Sexy in Stilettos (A Sexy Contemporary Romance)

by Nana Malone

  Chapter Three

  After three days, Jaya still couldn’t pull herself out of the fog. Whenever she thought of getting up and actually getting dressed, her brain reminded her she had nowhere to go and she plunged back into the paralyzed pit of despair. She knew the situation was dire when her usual cadre of bad action movies couldn’t cheer her up.

  Cracking an eyelid open, she surveyed the wasteland that was her apartment. The urge to vomit came on strong. Chinese food cartons, empty ice-cream cartons, empty chocolate wrappers—the mess was so bad, she returned to hiding under her cover, where it was safer.

  The buzzer to her front door rang. She ignored it. Cue the cavalry. Maybe if she pretended she didn’t hear them, they’d go away. She’d managed to avoid her two best friends Ricca and Micha for the past several days, but it was only a matter of time before they insisted on seeing her. “You’re going to have to pick the lock if you want in,” she shouted, popping her head out from underneath the duvet.

  “You’re not really daring me, are you, Trudeaux?”

  For a moment, Jaya worried about her lock. Micha had all manner of skills and Jaya didn’t know if lock-picking was one of them. She eyed the door with dubious concern. Deadbolts couldn’t be picked, could they? “Go away. I’m not accepting visitors.”

  “You might be old money from New Orleans, but I don’t take orders from you. Now open the damn door.”

  “There’s no need to shout,” Ricca said in a hushed tone.

    “Thank you for coming, but I am not opening the door. I’m wallowing. Deep wallowing going on. No guests invited to this wallowing party.”

  Silence. Maybe they’d taken the hint. The sunlight streaming in from her balcony fought a valiant battle with her duvet cover, but her tugging and securing of the blanket around her won the fight in the blanket’s favor and no light streamed into her self-imposed cave. Nausea and dread threaded through her belly.

  This was all wrong. Every romantic comedy movie ever made had their heroines feeling better after gorging on ice-cream and shopping themselves stupid. Leave it to her to feel sick at the evidence of both her attempts. She couldn’t even look at the bag she’d left by her front door. Who the hell tried to soothe a bruised ego with three-thousand-dollar shoes?

  There was some shuffling at the door. Damn, those chicks are persistent. It was, of course, the reason they were friends in the first place. Never say die. And if you do say die, make sure it’s with fabulous footwear and you take a piece of someone with you.

  Her heart lurched into overdrive as the bolt disengaged. She yanked the covers off her head in time to see Micha saunter in with a triumphant grin, jangling a set of keys in her hand. “You know, you really should tell Marco and his fine ass not to give keys to any old bitch who smiles and flashes some tit at him. By the way, I still insist you need to do him before he heads back to Brazil this summer. That is too much hotness for one of us not to take a crack at.”

  The doorman had given them the key? Traitor. Micha was right—that Brazilian piece of hotness couldn’t help himself for a pretty smile.  But she wasn’t going to sleep with him. No matter how much he made her blush every time he said her name in his accented English.

  Ricca followed close behind Micha. Her smile, though, was laced with concern. It only got worse as she caught a load of the mess in Jaya’s living room.

  Micha took charge. “Ree, you get her brown booty into the shower. I’ll start cleaning up this dump.”

  Feeling mutinous, Jaya folded her limbs Indian style. “I don’t need a shower. Nor do I need you to come into my house and boss me around. What if I like my place looking like this?” She darted a glance around. Pigsty was a gross under-exaggeration. The old her didn’t handle mess well. The new-unemployed-loser her didn’t give a shit.

  Even Ricca had to snort. “Come on, honey. I’m surprised you’re not at the rug with a dust-buster already. Let’s go. I’ll wrap your hair up so you can get in the shower.”

  Jaya scowled. “Shit, do I smell that bad?”

  Micha nodded as Ricca shook her head, but only Micha spoke. “Did you know you have an ice-cream smear on one of your boobs?”

  Jaya’s head snapped down, then back up again to look at her friends. Goddamn. She was a mess.

  A look of mock alarm crossed over Micha’s face. “If you’re going to cry, take it outside. No pussies in my camp.”

  Jaya barked out a laugh. “Yeah, hard-ass. I get you.” Giving Ricca her best I’m-a-pathetic-chick-so-don’t-hold-it-against-me smile, she added. “Lead the way.”

  After she showered, she’d changed her ice-cream-stained sweatshirt for jeans and a graphic T-shirt that read “My balls are bigger than yours.” The way she figured, she could use the extra boost of confidence.

