Chasing Daisy

better than they would have otherwise been. You’re the best.
    Last but not least, thank you to my son, Indy, who has done absolutely nothing to contribute to this book, but who makes me laugh my head off every single day. Love you, cutie.

 
    Simon & Schuster and Pocket Books proudly present
    Paige Toon’s sensational novel

    Available to buy in bookshops now!
    ISBN 978-1-84739-044-8
    Turn the page to read a sample chapter of
Johnny Be Good . . .

 
Prologue
     
    ‘Sing! Sing! Sing!’
    No. I can’t.
    ‘ Sing! Sing! Sing! ’
    No! Stop it! And for God’s sake, cut that bloody music!
    ‘SING! SING! SING!’
    Argh! My palms are so slippery I almost dropped the mic. I’m in bad shape. I can’t sing. I can NOT sing. But they won’t stop. I know they won’t stop until I deliver. And I shouldn’t disappoint my audience. Okay, I’m going to sing! Here comes the chorus . . .
    I’m locked inside us
    And I can’t find the key
    It was under the plant pot
    That you nicked from me
     
    That’s not my song, by the way. And when I say I can’t sing, I mean I really can’t sing. When you’re as drunk as I am, you could be forgiven for thinking that if only Simon Cowell were in the room, he would say, ‘Girl, you’ve got the X Factor.’ But I’m under no illusions. I know I’m, in his words, ‘distinctly average’.
    As for the audience . . . Well, I’m not singing to a 90,000strong crowd at Wembley, but you’ve probably guessed that by now. I’m in the living room of my flatshare in London Bridge. And the music comes courtesy of my PlayStation SingStar.
    The person who’s just grabbed the mic from me is Bess. She’s my flatmate and my best friend. She can’t sing either. Jeez, she’s hurting my ears! Next to her is Sara, a friend of mine from work. And then there are Jo, Jen and Alison, pals from university.
    As for me? Well, I’m Meg Stiles. And this is my leaving party. And that song we’re making a mockery of? That’s written by one of the biggest rock stars on the planet. And I’m moving in with him tomorrow.
    Seriously! I am not even joking.
    Well, maybe I’m misleading you a little bit. You see, I haven’t actually met him yet.
    No, I’m not a stalker. I’m his new PA. His Personal Assistant. And I am off to La-La Land. Los Angeles. The City of Angels – whatever you want to call it – and I can’t bloody believe it!

 
Chapter 1
     
    Ouch. My head hurts. What sort of stupid person has a leaving party the night before starting a new job?
    I’m not usually this disorganised. In fact, I’m probably the most organised person you’re ever likely to meet. Having a leaving party the night before I had to board this plane to LA is very out of character. But then I didn’t have much choice. I’ve only just got the job.
    Seven days ago I was a PA at an architects’ firm. My boss, Marie Sevenou (early fifties, French, very well-respected in the industry), called me into her office on Monday morning and asked me to shut the door and take a seat. This had never happened in the nine months I’d been working there and my initial reaction was to wonder if I’d done anything wrong. But I was pretty sure I hadn’t so, above all, I was curious.
    ‘Meg,’ she said, her heavy French accent laced with despair, ‘it pains me to tell you this.’
    Shit, was she dying?
    ‘I do not want to lose you.’
    Shit, was I dying? Sorry, that was just me being ridiculous.
    She continued, ‘All of yesterday I toyed with my conscience. Should I tell her? Could I keep it from her? She is the best PA I have ever had. It would devastate me to let her go.’
    I do love my boss, right, but she ain’t half melodramatic.
    ‘Marie,’ I said, ‘what are you talking about?’
    She stared at me, her face bereft. ‘But I said to myself, Marie, think of what you were like thirty years ago. You would have done anything for an opportunity like this. How could you keep it from her?’
    What on earth was she going on about?
    ‘On Saturday night I went to a dinner party at a very good friend of mine’s. You remember Wendel Redgrove? High-powered solicitor – I designed his house in Hampstead a couple of years ago? Well, anyway, he was telling me how his biggest client had lost his personal assistant recently and was having a terrible time trying to find a new one. Of course I empathised. I told him about you and how I thought I might die if I ever lost you. Honestly, Meg, I don’t know how I ever managed before