Chapter One

Wolves in Chic Clothing
by Carrie Doyle Karasyov, Jill Kargman

In The Right Address, Carrie Karasyov and Jill Kargman seared through the upper crust of New York's glitterati with wicked glee. In their delicious new novel, Wolves in Chic Clothing, they train their merciless spotlight on the young princes and princesses poised to inherit Park Avenue.

Julia, a hip, downtown salesgirl at Pelham's jewelry store, finds her social life turned on its head when she is asked to deliver a necklace to the store's young heiress, Lell Pelham, on Lell's wedding day. Beguiled by Julia's earnest cluelessness and her vintage-chic vibe, Lell and her gang adopt Julia, and "Eliza Doolittle" her into passing as the heiress to a family fortune, just for a laugh. Dazed by the whirlwind of trust funds, pedigrees, Cosmopolitans, and penthouses in her new world, Julia is unprepared for the ardent advances of Lell's husband — or the vicious claws her new "friends" develop when they decide Julia is an ingrate, and demote her from society goddess to penniless cling-on with one well-timed editorial. Suddenly, she must return the borrowed couture clothes and try to remember who she was before the body snatching took place. Hilarious and completely addictive, Wolves in Chic Clothing is a modern-day rags-to-riches-and-back-again fairy tale that will leave fans stamping their Manolo Blahniks for more.

Chapter 1

Manhattan was in a tailspin. Literally. The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show was in town, and if that didn't clog up midtown's grid of streets enough, it was also Fashion Week. There were bitches everywhere.

The sales floor at Pelham's, the venerable hundred-year-old jewelry store, was packed, and the grand revolving doors were glutted with browsing tourists. Lovers were making last-minute Valentine's Day purchases, and stylists were running in to borrow or return glittering gems for models on the various flashbulb-lined runways of Bryant Park.

A Pelham's trademark little sage-colored box was being nimbly tied with a chocolate brown signature satin ribbon, when the expert fingers were interrupted.

"Julia — we need you." Gisele Beauvoir, Pelham's director of public relations, had unexpectedly materialized, her tone laced with the pulse-pounding gravity of a Defcon One code red alert. "It's an emergency."

Julia's sassy associate (and roommate) Douglas took over the wrapping of an engagement ring for a nervous fiance-to-be. "I got this, honey — don't worry."

Julia shot him a look that was part thank you and part what do you think this could be about? In response, he smiled and shrugged.

"Girl, you look fierce in that skirt," he whispered as she smoothed her pleats to head up to Corporate. "Baby got back in that. And it works."

"Baby got backyard," she sighed, nervously.

"Please. You're the most stylish, knockout girl in this whole damn town."

"Thanks, dude. See you later." She straightened her blouse and went to the staff staircase. What the hell was this all about? Was she about to be fired? Was it because of that man who returned the necklace after she'd convinced him it was perfect for his wife? It wasn't her fault, the guy really liked it, or so he said. It was his wife who said it emphasized the elephant-sized lines on her neck. Or was it because she was unable to understand the Russian tourists? What had she done? She needed this job, dammit. Just as things were starting to come together. . . . Well, what could she do? Julia took a deep breath and continued up the stairs.

On the sixth floor, Julia pushed through the carved mahogany double doors leading into the PR conference room, where seven people were pacing in a state of sheer panic. Fourteen sharp Manolo Blahnik stiletto heels were grinding into the beige Stark carpet. The tension was palpable. Suddenly the room went quiet and the crowd parted to make way for Gisele, who was cradling a small velvet box in her perfectly manicured hands and walking toward Julia.

"Julia — here it is. Move over Queen Lizzie's crown jewels — this is one of the largest gems in the Pelham's archives: an antique seventy-carat diamond and emerald necklace from our Van Braques salon," pronounced Gisele. "You must leave immediately. You'll be accompanied by four armed guards."

"To . . . where?"

"Hello? Lell Pelham's bridal suite! At the Waldorf."

"It's only the wedding of the millennium," chirped another PR lackey.

"Oh. Okay. Should I go now?"

"Yes! We have to rush it over this second!" snapped Gisele. "Vogue's photographer is already there setting up lighting, and Ms. Pelham's assistant just called to say she changed her mind and wants to wear this piece instead of the Schlumstein deco necklace. Naturally we had to have it cleaned to perfection, so we've been in an absolute tizzy. This is very late." Gisele looked Julia straight in the eye. It was clear to Julia that her future with Pelham's — if not more — was riding on her skills as a courier.

The next thing she knew, Julia was being handcuffed to a chrome briefcase — apparently the velvet box had been placed inside. A man who could have been a Mr. Smith clone from The Matrix, complete with black suit and dark sunglasses, escorted her out of the conference room. On their way out, Julia noticed that he had one of those curly ear wires straight out of a Secret Service detail. They exited through a back door on Fifty-eighth Street. A few passing pedestrians gawked and pointed as they entered a limousine, which quickly pulled away.

Julia could only marvel as the limo cruised through the most fashionable part of town. What a mission! She was certainly a long way from the vineyard in Napa Valley where she had grown up and worked since college. Had it really been almost a year since she'd traded the secure familiarity of home for the excitement and opportunities of the Big Apple? But where else could she advance a career in her dream occupation: jewelry design.

At first she didn't think a sales position at Pelham's would be much of a career stepping-stone, but she needed an income and she got the job after one interview. (She was told that she looked the part — "a spitting image of Carolyn Bessette Kennedy," said her human resources interviewer.) And until she found something better, swiping platinum cards and tying up those little sage boxes at least paid the rent on the tiny two-bedroom she shared with Douglas in the East Village.

And now she was on her way to meet the princess of New York high society — Pelham's creative-director-to-be, the head of every junior committee, the party-picture darling who was a celebutante even Julia's pals back home knew about. It was a little weird that her boss's boss's boss's boss was about her age, maybe a couple years older — but Julia knew how the family business game was played. She figured she'd be dining out on the tale of her critical wedding day delivery for weeks to come.

It was only after she stepped out of the limo that she wondered, Why me? There were several other more senior girls who could have been chosen to bring Lell her jewels. And heck, Julia wasn't even in the PR department. Why had they chosen a salesgirl from the engagement ring section for such an important task?

Excerpted from Wolves in Chic Clothing by Carrie Karasyov and Jill Kargman Copyright © 2005 by Carrie Karasyov. Excerpted by permission of Broadway, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

Carrie Karasyov was born and raised in New York City. After graduating from Barnard College with a degree in Russian Language and Literature in 1994 she worked at Harper's Bazaar Magazine in both New York and Moscow. At age 24, she became the founding Editor-in-Chief of the Russian edition of Marie Claire Magazine. Karasyov lives in Santa Monica, California with her husband Vasily and her two-year old son James.

Jill Kargman is a New York-based screenwriter with two current features at Paramount Pictures bought by the studio in 2002. Jill's freelance work includes over ten shows for MTV. She has written over 100 articles that have appeared in magazines including Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Interview, Town & Country, British GQ, Elle, Teen Vogue and Travel + Leisure, in addition to her weekly column for W Magazine online, EyeSpy at Style.com. She is deathly afraid of clowns.