High Heels In New York: Fashion Series, #1

By A.V. Scott

A romance best seller in 2013 and 2014, High Heels in New York is the first book in the High Heels Fashion series that weaves together suspense, love, and betrayal within the lives of two best friends. 

Melissa De La Rosa has never felt luckier. She is to marry her ideal man, and about to launch her shoe line during the coveted fashion week in New York. But in one afternoon her “happily ever after” begins to fall apart when tragedy strikes, unleashing a string of events she never in her wildest dreams anticipated.
 
Then there’s Angelina, is a Hollywood has-been who can’t break her addiction to drugs, which she basically needs to actually function. Banking on her latest picture to launch her back into Hollywood royalty, a long kept secret vows to destroy the life she’s so carefully crafted. 
​ 
In the city that never sleeps, secrets are never truly hidden. 

THIS BOOK IS #1 OF #4 IN A SERIES 
THAT MEANS ALL ENDINGS ARE CLIFFHANGERS

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.V. Scott
• Release date: Dec 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490454313

Book preview

Prologue

Carlos Montelongo was over New York and the women that came with it. He had a plan, and that plan was to snag himself a rich broad. He didn’t care what she looked like or how saggy her boobs were. If she were wealthy, she would do.

Carlos was in his early twenties, with longish jet black hair and intense blue eyes. When he walked into a room, women took notice. Of course, having killer abs and a strong jaw line didn’t hurt. He knew he could have any girl he wanted, but what he most desired was a huge payday.

He wanted to be set for life.

Come back to bed, baby, a sweet voice beckoned from the bed.

Baby? Yeah, right. Even though the young chick looked sweet enough to devour—again, she’d begun to refer to him as baby that meant—he’d best to hurry up and scram. There was no point getting more involved. Aside for the sex, women were useless. At least, as far as Carlos was concerned. And, once Carlos was done with a woman, he was done for good.

Why don’t we order in? Watch the tube? She tried to persuade him to stay, taunting him by letting the covers fall off her shoulders and exposing her soft full breasts. It took all of his willpower not to flip her over and ram his cock inside of her. He’d already pictured all the things he’d do to her, again. Even his cock begged for release from the confounds of his jeans. But, even if he wanted to fuck her again, he’d already made plans. Big plans.

He hurried to button his shirt. Do you need money for a cab?

Excuse me?

Money. A cab.

No, I don’t need your money. I drove my fucking car.

His cock was hardening at her sassiness. The sassy ones were always better in bed. But, he’d already made up his mind. No matter how great of a lay, or beautiful, or how much he wanted to fuck her again, he never stayed. Ever. Great. The room is paid for. He placed the room keycard on the side table and placed the wallet he’d stolen that morning in his back pocket.

Are you seriously leaving?

I’ll call you, Carlos said, hurrying to the front door.

You’re just gonna leave, just like that? she yelled.

Always a pleasure, Susy.

That’s not my name you fucking prick. She jumped off the bed, her tits bouncing as she stomped toward him. I swear, if you leave, this is the last time you’re ever going to see this tight piece of ass again!

I’ve had better, he threw over his shoulder, just before a patent leather heel, intended for his head, crashed against the door as it closed behind him. He sighed, and entered the elevator.

This game was getting old. Sadly, it was all he knew. Living in a city where rich, unhappy and sometimes, married women were a dime a dozen, had made him a lot of money, enough to afford him a condo in Queens. But, he knew he was riding out his peak.

The same women who threw money at him for sex and showered him with gifts, before going back to their cushy lives, would want a newer toy to lay with. Or rather, a younger one.

All Carlos needed was that one good score, and he was done. He’d to open a bar in Spain or Canada and leave the hustle of New York City behind him, for good. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, until, his cousin gave him a job. Well, he didn’t necessarily give it to him, it was more like, on loan.

His cousin, a recovering addict, set on getting straight, told Carlos his only vice now was pot, and that if it hadn’t been for some bitch ratting him out to the cops on a bogus misdemeanor, he wouldn’t be in jail. And, that Carlos – being the only family he had left, had no choice but do him a favor.

Carlos had to work the job until his cousin got out of jail, which wouldn’t be long at all.

