The Seven Day Switch

Copyright © 2023 by Meg Chronis Meg Chronis reserves the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. ISBN (paperback): 978-0-6397-5799-5 ISBN (ebook): 978-0-6397-5800-8 All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, now known or hereafter invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. To contact the author, visit www.megchronis.com Cover designed by Tallulah Lucy (www.tallulahlucy.com). Additional illustrations by Nada Qamber (www.qamberdesigns.com) and Gregg Davies (www.greggdavies.com). To the keepers of my heart, Theo and Ash and Anna. And to my mom Chanel, for everything you’ve done, and everything you continue to do for me…every single day. Contents 1. #RescueMission News 24/7 2. #SisterSwitch 3. #Busted 4. #JailhouseJock 5. #DazedAndConfused Twitter 6. #SearchAndRescue 7. #WontQuit4Shit 8. #SinkOrSwim 9. #TheBoyIsMine Facebook 10. #SundayScandals 11. #LostInTranslation 12. #WrongPlaceWrongTime 13. #Heart2Heart WhatsApp 14. #MondayBlues 15. #PerfectFit 16. #LevellingUp Twitter 17. #FeelingLow 18. #It'sRainingMen 19. #CrackedOpen Instagram 20. #BringingDownTheHouse 21. #TakeTwo 22. #Q&A 23. #TruthBeTold 24. #SexySleepover 25. #SurpriseSurprise 26. #TimeTravel101 27. #GameOver 28. #Goodbye YouTube 29. Earl’s Court, 26 August 30. Earl’s Court, 12 September 31. Earl’s Court, 27 September 32. Earl’s Court, 29 September 33. Winterberg, 28 October Instagram Acknowledgments Animals in the book About the author Also by Meg 1 #RescueMission “We need two pairs of tiger-print panties.” “Knickers, Dot. Knickers.” Standing on the other side of The Rickford London’s gleaming marble concierge desk, the shorter of the two American guests swatted her friend on the arm. “Speak British! No wonder they don’t know what you’re blathering on about.” Becca Stratton smiled at the flustered trainee beside her. “I’ll take it from here, Amy.” She slid her notepad towards her as the trainee scurried off. Not even the smallest muscle twitched in her face. And why would it? Before she hit thirty next year, she planned on being inducted into the ranks of the Society of the Golden Keys, the most prestigious and exclusive concierge association in the world. Her application was already in. Soon, her lapels would bear the distinctive badge of two crossed golden keys that would single her out as an elite concierge. It would take a great deal more than sparkly underwear to fluster Becca. “Course she understands ‘panties’,” said the taller of the two. “She’s not British. I can tell these things. She’s a New Zealander.” Becca smiled. Right hemisphere, wrong country, but then she was used to people being confused by her South African accent, softened somewhat but still as robust as ever, even after almost seven years in London. She asked for the women’s room number, then wrote in neat script under The Rickford London’s embossed emblem: Rm 1136, 2 x tiger-print panties. She’d put in a call to Jess at Harrods. “I’ll have a range of sizes sent over by this afternoon and brought to your room.” The taller guest nudged her friend. “I wish we got service like this back home.” Back home. Becca’s gut clenched with anxiety and she swallowed hard against the pin-dotted silk scarf knotted at her throat. By this time tomorrow, she’d be back in Johannesburg, on a rescue mission for her identical twin sister. Usually such a pro when it came to saying the right thing, her celebrity twin had landed herself in a social media disaster, complete with enraged animal rights activists calling for her job...and her head. And while Gem was no stranger to the vitriol that flowed when people had a computer screen to hide behind, this time, it had knocked her sister’s feet out from under her. Becca shoved aside the gnawing worry and smiled across the counter. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Please say no. She had to wrap things up here if she was going to get to Heathrow in the next hour. She shouldn’t even be at work this morning. She knew the team would manage without her—she’d trained them well—but it didn’t stop her feeling guilty about her unplanned time off. One of the guests leaned an elbow on the counter. “Aren’t you curious though?” Becca squashed an urge to sigh and inclined her head. “Curious, ma’am?” She’d learned long ago not to be curious about guests’ peculiar requests. “About the panties! The knickers!” The two women tittered. Becca suppressed a smile, her gaze taking in the women’s white T-shirts with the words “You’re the most beautiful woman in the WORLD” printed on the front. Copies of the tee worn by Spike in the movie Notting Hill, though most likely without the “FANCY A FUCK?” punchline on the back. She inclined her head and tapped her lips with one finger as if deep in thought. She hadn’t worked this long behind the concierge desk at an Earl’s Court hotel without picking up on all the trivia for Notting Hill and every other British romcom besides. The woman waggled her eyebrows. “You give up?” “Let me guess. Today you visited the film locations for Notting Hill. And tomorrow, it’s Bridget Jones’s turn. You’re off to the Montblanc Boutique at the Royal Exchange where Mark Darcy kissed Bridget in her tiger-print panties.” Both women sucked in their breath and their eyes grew wide, as if she’d levitated in front of them. “They do train them well, don’t they, Vera?” Her companion nodded earnestly, and Becca felt the usual glow that seeped under her skin whenever she impressed a guest. “We like to get into the spirit of it, don’t we, Vera?” the woman jabbered on, to more earnest nodding. “We did Pride & Prejudice too. We found Victorian bonnets on eBay for when