Claudia Carroll 3 Book Bundle. Claudia Carroll

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      Claudia Carroll 3 Book Bundle

      Claudia Carroll

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       A Very Accidental Love Story

       Will You Still Love me Tomorrow

       Personally I Blame my Fairy Godmother

       About the Author

       By the Same Author

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

A Very Accidental Love Story

      CLAUDIA CARROLL

       A Very Accidental Love Story

       For Anita Notaro, with love.

       Watch your thoughts, for they become words,

       Watch your words, for they become actions,

       Watch your actions, for they become habits,

       Watch your habits, for they become character,

       Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

      Anonymous

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Epigraph

       Prologue

       Part One: Eloise

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Part Two

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Part Three: Eloise

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Part Four

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Part Five: Eloise

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Epilogue

       Acknowledgements

       Read on for an exclusive Daily Echo feature by Eloise Elliot

       Prologue

      They say no man is an island, but Eloise Elliot was.

      Not that this particularly bothered her most of the time, but tonight was different.

      It was her thirtieth birthday, and, bar a few stragglers from the accounts department who’d famously go to the opening of a fridge door if they thought they might scab a free drink out of it, no one had turned up.

      No one.

      Not a single one of the Board of Directors she worked so slavishly for; nor any of her senior editorial team, colleagues she’d known and worked shoulder-to-shoulder with for the past seven gruelling years. Not even the few – the very few – co-workers who, if she didn’t exactly think of them as friends, at least didn’t physically hurl furniture at her as she passed them by.

      And so this was it. This was how Eloise Elliot came to mark her thirtieth year: upstairs in The Daily Post’s conference room, surrounded by a few mangy-looking helium balloons and trays of dismal egg and watercress sandwiches that were already curling up at the edges, making faux-polite small talk with a bunch of semi-strangers. All of whom, for the record, then cried off early, pleading early starts the next day and in all likelihood only dying to get out of there the minute the free gargle ran out.

      ‘Sure you wouldn’t like a vol-au-vent?’ Eloise asked a smiley-faced blonde girl, whose name she hadn’t quite caught. ‘Go on, look, there’s loads left. You can’t leave now, look at all this grub! You’ve got to help me get rid of at least some of it.’

      ‘Emm,’ Blonde Girl said uncertainly, glancing