At first, Carlos wasn’t too thrilled out working as a janitor, even if it was in a classy high-rise uptown. But, he only had to work nights, and as long as he did his job, no one bothered him. He didn’t have any overbearing supervisors breathing down his neck. Which meant, no one knew about the switch. All Carlos had to do was clock in and clock out, cash the check, and clean up the place after hours and keep his mouth shut until his cousin got released from jail.

To sweeten the deal, his cousin got him a free gym membership around the corner. He told him he could use the gym whenever he wanted, as long as he lay low and didn’t bring any attention to himself.

It was all working out according to plan until Carlos forgot his wallet one night. He hadn’t remembered until the following morning and thought he could slip in and out without anyone being the wiser. But karma had a better plan for him.

He rode the elevator with two women, who for all intents and purposes, hadn’t cared Carlos wasn’t even in the elevator with them. They did what all women did, gossip. Nothing they said peaked Carlos’ interest. Not until he recognized one of the broads.

He knew all about her reputation: alcoholic, sex addict, and rich beyond Carlos’ dreams.

And, it was that precise moment, she’d become his obsession.

Chapter One

Two weeks later…

The splendor of summer in New York City dissolved into a routine collage of somber. Gone were the beckoning throngs of New Yorkers basking in outdoor concerts on the Great Lawn, lazy picnics, and long steamy days. The perfectly manicured lawns at Central Park lingered vacant from sunbathers, and the pool barge that moored along the east river had seen its last swimmers of the season.

The rest of New York settled into its usual routine, preparing for the looming winter holidays. That was. . .the rest of New York that wasn't at Bryant Park preparing for the venerable tradition known as Fashion Week.

As far as Melissa De La Rosa was concerned, it was the most important event of the year. Not only was she was debuting her shoe line, but it was to be her first official outing since becoming engaged.

However, instead of figuring out which devastatingly gorgeous outfit she was going to wear, she was curled up in the corner of the grand master bathroom, hyperventilating.

Feeling the cold marble under her recently manicured bare feet, she pulled her legs in close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Until this moment, she’d had a perfect life; great health, nice teeth, fabulous hair, the skin of a Goddess, and she lived in the best city on earth. Coupled with snagging the last available and straight bachelor in all of Manhattan, she had it made. Or so she thought.

She hadn’t the want to admit it, but her perfect New York City life was over. Spending the last hour devouring an entire jar of Nutella, she anxiously waited for the fifth pregnancy test to show something different, something that didn’t make her want to dress in flannel and hide in a dark, cold, padded room.

Rubbing her sweaty palms on her pajamas, she struggled with her lack of patience, checking the plastic device incessantly. Having no choice in the matter, she did what she wasn't accustomed to, wait.

And wait, until something appeared.

Shit!

No. No. No. No. No.

Breathe, Melissa pleaded with herself. This isn't the end of the world. You’ve been through worse during your twenty-five years of life and have come out unscathed, barely anyway. Breathe.

Babe, are you okay? Jonathan said, jiggling the doorknob from the other side.

I’m fine. Scrambling to her feet, Melissa used the towel rack for support. She hid the evidence of the pregnancy tests in the cabinet under the sink and quickly stole a glance in the mirror. A restless night left her hollow-eyed and disheveled. She’d need a year-long honeymoon just to undo what the past six months of stress had done to her body.

I’m going to be late, Jonathan pleaded.

Just a sec, she replied, grabbing the little plastic device, and tucking it into the pocket of her pajama bottoms. When she unlocked the bathroom door. Her heart fluttered.

What on earth took you so long? Jonathan was a magnificent specimen: all sexy dark eyes, impressive physique, and broodingly handsome features. After three years together it wasn’t a surprise that just the way he smiled at her still made her swoon.

I think I’m coming down with a bug, she said gingerly, deciding it wasn’t the right time to tell him about the tests. The day was going to be hectic enough without the news of a baby.

Do you want to cancel lunch? Jonathan said.

