CHRONICLES OF A LINCOLN PARK FASHIONISTA
Author: Aven Ellis
Genre: Chick Lit
~ SYNOPSIS ~
Recent college graduate Avery Andrews is ready to begin a new life in the big city. She’s landed an apartment in Chicago’s famed Lincoln Park neighborhood–and has her eye on the cute commodities trader just a floor above.
If Premier Airlines knew about her fear of flying, they never would have hired her to be their marketing assistant—but it’s not like Avery wants a lifelong career. Right now she simply wants a job to pay her bills…and fund a few little shopping excursions, too.
Her new lifestyle comes with a price tag, as Avery is not only faced with paying a ridiculous rent but finds she’s perceived as one of the vacant, husband-hunting fashionistas who live in the area. Avery resents this stereotype—so she doesn’t want a lifelong career, and she loves fashions she can’t afford, but that doesn’t mean she is empty-headed and spoiled, does it?
When an opportunity to participate in a documentary at work arises, Avery finds a two-fold solution to her problems. She’ll earn extra money for it, and the documentary will show her as a serious career woman, enabling her to shed that husband-hunting fashionista label for good.
When the camera is on, Avery attempts to be a motivated professional woman. But when she is challenged by Deacon Ryan, the videographer assigned to cover her story, Avery finds herself wanting things she was never supposed to want—like a lasting career—and Deacon. And Avery might just gain more from the experience than a perfect career image and extra cash to put in her Tory Burch wallet…
~ RELEASE DATE ~
September 10, 2014
~ EXCERPT ~
~ ABOUT THE AUTHOR ~
“We were supposed to be together forever,” Bree
says, breaking through my angry thoughts. “I mean, he had been acting distant
and irritated lately, but I thought that was the stress from graduation and
getting ready to move. I had no idea he was thinking of this. None. Alex was
supposed to marry me. How do I deal with this, Avery? How?”
I hug her. I have to answer this carefully. I can’t
say Alex is a bastard. Because if they did work it out—which I’m not in favor
of because this is a huge red flag if this is how he deals with things—but if
they did, Bree would know my true feelings forever. I have to say something
thoughtful. Something soothing and wise. My eyes land on the stack of magazines
on the coffee table. Last month’s FLIRTY! is on top, and I see this
headline: “Don’t Let His Emotional Immaturity Ruin Your Life.”
Bingo.
“Bree, don’t let Alex’s emotional immaturity ruin
your life,” I say gently. “This has nothing to do with you and everything to do
with his own maturity issues.”
Bree moves back from me, amazement etched on her
tear-stained face. “How do you always know what to say?”
“Because you’re my best friend. Now go on back to my
bedroom, first door on the left. You can wash your face in my bathroom. Then curl
up in my bed, and I’ll bring you something stronger than wine.”
“I’m so glad I’m here. I love you, Avery,” Bree
says, sniffling.
“I love you, too,” I say to the friend who is like
my sister. “Now go on,” I add, standing up and pulling her up off the couch.
“I’ll be right there.”
***
“Let’s do a one-on-one interview,” Deke says.
“Sure,” I say, taking another sip of wine.
He quickly sets up a backdrop and puts his camera on
a tripod. I sit down on a barstool in front of the black screen, and Deke asks
me to talk about my friendship with Bree. I give a brief history, explaining
how close we are and how we’ve gone through the ups and downs of life together
and always will.
Deke then shuts off the camera.
“That’s interesting advice that you gave to Bree
tonight,” he says slowly, his eyes piercing through me.
And damn it, despite the fact that I don’t like him,
a tingle shoots down my spine.
“Well, it’s easy to give advice to Bree. We’re more
like sisters than friends. And because we know each other so well, I know what
to say to her in a time of crisis.”
“I see,” Deke says slowly. “So are you going to
advise her on the hot colors for pedicures this season, too?”
Suddenly I can see the FLIRTY! cover on the
coffee table in my head. I quickly glance over at it and see the pedicure
headline, right underneath the “Don’t Let His Emotional Immaturity Ruin Your
Life” one.
Oh shit.
~ EXCERPT ~
Sullivan reaches for my hair again. I jerk my head to the side, moving it out of Sullivan’s reach, because I think I might scream if he touches my hair one more time.
Okay. Now Deke will come over here with Zach. I’ll greet him, introduce him to my friends, and then Bree and I can go sit with them at another table.
Wait a second. Deke and Zach are walking over to the dartboard. I quickly realize Deke has no intention of coming over here.
He turns around and looks at me, his eyes burning into mine for a second. Deke takes a sip of his beer, puts it back on the table, and picks up some darts. He immediately turns his attention to the dartboard, as if I’m not even here.
Oooh! That’s it. I’ve had it.
“Excuse me,” I say, nudging Sullivan. “I need to get out, please.”
“But I just got here,” Sullivan snaps, sounding annoyed. “I haven’t even had a drink yet.”
