In Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker’s steamiest novel yet, we meet the four deliciously dramatic, designer-clad divas from prime time’s new hit reality show, The Millionaire Wives Club. Evan: Married to a pro-football star who isn’t in love with her anymore, Evan is digging her freshly manicured nails in ever deeper as she fights to keep the husband who loves someone else. Milan: Half Dominican, half black, and beautifully exotic-looking, Milan is watching her has-been husband’s fortune fade fast–while her romantic attachment to Evan’s husband is heating up. Jaise: Divorced from a former boxing star who’s now married to a white woman, Jaise is trying to raise her sixteen-year-old son on her own. Will her huge alimony checks keep her from falling in love? Chaunci: Editor of the hottest black women’s magazine, Chaunci is now engaged to the high-powered man who helped finance her magazine when she was just a struggling single mom. But when a onetime passionate flame reignites, Chaunci may not be able to resist its charms. When these starlets’ private lives run as wild as their emotions, their relationships with one another inevitably turn into high-profile catfights. Through it all, the cameras never stop rolling on TV’s guiltiest pleasure, where power–and diamonds–are always a girl’s best friend. Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker is the Essence bestselling author of The Ex-Factor, Flip Side of the Game and Game Over . She received the Ella Baker and W.E.B. Dubois’ International Award for fiction writing. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and two daughters. The Club Millions of dollars in premier fashions and champagne diamonds were on display at Manhattan's 40/40 Club as four ultrarich and ubersuccessful women—America's newest addition to reality TV—strolled the red carpet and smiled at the flashing lights of the paparazzi. The clicking of their designer stilettos was like exquisite steel-pan beats as they crossed the club's threshold, and the sultry sounds of Maxwell's live performance filled the air. Despite their individual insecurities and doubts, at this moment as they sauntered into the sunrise of superstardom, what mattered most was that they'd gotten their own piece of the latest in rich bitch candy. "Ladies, ladies," a reporter from E! News said, motioning for the four of them to come together and meet him across the room. "Can you all tell us a little about yourselves?" He looked at the woman to his left. "May we start with you?" "I'm Milan Starks, wife of the great Yusef 'Da Truef' Starks, number twenty-three on the New York Knicks." A lovely mix of her cinnamon brown Dominican father and golden-skinned African American mother, Milan had an effortless beauty that didn't require makeup or facials to be perfect. She had a Marilyn Monroe mole on the corner of her top lip, hazel eyes, and her Beyoncé-like hips were a size ten, twelve at most, and she had a true apple bottom. "Wasn't he suspended?" Evan Malik said and then quickly covered her mouth. "Oh, my apologies, I didn't mean to say that." "He was suspended," the reporter said, following up on Evan's comment. "Do you want to tell us how you feel about that?" he asked Milan. "My husband is a great man." Milan smiled. "Sure, he hit a rough patch, but he's on his way back and will be better than ever." "Thank you, Mrs. Starks, now on to you, Mrs. Malik," he said to Evan. "Is it true that you were the first to be cast for the show?" Milan shifted her weight from one Christian Louboutin python pump to the other, praying the nausea she felt as she sized up Evan would go away. Evan stood five eleven, fabulously slender, a figure eight shape, and skin the color of butterscotch. Her hair was cut in a short and spiky Halle Berry-inspired 'do with touches of honey blond that glimmered in the spotlights. Milan hated that she and Evan had ended up in the same circle, because every time she saw Evan, heard Evan's voice, and was in her presence, Milan was forced to deal with the fact that Evan had won. Evan had ended up with the only man who made Milan feel true love was obtainable: Kendu. But since image was everything in this business, Milan planned to do her damnedest and pretend that they were all friends, even if the knife she had for Evan's back weighed down her Chloé clutch. "Why of course, sweetie," Evan said. "Who wouldn't want to start with me?" She winked. "It's been five minutes," Chaunci Morgan, Milan's neighbor and one of the four costars, whispered to Milan while maintaining a smile, "and already I'm sick of this bitch. Did she forget that she was a video ho?" "Seems so," Milan whispered back. "Excuse you." Jaise Williams, Evan's friend and their costar, turned toward Milan and then eyed Chaunci. "What did you just say?" she snapped. "I said that she looks fabulous." Milan smiled at Evan. "She gives retired video hos, I mean vixens, a good name." "Umm-hmm," Chaunci added, snapping her fingers in a Z motion. "A true fashionista. You bette