatically.

‘Oh no! Has Elena’s boyfriend left her?’ was Annie’s immediate conclusion, ‘What’s-his-name?’

‘Sye? No. No. This all lovely little romance for them. Tscha…’ Svetlana dismissed the thought, ‘no this is bizzzzzzneeeeez. Elena is not coping. Not coping one little bit. Her new American business partner has left. Gone! Taken money, left debt with the factory. It is a disaster!’ she repeated. ‘We have orders for dresses, but we have no money and no factory to make them!’

‘Oh good grief, that’s terrible,’ Annie sympathised.

Elena was Svetlana’s lovely, determined and totally business-headed daughter. Although Svetlana’s path to fame and fortune had always been by marrying the richest husbands available to womankind, Elena, still a young twenty-something, was trying to turn herself into a business success story.

And Svetlana and Elena’s backstory was certainly more complicated than most mother-and-daughter backstories.

In her early twenties, the beautiful Svetlana had had an affair with a married politician back home in Ukraine. The affair had resulted in the unwanted baby, Elena. When Svetlana decided to seek a husband, and her fortune, in the biggest, shiniest cities of Europe, Elena had been taken to the countryside to live with relatives. Svetlana had let many years slide by, hoping, despite the guilt, that she wouldn’t have to face up to her daughter and all the consequences again.

But two years ago, when a furiously determined Ukrainian beauty had turned up on Svetlana’s Mayfair doorstep, dressed in skimpy clothes and sporting a terrible hair-dye job, Svetlana had realised this was her past well and truly catching up with her.

Although at first, they’d wanted to rip the blonde tresses from each other’s heads, it was still amazing to Annie how well and how quickly things had settled down. Much to her mother’s distress, Elena didn’t seem remotely interested in rich husbands and mega-divorce settlements. In fact, she’d gone to business school, then earlier this year she’d persuaded her mother to help found a dress label. Now ‘Perfect Dress’ had small offices in London and New York and was about to launch a second, fledging collection.

‘What I do? What I do?’ Svetlana was asking in a voice that sounded unusually frantic.

‘Maybe you need to fly over there and help her,’ Annie suggested.

‘Ah no, is terrible timing. Just terrible. I’m too busy with Perfect Dress in London. So many orders – so many clients to talk to, visit, keep interested – and now the possibility of no new dresses being made! I can’t go. Harry is too busy to look after everything when I am away and the boys… I can’t leave my boys for so long. You know how Igor still worries me.’

Igor was Svetlana’s last and most significant ex-husband. He was the father of her two boys, who were currently (though a former Russian volleyball champion was working on this) the only heirs to Igor’s vast Russian gas fortune.

Even though Svetlana was now married to Harry Roscoff, a QC, a divorce expert and one of London’s best legal minds, there had been Igor trouble before. Igor had once tried to sneak his sons out of the country and, although Harry had stopped the plan in its tracks, it had shaken Svetlana to the core.

She could hop to Paris or Milan at the drop of a hat for a business meeting or shopping weekend, but crossing the Atlantic and spending serious time away from her younger children just wasn’t an option.

‘Who do we know?’ Annie asked, thinking out loud: ‘who do we know who could go over and help? I take it Elena does need help? It’s not that she wants to sort this out on her own?’

‘Yes, of course! She needs help!’ Svetlana insisted, ‘this biziniz partner take money. Did not pay the biggest bills and then exito! Elena is distressed. Big distressed. She has no idea what to do.’

Annie had known Svetlana long enough to recognise that when her English got a little tangled, she was really upset.

‘Who do we know who could help?’ Annie asked again. She was looking down at her body in disgust. Control pants and minimiser bras only worked when you were standing up. As soon as you sat down, not one, but two uncomfortable rolls of flab bulged out, squeezed downwards by the bra and upwards by the pants. She’d have to get an all-in-one – but then where did the flab go? It had to burst out somewhere. Would she have monster shoulders and padded hips?

‘We know you!’ came the reply. ‘You fixed everything in Paris… so now you need to go New York. You, Annah. You need to help Elena.’ Taking a deep breath, Svetlana added, as calmly and as grammatically correct as she could: ‘I do not know one other person who could do this better.’

Oh… boy…

For several moments, Annie was speechless.

Then her thoughts began to gather. Of course it was lovely, wonderful to be asked. But Svetlana never seemed to understand, or maybe she never wanted to understand, that Annie had a life too. Annie had a growing TV career and a family and teeny, tiny children. She could not just drop everything to be at Svetlana’s beck and call.

‘Babes, I can’t go to New York…’ for so many reasons, Annie told herself, but the reason she began with was: ‘I’m right in the middle of filming.’

‘For how long?’ came the pointed question, ‘how many weeks this go on for?’

‘Another two months,’ Annie said, also a little sharply.

