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As editorinchief of New Yorks leading fashion magazine Fiona Monaghan lived a life as hectic and hightoned as the fashion world itself jetting back and forth between her stylish Manhattan brownstone and the couture shows of Europe. With closets stuffed with Fendi a snoring bulldog named Sir Winston sharing her bed and a houseman who favors gold lam and borrows her shoes Fiona was utterly content with her life. Until the sweltering June day John Anderson strolled into her office. «
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