  When she went back to the living room, the tornado was over and her friends were staring at the bag containing the evidence of the need to self-soothe. “I did a little shopping.”

  “We can see that.” Ricca’s breath came out in little puffs of air.

  Both she and Micha stared at the bag with envy and wonder. Self-conscious, Jaya muttered, “Don’t worry, I can return it.”

  Micha frowned, but her eyes were alive and excited. “I know a Gold’s Boutique sale bag when I see one. The pink ribbon means you got this on sale, and that means there’s no turning back. What did you buy?”

   “Fine. But I’ll have you know I’m not proud of myself. And I’ll be forced to sell myself on El Cajon Boulevard in order to pay for these.” Jaya pulled out the simple shoe box. Just the name on the box had Ricca stumbling back.

  “Oh, Jaya. You didn’t.”

  Heat crept up Jaya’s collarbone. “Unfortunately, I did.”

  Speechless, Micha’s fingers reached out and caressed the outside of the black box. Jaya knew how she felt. The temptation to put on the shoes and run around without a care was strong. Nestled in pretty pick tissue wrapping were the latest pair of Christian Louboutin stilettos. Shimmery gold with hints of red. Stunning. Absolutely stunning. The three of them had eyed them on a shopping trip a month ago. None had dared even look at the price tag.

  Micha plopped herself on the couch. “I gotta tell you, getting fired is a big deal but doesn’t warrant pocketbook suicide.”

  “I already feel rotten enough.” She recounted the whole story of the firing.

  Ricca growled.  “That stupid asshole is worth less than Satan’s left nut. I’m going to kill him and your father. Of all the bullshit in the world, this has got to be the biggest pile.”

  Jaya could only stare. Ricca didn’t lose her temper. That was Micha’s job. Micha tearing off was just Micha being Micha. Ricca tearing off was something to be feared.

  Ricca touched her hand and squeezed. Warm brown eyes glistened with sympathy tears.  “We’re here for you. If you want, I can see if we’ve got an opening at Fantasies. You know you’d be a shoo-in with your experience and reputation.”

  She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not—Well damn. The splash of a hot tear had Jaya hanging her head. She’d actually failed. And now the people who she loved most in the world were witness to her failure.

  As Jaya lifted her head, she heaved a deep sigh. When her eyes met Micha’s, her friend’s eyes were soft, kind and a little shimmery. What the—?  Was Micha crying for her?

  Micha stood, swiftly taking the shoes with her. She kept her back to the two of them. Clearing her throat, she picked up one of the shimmery gold shoes and said, “Jesus. They're gorgeous. But you can’t keep them.”

  “I know.” Jaya eyed the shoes in Micha’s hands. “How could something so beautiful be so awful?”

  Micha shook her head. “Well, you’re not the first woman to lose control with the credit card when things get a little rocky. No feeling sorry for yourself. Solution time.”

  Ricca gnawed delicately on a fingernail. “Well maybe we could Craigslist them.”

  Both Jaya and Micha shouted no, then giggled.
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  Finally Jaya said, “No. They’re too beautiful for Craigslist. Besides, I would only get a fraction of what they're worth.”

  “Fine.” Ricca breathed. “Then I have a solution, but Micha’s going to have to agree to it too.”

  “What?” Jaya eyed her dubiously. “If it involves becoming a shake-your-booty-ho to pay for them, I’m not interested.”

  Ricca rolled her eyes and giggled. “How about we share the shoes?” Jaya frowned, but Ricca continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “We borrow everything from each other already. Why not do a footwear time-share?”

  “Which means,” Micha said as she paused to caress the gold strap, “you’re only out a grand.”

  Jaya's jaw unhinged. There was no way. “Wait, I can't let you bail me out like that. I'm the moron who let my credit card act as my brain with no job or sugar daddy. I can’t make you suffer the consequences too.”

  Micha ignored her outrage and continued stroking the shoe. “Who's suffering?” She pulled the shoe in closer and admired the detailing. “I'd drop six hundred dollars easy on a pair.” She shrugged “Not too bright, but we've all done something stupid in the name of retail therapy before. And like you said, these are an investment. Some fabulously insane Carrie Bradshaw type will pay the big bucks for this pair one day.”

  “Micha's right. Besides, if I'm going to spend money, what better way than insane footwear and in assistance of a friend?”

  Jaya couldn't believe her ears. “You guys would do that for me?”

  Both rolled their eyes and nodded.

  “Consider yourself my charity event for the week.” Micha smirked.

  Ricca grinned. “Now. What are you going to wear with these when we go out tonight?”