I don’t say another word. I let my eyes tell Sullivan I intend to get out of this booth, even if it means climbing over him or crawling underneath the table.
Sullivan sighs heavily and slides out. I turn to Bree briefly before leaving.
“I see someone I need to talk to,” I say simply. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I slide out of the booth and make my way across the bar. I go up to Deke, who is propped against the edge of a barstool. His strong arms are folded across his chest, a bottle of beer in one hand as he watches Zach throw darts.
I stop dead in my tracks as I approach him. I take in what he’s wearing—a beautiful azure T-shirt that shows off his athletic upper body and jeans. His hair is perfectly tousled, his face lightly shaded with blondish-brown stubble. And he’s so damn hot and mysterious that I’m suddenly unable to breathe.
Deke turns and I find myself mad all over again, because now he’s the one playing a game.
I march up to him and before I can stop myself, I blurt out what is going through my head.
“Why didn’t you come rescue me?” I yell at him, exasperated.
Deke studies me for a moment. He takes a swig of his beer, casually puts the bottle on the table next to him, and leans toward me, lowering his head so it’s next to my ear.
“I wasn’t aware that you needed to be rescued from the man of your dreams, Fashionista,” he murmurs over the music.
Every inch of me comes alive as his words vibrate against my ear. I get goose bumps. My skin in tingling in this delicious way I’ve never experienced before.
He stands back up and studies me. I’m about to respond when he gently puts his thumb on my cheek, wiping away a streak of lip-gloss that Sullivan has left behind.
Oh.My.God. I feel a million sparks the second Deke touches me. I shiver and suck in a breath of air, unnerved by the experience of his skin against mine.
“So do you need to be rescued?” he asks.
Sullivan reaches for my hair again. I jerk my head to the side, moving it out of Sullivan’s reach, because I think I might scream if he touches my hair one more time.
Okay. Now Deke will come over here with Zach. I’ll greet him, introduce him to my friends, and then Bree and I can go sit with them at another table.
Wait a second. Deke and Zach are walking over to the dartboard. I quickly realize Deke has no intention of coming over here.
He turns around and looks at me, his eyes burning into mine for a second. Deke takes a sip of his beer, puts it back on the table, and picks up some darts. He immediately turns his attention to the dartboard, as if I’m not even here.
Oooh! That’s it. I’ve had it.
“Excuse me,” I say, nudging Sullivan. “I need to get out, please.”
“But I just got here,” Sullivan snaps, sounding annoyed. “I haven’t even had a drink yet.”
I don’t say another word. I let my eyes tell Sullivan I intend to get out of this booth, even if it means climbing over him or crawling underneath the table.
Sullivan sighs heavily and slides out. I turn to Bree briefly before leaving.
“I see someone I need to talk to,” I say simply. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I slide out of the booth and make my way across the bar. I go up to Deke, who is propped against the edge of a barstool. His strong arms are folded across his chest, a bottle of beer in one hand as he watches Zach throw darts.
I stop dead in my tracks as I approach him. I take in what he’s wearing—a beautiful azure T-shirt that shows off his athletic upper body and jeans. His hair is perfectly tousled, his face lightly shaded with blondish-brown stubble. And he’s so damn hot and mysterious that I’m suddenly unable to breathe.
Deke turns and I find myself mad all over again, because now he’s the one playing a game.
I march up to him and before I can stop myself, I blurt out what is going through my head.
“Why didn’t you come rescue me?” I yell at him, exasperated.
Deke studies me for a moment. He takes a swig of his beer, casually puts the bottle on the table next to him, and leans toward me, lowering his head so it’s next to my ear.
“I wasn’t aware that you needed to be rescued from the man of your dreams, Fashionista,” he murmurs over the music.
Every inch of me comes alive as his words vibrate against my ear. I get goose bumps. My skin in tingling in this delicious way I’ve never experienced before.
He stands back up and studies me. I’m about to respond when he gently puts his thumb on my cheek, wiping away a streak of lip-gloss that Sullivan has left behind.
Oh.My.God. I feel a million sparks the second Deke touches me. I shiver and suck in a breath of air, unnerved by the experience of his skin against mine.
“So do you need to be rescued?” he asks.
~ ABOUT THE AUTHOR ~
Aven Ellis has been writing fiction since she was sixteen. She studied communications at a large Midwestern university, and after graduation, Aven worked as a reporter for a community newspaper, followed by a stint at a public relations agency.
But writing about city council meetings and restaurant franchises was not as much fun as writing for young women trying to figure out their careers and potential boyfriends. So Aven got herself a job in television that allowed her to write at night. Connectivity is Aven’s debut novel; Waiting For Prince Harry and Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista (New Adult romantic comedy) will be published next year.
Aven lives in Dallas with her family. When she is not writing, Aven enjoys shopping, cooking, connecting with friends on social media, and watching any show that features Gordon Ramsay.
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