Sweetheart In High Heels Part 1

SWEETHEART IN HIGH HEELS.

by GEMMA HALLIDAY.

Chapter One.

Being the wife of a cop isn't all it's cracked up to be. Take now, for instance. I was supposed to be having a nice, romantic dinner with my husband at our favorite Italian restaurant. The ambiance was perfect a" drippy candles, couples holding hands at tables for two, soft music, dim lighting, and me in a brand new black, strapless dress that perfectly matched the new slingbacks on my freshly pedicured feet. The only thing missing from my romantic evening?

The man.

I was sitting at the table alone, enjoying my third helping of bread as I waited for my husband who was nowa I looked down at the readout on my cell phonea officially twenty minutes late.

Not that I wasn't used to Ramirez showing up late. It had actually become kind of a theme in our marriage so far. My husband was Detective Jack Ramirez, L.A.P.D. homicide division. To say his work schedule was unpredictable would be the understatement of the century. Most of the time, I tried not to let it bother me. I was, after all, self-employed as a high-end footware designer, so it wasn't hard to set my own work hours around his. Sure, it meant some late nights alone and some early mornings listening to his cell go off as the captain called him into investigate another dead body abandoned on their precinct's turf. But usually I could let those minor annoyances roll off me as par for the course being a cop's wife.

Usually.

Tonight had been a special night. One we'd planned weeks in advance. I'd checked and double checked to make sure he was scheduled to have the night off. I'd even reminded him that morning about our seven o'-clock reservation.

And yet, here I was. Alone.

Again.

Some days, I wished I'd married a nice reliable plumber.

My cell rang in the sparkly silver purse I'd picked out to match my slingbacks, and I checked the readout. Ramirez.

"Hey," I said, hitting the on b.u.t.ton. "Where are you?" I silently prayed he'd say on the 405, stuck in traffic on his way to meet me.

"Maddie, I'm so sorry," he started.

d.a.m.n. No good news ever began that way.

"Sorry for being just a few minutes late to dinner?" I asked hopefully.

Ramirez sighed on the other end. "Look, I'm really, really sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make dinner tonight after all."

I felt my hope melt faster than the romantic candle in the center of my table for one. "Great."

"I wish I could be there," Ramirez quickly added.

"Who is it this time?" I asked.

"Who?"

"The dead body. I am a.s.suming you're standing me up for a dead body, right?"

I could hear a pause on the other end. "I'm really sorry. But, yeah, we've got a body in Chatsworth."

It took a certain kind of girl to keep from taking it personally that her husband routinely chose dead bodies over her.

Too bad I wasn't that kind of girl.

"Again?" I moaned, unable to keep the whiney toddler out of my voice.

"I'm sorry," Ramirez repeated for the umpteenth time. "Look, I gotta go."

"Will I see you later?" I asked, signaling the server for our bill. Which, hopefully, would be small considering all I'd had was bread and water.

I could hear Ramirez shaking his head in response on the other end. "I doubt it. Looks like it's going to be a late night. It sounds like it's a real mess over here." Even as he said it, I could hear sirens in the background, signaling he was approaching the scene.

"Fine," I said, not even trying to keep the sulk out of my voice. "I guess I'll see youa sometime."

"Sorry, Maddie," Ramirez said again. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

Then he hung up.

I looked across the restaurant at a couple in the corner, holding hands, smiling at each other, sharing a bottle of the same wine Ramirez and I had planned on ordering.

What did you want to bet he was a plumber?

"He left you alone at Giseppi's?" My best friend, Dana, stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes as she cranked her elliptical up to nine.

I nodded. "Yes. Again," I added for emphasis. I took a long sip from my water bottle. Even though my machine was only on four, I was sweating twice as hard as Dana. To say I was a regular at the gym would be a bigger exaggeration than calling Snookie a celebrity. Usually it took an act of G.o.d or a too tight favorite pair of jeans to get me here. But when Dana had called me that morning, I'd been in the mood to blow off a little steam, and the gym seemed like as a good a place as any to do that. So, I'd relented. A decision I was having serious second thoughts about now as I sweated a river.

"Geeze, Maddie, I'm so sorry. I know you were looking forward to a night out finally."

"And you know what's even worse?" I added.

"It gets worse?"

"He didn't even come home last night. Called from the station around midnight saying he was pulling another all-nighter. That's three this week. I swear I fall asleep to Conan more than I sleep with my husband."

"Dude. Sucks," Dana said, shaking her head in sympathy as she ratcheted her machine up another notch.

"Tell me about it," I mumbled.

