The Luxe or The Love

Chapter 1

 

I.                    

 

“Ow! Where am I?”

I would say good morning but then it would be ironic especially when you wake up with a pounding in your head and a hot stranger on my bed.

“You’re in Vegas, baby.” The hot stranger said trailing down kisses on my neck. He better not give me a mark or else I – uh ...I don’t know I can’t think of one.. oh well.

Where were we again? Oh right, Vegas. Now I remember what happened last night. The usual G.N.O. routine; party, get drunk, party some more, get drunk some more and get laid.

I pushed away the hot stranger and sat up to looked if I’m at the hotel I booked. Ow! I hate hangovers. It’s hell. God, how much did I drink last night? Considering the number of times that I have been drunk, I should’ve been used to hangovers by now but right now a hot shower feels good. So I got up and headed to the bathroom.

“Hey baby where’re you goin’?” the hot stranger slurred, obviously still drunk and from the looks of it, he got another drink

“I’m gonna take a shower.” I quickly went inside the bathroom and locked it before he decides to join me.

Ugh! My head started to pound again. I swallowed some painkillers and got in the shower.

 

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When I got out of shower with a towel wrapped around my body, as expected, no more hot stranger and a sticky with his number on it. I threw the note without a glance and looked through the closet for a pair of undies. Don’t they just get it? Why would they even think I would be interested?

I know what you’re thinking right now. I’m a slut. I’m a whore. I’m a cold-hearted bitch. Whatever, I don’t care. Besides, Don’t play with the innocent ones. I don’t exactly believe in love as you can see. I mean who wants to stay committed with only one person when you can have so much fun being free and single like partying and drinking without worrying about anybody else, having sex without strings attached, shopping, going everywhere you want  to go in your private jet and lots more.

I put on my pair of undies and the rest of my outfit; a pair of black skinny Levi’s jeans, sleeveless silver sequined top and a pair of black stiletto pumps.

“S, you do know were leaving today right?”shouted Leigh through the door. Yes, as you can see Leigh is my best friend. The one and only real best friends. By now I’m an expert in determining who’s a fake and a wanna-be. Believe me I’ve been chased around by girls who desperately want to be my best friend. I don’t trust just anyone. Not after what happened anyway. We’ve been best friends since pre-school when I saved her from being a fashion disaster. Aside from the fact that our families are really close, we’re also like sisters. I go wherever she goes and she goes wherever I go except when we go home or go to the bathroom, of course, that’ll just be weird. You know those movies where best friends who go to finish each other’s sentences, shop together, dress-up each other and do almost everything together? Yeah, we’re like that, too. We’re like twins from different mothers. From the day we met, we just clicked. We like the same things; dresses, shoes, bags, make-up and everything else (aside from guys, that’ll be awkward). We have just a few differences. I’m a blonde. She’s a brunette. I have a long drop dead gorgeous straight hair. She have a long smooth hair with sexy waves in it. I have blue eyes while she got brown.  Aside from the fact that she has a brain with a size of a peanut, she’s perfect. We’ll, we are perfect. With our features this flawless, we are probably the most envied girls in NYC.

“Leigh, the door’s open.” I shouted back at her, putting on my accessories. She went in and strutted over to me.

“Where’s the boy toy? I thought you two weren’t finished yet.” She frowned looking around the room

“Not my type.” I shrugged applying a light amount of make-up.

“The sex or the boy toy?” See what I meant, a peanut.

“Never mind.” I shook my head and sighed.

 

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I sighed as the plane landed. Finally home. A summer in Vegas isn’t quite a what you call a vacation. With all the hangovers, yes, it’s stressing but not as stressing as home. Yeah, I love the fame and all. I also love my work. Being a model and a fashion designer, is what I love but being pestered by your mother at work is not. When I came back from France to study college, my dream turned into a nightmare. I mean who would want to work with their mothers telling them to do this and that. Oh that’ll be such as joy (note the sarcasm).

My mother, Vivian Vane-Pierce, is one of the top designers in the world. As expected from me, I am to be a fashion designer, which is my dream and what I am now. I love anything that involves art. This is my legacy. Before I was even born, I have already been torn apart from my parents. My father ,being one of the most successful businessmen and the wealthiest in the world – another legacy my grandfather bestows upon my father(aside from the family company, wants me to be the next one in his step. My mother, on the other hand, wants me to be the fashion heiress of Vivian Vane-Pierce. When I came out, it turned out that I have my mother’s talents but that didn’t stop my father from pushing me into the world of business. He always talks to me about his investments and what not. I enjoy listening to my father about the company and I want to be a part of it but my mother says it’s just a waste of my talents. Not that I have any regrets with being in the fashion industry instead, it’s what I love to do. It is and it always will be.

I put my Burberry glasses as I stepped out of the plane. Flashes from cameras and questions shouted by the reporters welcomed me, which meant that I did something wrong but I ignored them as my publicist would advise me to do and put a small smile to my lips. No one would like to see you smiling like a retard nor scowling and growling at the cameras no matter how many lies they put on the tabloids. If you did something really scandalous, a small fake smile would do.

I got in the limo quickly shutting out the reporters but that didn’t stop them so I opened the windows and said, “I am sorry to answer you all. I will make a statement soon but for now I have no comment.” Yeah, because I don’t know what the hell happened. I ended it by closing the window as they shouted the questions once again.

I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and groaned. What did I do now?

“Ms. Pierce, I think you should take a look at this.” my driver said, handing me a tabloid magazine before driving off.

The headline said, ‘Syrene caught drunk and depressed??’

Oh hell no....

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A/N: Hey guys! I apologize if this is too short and not that good but please continue reading and you'll love how this will turn out.

This is my first story so I need you guys to help me out and comment and suggest and please be nice. :))))

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