Did everyone think that she just swanned about in front of the camera for a day or two then banked an enormous cheque? It wasn’t like that at all. She slaved when she was filming. She slaved for long, long days and she travelled all over the country to incredibly non-glamorous destinations. Yes, she had long breaks, but they were precious – they were for catching up on all the family time she’d had to miss when she was filming.

‘Annah, please, you cannot just take break and go out to help Elena? You know fashion. You are wonderful at business. Remember the fashion show in Paris?’

How could Annie forget?

‘We would not have our Perfect Dress company without that show, Annah, and it was all because of you. Just for a few weeks… could you do this for us? For me, pleeeeeease?’ Annie didn’t think she’d ever heard Svetlana plead before.

‘New York, Annah. Think how exciting…’ Svetlana quickly moved into full-on persuasive charm mode. ‘She has an apartment in a wonderful area, just off Fifth Avenue. You can go and stay.’

‘No, Svetlana, I’m sorry,’ Annie said quickly, batting the images of skyscrapers, yellow cabs, avenues and cocktails right out of her mind, ‘I can’t go. I would love to go. You know I would do anything to help the two of you. And New York! But right now, it isn’t an option. There’s a whole crew, a whole filming schedule. Plus, my family. I have babies! Everyone’s counting on me.’

Svetlana gave a strangled shriek of frustration before blurting out: ‘But Annah, what are we going to do?’

2

Melissa made over:

Red V-necked knit tunic (Asda)

Pink frilled blouse (Mango)

Cropped jeans (same)

Purple funky Mary Janes (Camper)

Messenger bag (Kipling)

Total est. cost: £155

‘Haven’t a clue…’

Annie arrived at the studio by car. Not just any old car, the studio car, complete with driver wearing black leather gloves and a shiny peaked cap.

‘Thank you, darlin’. Exciting day ahead for you, is it?’ she asked him as she and Lauren gathered their bags together and prepared to get out.

‘Collecting James McAvoy from the airport next…’ the driver revealed with a wink.

‘Ooooh, is he coming here?’

‘Nah, off to the news studio in town.’

‘Shame.’

As Annie headed inside, there was a flurry of activity as people saw her coming. Receptionists fluttered about with signing-in forms and visitor passes. A girl with a clipboard offered to walk her to her room and carry her bags.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Annie assured her, smiling, ‘I’ve been carrying my own bags for some time now, I’m sure I can manage a little bit longer.’

Lauren, awkwardly trailing in the shadow of her mum, gave a quick wave before peeling off in the direction of the crew area while Annie headed to the VIP star suite.

The door was decorated with a handwritten sign which read How Not To Shop, stuck on with bright blue gaffer tape. As soon as she pushed it open, Annie registered the crowded room and the busy hum of activity.

‘Hello my darlin’s, look busy, I’m here!’ she announced and all heads turned in her direction.

There was Amelia, the producer’s PA, folders in hand, pencil tucked behind one ear, iPhone up against the other and something truly fashion-forward slipping from her shoulders.

In the corner was Ginger, the make up girl, various other production bods and⁠—

‘Hi, you must be Melissa, lovely to meet you!’ Annie greeted the woman sitting in front of the glaringly bright mirror as Ginger applied foundation with a damp sponge.

‘Yes… hello…’ Melissa turned to Annie with a shy smile.

‘How are you doing?’ Annie asked, giving Melissa a friendly handshake. ‘Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Ginger is a genius. She can even make me look halfway presentable if I’m very, very nice to her, bribe her with free handbags and that kind of thing.’

‘Ooooh!’ Ginger smiled at Annie, ‘have you got something exciting for me?’

‘No, my darlin’ not one exciting parcel has arrived at How Not To Shop towers for weeks. And… Amelia? We’ve not heard anything about the one and only bag, have we?’

Amelia shook her head sadly: ‘I did call again, yesterday, but I don’t want to pester⁠—’

‘No, no, we definitely do not want to pester,’ Annie agreed.

Despite talk of the ‘it bag’ being dead and buried, anyone who worked in, around, or even within smelling distance of fashion knew that there was only one bag to carry this season.

It was chic and yet it was slouchy, it was structured, but casual. It came in many deep, subtle colours, including sea-green with matt silver hardware. It was made by Mulberry. It was the bag Annie had to have. But the sea-green was completely unavailable – limited edition. Sold out before it had even made it to the shops!

Both Annie and Amelia had made several calls to the head office to ask if there wasn’t just one last bag somewhere which could be bought for Annie Valentine, you know, of How Not To Shop.

Annie still had a slightly odd feeling when she remembered how insistent the PR had been about the impossibility of sourcing a bag for her. Wasn’t she cool enough for the bag? she’d wondered.

‘It’s not as if I want it for free…’ she’d tried to make clear.

‘No, we are absolutely sold out. Half of the waiting