Confessions of a Frisky Fashion Writer

Confessions of a Frisky Fashion Writer

by The Vixen

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781786510211
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Publication date: 04/26/2016
Series: Sex With Cocktails , #1
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 113
File size: 1 MB

About the Author

The Vixen is the seductive and sophisticated voice behind the provocative pleasure store My Little Vixen based in New York City. Her work in fashion and experience living in a big city is a great influence to her work. She still lives in NYC and travels as much as she can while writing about her adventures and creating beautiful stories along the way.

Read an Excerpt

Copyright © The Vixen 2016. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.

“I been drinkin’… I been drinkin’…”

Beyoncé must have read everyone’s thoughts because just as the mounting beat poured out of the thunderous speakers, the crowded venue erupted with excitement over the EDM remix courtesy of Diplo. I think every woman in this club must have started singing along because pretty soon I couldn’t hear Beyoncé anymore—just a bunch of women chanting the contagious lyrics—and my head was already spinning. There were dancers hovering over the crowd, shaking their assets in provocative attire on scattered island platforms with swirling colorful lights running across the room. I’m pretty sure my eardrum was about to burst from the loud music. Tonight wasn’t just any night. It was the start of Fashion Week. For the next several days, I would be going to runway shows, presentations and enough media events to make anyone exhausted. My current location was the after-party for a designer friend at the chic VIP Room in the Meatpacking District. My job was to cover all the hottest and trendiest happenings surrounding New York’s most stylish week, but it was time to clock out and get wasted. Considering this one of the few perks I got working in fashion, I figured I might as well enjoy it before the clock struck twelve and I turned back into a pumpkin.

“Virginia!”

“What?”

“Virginia!”

“Stop yelling!”

Great, now I’m yelling.

“I think we need to slow down,” I said, holding my head. A ton of bricks was crashing down on my skull. The room spun wildly as the music beat against the walls. Unfortunately, the days of college drinking were long gone, along with my high tolerance for alcohol. Back in the day, Thirsty Thursdays had meant bottomless drinks where you’d keep drinking until you couldn’t see. Thirsty Thursday in your postgraduate life meant a two-drink maximum because by the time you’d finished that third Fireball, the walls had probably started to spin, a sign that your night was over. I didn’t feel like ending this night over a toilet, screaming about my feelings in a drunken, incoherent outburst to other drunk people, all of which I would regret in the morning. I was getting too old for this shit.

“Virginia, why aren’t you drinking?” The loud, tan Puerto Rican woman yelling at me to my right was my best friend and roommate, Sandra, who had drunk one too many. Sandra Negron was a social media influencer with enough followers to make anyone blush and a decent collection of designer threads from Marc Jacobs to Givenchy at her disposal. She was currently working as the social media assistant at a popular publication while writing her blog, Chic&Latina. We’d met in undergraduate when we were just two hopeless girls trying to pass our classes. She was also my roommate in a first floor, two-bedroom apartment in a brownstone in the heart of Central Harlem owned by her mother’s brother’s best friend’s girlfriend, which was great now considering the new gentrified version of the neighborhood included a Starbucks within walking distance and the occasional bum trying to get your number or yelling at you for not giving him a dollar. For the rent and knowledge that I wouldn’t have to move back home with my mother, it was more than enough for me.

“Because one of us has to be able to see tonight.”

“Oh, stop being such a grandma, Virginia!” yelled the other loud-mouthed drunk to my left. The curvy West Indian beauty with the long, curly brown locks with cinnamon skin was lost in the moment while being serenaded by the angelic vocal skills of the flawless singer. You could tell she thought she was Beyoncé at this moment.

“Jen, just don’t disappear on me, otherwise you’ll have to worry about ending up in someone else’s bed.” I sipped my drink, slowly rolling my eyes. I swear if she did another vanishing act, I wasn’t saving her. Ever since I’d met this chick, she would pull one whenever she got too intoxicated. She was a sweetheart when she was sober but, Lord, she was a terror whenever she got a drink in her hand. But, it was always a party when the Caribbean bombshell was around. Jennifer Jean-Louis was well known on the New York club scene at all the hot venues, with a career in event management and a lengthy list of high-end clientele. If there was any hot A-list event going on, chances were that Jennifer was on the list. The event planner was the creative mastermind behind some of the most talked-about events in the industry, and her black book was a list of anyone who was anyone in the city. She always knew the right person to talk to at any party to get the best VIP table in any venue. Her Instagram looked more like TMZ with fun selfies against an artistic filter finished with a savvy quote attached, and she definitely knew how to throw a dope party.

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