No, she said, and then, It’s probably nothing. Canceling lunch with Jonathan was out of the question. Lately, they had been like two passing ships in the night. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had a meal together. Lately, they were just too busy to do the things normal couples did, such as dinners, and movies. Even date night seemed an unfamiliar concept. But, soon enough, they’d take a much-needed break from their work, and focus on what was important. Their relationship. Their impending marriage seemed to be the only salvation to buckle down and make each other a priority.

Don’t forget, I made reservations at Café Luna for one o’clock.

Okay.

One, he repeated. Not one fifteen. Not one thirty. One.

I heard you, she singsonged.

You hear me now, but you’ll forget and make me wait, he teased, closing the bathroom door.

She waited until she heard the water running, and then, grabbed a napkin from the tissue box on the side table, and wrapped the pregnancy stick, not once, but twice. Then, she hid the pregnancy stick inside of the most recent addition to her accessories closet, a teal Prada clutch, making a mental note to dispose of it as soon as possible; preferably, in a far away land, like New Jersey.

In front of the long gold-plated beveled mirror in her bedroom, she pulled her pajama top up to expose her flat stomach, imagining it bigger, like a basketball or hot air balloon. All her hard training at the gym, bird-like meals, and spa treatments would have been in vain if she couldn’t fit into her Vera Wang wedding gown. She couldn’t even fathom walking down the aisle of her fairytale winter wedding, a mere four months away while carrying a human in her abdomen.

Then, just as if Mother Nature herself decided to throw another jab at her, the thought of pushing a nine-pound baby out of her vagina flashed through her mind. She almost fainted.

Of course, Jonathan would be elated to be a dad. He wanted an heir while she wanted a surrogate.

Not that there wasn’t anything wrong with having a baby. There were women whose only ambition in life was breeding. She just wasn’t one of them. Replacing long lunches for play dates and spa days with diaper duty was not her idea of how she wanted to spend her thirties.

Or her marriage.

***

A few blocks away, Angelina Stevens glanced over her shoulder at the red-faced personal trainer pounding her from behind. This guy was the best fuck she’d had. But like the others, she’d dispose of him as soon as she was tired of him, which wouldn’t be long now.

Deeper. Harder. She directed, eyes closed and lost in the rapture.

Angie was a seductive cocktail of glamor and damage, the epitome of an All-American beauty with blonde hair and big blue eyes. Her body had an old-Hollywood vixen appeal, curvy and narrow waist. Though only thirty-eight years old, she was older than the women Carlos was usually attracted to, but with naturally full and round breasts, and her butt still defying gravity, she rivaled women half her age.

But the thing was…

She was old.

It wouldn’t be too long before these young ones began to say no to her. She would soon have to begin dating men her age. Just the thought made her want to vomit. Old. Wrinkly men. She pushed that thought out of her mind and refocused on the young stud pumping her from behind.

At last, with a moan and arch of her back, Angie climaxed. The young man whimpered with relief. Easing himself out of her, he slumped down on the bed, exhausted.

Casually, she covered her naked body with a cream silk robe. The curves of her body swayed with every step she took. She reached into her purse and placed two hundred dollar bills on the nightstand.

Well, I hate to see you go, Angie announced, trying to remember his name. Not that it mattered. She’d never see him again. That was the thing about being a woman who wasn’t afraid of her sexuality. She could have any guy she wanted. And, after she’d her way with them, she’d rid of them just as easily.

You’re kidding right?

She headed for the shower. A training session is a training session.

I thought maybe you’d want to go at it again?

Not today, darling. She stopped at the vanity mirror and checked her reflection. She hadn’t the time or the energy to deal with guys like him; men who linger, waiting for her to offer them more than her body. She wasn’t going to do that with him or anyone else. Getting attached, emotionally or otherwise, was simply not going to happen.

Falling in love wasn’t part of her plan.

***

Melissa moseyed into the kitchen and reached for a coffee cup in the overhead kitchen cabinet. She glanced down at her buzzing cell phone knowing who’d be at the other end.

Good morning, Christina, she said.

They’re not here! Shouted her assistant, an obsessively dedicated intern in her twenties, known to be a little dramatic.

