Three skinny socialites should be a pushover after the rough and tumble world of Wall Street. Right?
Kate Ryan may be au fait with making high-powered legal decisions, but she’s about to submit to the rules of reality TV, where nothing is what it seems. Who’d have thought a few days with the cameras rolling for a low-rent cable show would be so challenging, or that the claws of a former homecoming queen, a washed-up soap star and a whiny cat-lover would be so sharp?
Six months ago, I had confidence, I had security, I had a marriage. A lot can happen in six months.
Six months ago, I was a practicing lawyer and my husband, Jim Ryan, a Managing Director at a Wall Street investment bank. We were happy living the American dream in our five bedroom home on the North Shore of Long Island, tooling around in our matching BMWs. Life was good. Then Wall Street imploded.
Within weeks, Jim’s investment bank dissolved into bankruptcy, taking with it not only Jim’s job but our entire life savings, thanks to the leveraged investments Jim had made without my knowledge or consent. Jim was distraught, and I was distracted by my home situation, so distracted that I hadn’t noticed when a younger lawyer, Martina Campbell, stole most of my clients. Since my law firm was an eat-what-you-kill kind of place, the Executive Committee fired me, and I think that was the last straw for Jim because before I knew it he had taken off for a two week trip to visit his sick grandmother in Ireland. Those two weeks became five months. Aside from a few emails, I hadn’t heard from him. According to his last missive, he was in Australia.
So I had no job, no husband and a drawerful of bills when I ran into my old high school friend, Angela Mascaro Rosetti.
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French
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Salomé Deconynck
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by chiara pennacchi
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Mirlla Silva
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Vanesa Cavuoti
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