Building relationships with fabric manufacturers, department stores, and magazines took more than just tenacity. It took layers of thick skin. Melissa could wrap the Statue of Liberty five times with all the no’s she’d heard at the start of her career two years ago. However, it gave Melissa great pleasure to know that Christina cared just as much about the line, as she did. Jealousy and cattiness were usual suspects in the world of fashion, and with all the ups and downs she’d had this season, Melissa needn’t the drama.

What isn’t there? asked Melissa.

If they’re not here in five minutes, I’m going to kill them.

First, take a deep breath. Melissa poured coffee into Jonathan’s travel mug, and then some for herself. Any minute now, he’d come rushing out of the bedroom, tugging on his tie, madly searching for his dress shoes, which were always in the same spot, the hallway, by the door. Now, calmly tell me what happened.

The samples. They’re not here. What do you mean they’re not there?

The delivery company said they’d be here at eight; it’s a quarter after and they’ve still not arrived.

I’m going to need you to stay calm.

What I need is a bottle of Xanax, Christina huffed.

You’ll be fine. Melissa glanced at the clock. As expected, Jonathan rushed out of the bedroom, grabbing the mug she was holding out for him, and a kiss.

I hope so, Christina said.

One, Jonathan yelled from the hallway, the front door slamming soon after.

Love you too, Melissa yelled out to Jonathan, who’d already made it to the elevator bank. Then, to Christina, she said, If they’re not there by nine, call Michael at Bryant Park and ask him to switch our slot to four o’clock.

That’s Ivanka’s slot. Beg if you have to. Okay.

I’ll be there soon. We still have a lot of ground to cover before the show. We can’t have any more mishaps. Melissa clicked off.

As with the rest of her life, preparing for fashion week was turning out to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Having paid out of pocket for venue costs, hair and makeup, casting, lighting, sound design, set, crowd control, and all other aspects of production, had left her with the biggest credit card debt to date. But it was worth it. She wasn’t going to let anything stop her from achieving her dreams. There were too many people expecting her to fail.

And two of those people were her parents.

Her father, real estate mogul, Miguel De La Rosa, born to immigrant parents, worked eighteen- hour days for fifteen years to get to where he was today. He owned condominiums in both New York and Florida and all kinds of businesses; gas stations, shopping centers, and restaurants. He was brilliant; spreading his investments in different arenas allowing them to piggyback off each other when one didn’t yield enough profit.

Her mother, Maria De La Rosa, was nothing more than a walking-talking Barbie doll. She savored the spotlight, fancy clothes, and an extravagant lifestyle. Both parents could not have been more different, as individuals and parental units. But, where one faltered, the other prevailed. They viewed marriage just like a business. It was hard work. They'd raised their children to believe in their same values, interests, and goals.

So, when Melissa announced she was going to become a fashion designer, her parents were displeased.

They weren’t shy about voicing their concerns: ‘You need a lot of startup capital. Where are you going to find your investors? Most fashion designers struggle within two years.’ Melissa heard it all, and though most of it was true, she didn’t let any negativity deter her from achieving her dreams. She worked hard, and on her own. It had taken months to design a business plan the banks would approve, and even longer to find the perfect studio to work in, but in the end, she’d done it – De La Rosa Designs was up and running.

She’d been smart, saving on costs by having the shoes produced in Mexico, and hiring interns whose payment was the experience gained. But it hadn’t been enough. Six months later, she’d run out of money. If she didn’t have a successful show, her parents would bask in her failure.

And, Melissa was not going to let that happen. She was going to make sure of it.

Chapter Two

After ridding herself of her boy toy, Angelina Stevens jumped in the shower and tried not to think about the loneliness encompassed in her heart. It was a sentiment that lingered within her since she first stepped foot in Hollywood.

Back then, in her early twenties, she was not only younger, but she was also ruthless, landing roles left and right. She was phenomenal, winning all types of accolades; Breakout Star of the Year, Best Supporting Actress, an Oscar, and two Golden Globes. Dubbed, the ‘Darling of Hollywood,’ she went on to accept bigger and better roles, catapulting her into Hollywood infamy, and earning her a star on the Walk of Fame. It was a career high.

But, all stars fall.

Hollywood failed to reveal Angelina’s deep insecurity and terrible loneliness. For the last fifteen years, she hid her pain behind alcohol and sex. None of them able to satisfy her long enough to keep her