"Oh, hey! I know what will cheer you up," Dana said.

"What?"

"Shopping. You picked out your awards dress yet?' she asked.

Last year I had been lucky enough to land a gig as the shoe designer for a period film that was nominated for a Viewer's Choice Award for best picture. Not that I, as the lowly shoe designer, would get an award if we won, but it had garnered me an invitation to the red carpet event a" my very first.

I nodded. "Yep. I decided to go with the vintage Versace."

"The black one?"

"With the rhinestones."

"So pretty," Dana cooed.

"And, I designed the perfect shoes to go with them. They just arrived yesterday. Gorgeous."

Dana let out a girlie "eek!" and scrunched up her shoulders. "I can't wait to see them!"

"Okay, enough about me," I said, the thought of red caret fashion pulling me out of my pity-party for one. "Tell me about your night out with Ricky."

Dana rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Where to even begin?"

"That good, huh?"

"Well, Ricky had this thing to go to on Wilshire. Some big shot producer's birthday party. But the paparazzi must have got wind of it somehow, because they chased us all the way from his place in Hollywood to the event. It was like we had our own parade with flash bulbs going off all over the place."

Dana was dating Ricky Montgomery, the movie star. He'd started his career on the primetime drama Magnolia Lane, playing a gardener so hunky that every desperate housewife on the street l.u.s.ted after him. But three seasons in, his character had been killed in a Homeowner's a.s.sociation riot, and Ricky had moved on to film roles, the latest of which had just launched him from supporting actor to full-fledged leading man status. On the up side, he'd been able to pull some strings and get Dana a part playing opposite him, meaning that my actress slash aerobics instructor best friend had finally been able to drop the slash aerobics instructor part of her job description. On the downside, she'd been featured on TMZ twice already with less-than-flattering photos of her leaving Ricky's place early in the morning, post-party and pre-coffee. Living in the public eye had its price. (Even if that price was in the millions per picture.) "But was the party good?" I asked, huffing as I lowered my machine down a level.

Dana shrugged. "I guess. I mean, it was all business, you know? Schmoozing with the right agents, rubbing elbows with the right producers. I never thought partying would be so much work. But at least Ricky made it up to me when we got back to his place."

She grinned. But then must have seen the look on envy my face, as she quickly said. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Look, I'm sure Ramirez will make it up to you soon, too."

"That's what he keeps promising," I agreed, though I had my doubts about his ability to make good on that promise before his captain called him in again.

"Well, what about Valentine's Day?" Dana asked. "Surely you guys have something special planned?"

I nodded. "Definitely."

Not only was this coming Sat.u.r.day our first Valentine's Day together as a married couple, but it was also our first anniversary. Yes, we'd gotten married on the most romantic holiday of all. And I was determined that our first anniversary would top it.

"I rented us a room at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. The honeymoon suite. Complete with champagne, caviar, and a hot tub for two."

"Ooooo," Dana said. "Very romantic."

"The only problem," I told her, "is that I have no idea what to get Ramirez for a Valentine's anniversary gift."

"Lingerie?" she suggested.

"That's more for me, isn't it?"

"Not if it's the right lingerie," Dana said waggling her eyebrows up and down.

I grinned. "Point taken. But I was hoping to come up with something a little more personal."

"How about a personal love poem?"

I actually snorted at that suggestion. Out loud. (Though, in my defense, I'd been working out for over an hour. I was lucky I could produce breath at all, let alone a snort.) Ramirez was a cop. A tall, broad shouldered cop with a scar over one eyebrow and a tattoo of a panther running down his arm. Tough Guy didn't even begin to describe Ramirez. Not that he didn't have feelings. I'm sure he did. In fact, I knew he did, or I never would have married him. But I was pretty sure he did love poems about the same way I did boxinga with one eye shut and cringing the whole time.

"No. Love poem is out."

Dana pursed her lips together, thinking. "Okay, well what about something s.e.xy. Likea handcuffs?"

"He's a cop. He already has handcuffs."

"Fur lined ones?"

I rolled my eyes. "Vetoed."

"Okay, maybe not handcuffs. But I know this place that has all kinds of s.e.xy stuff like that."

"I don't knowa" I hedged.

"Trust me, it will be fun."

"What's the place called?"

"Peach's Pleasure Den."

"It sounds like a s.e.x shop."

"It's very cla.s.sy."

"A cla.s.sy s.e.x shop?"

"Come on, Maddie," Dana said, turning to me and shutting off her machine. "A couple sensual toys might be just what you need to keep Ramirez sleeping at home more often, you know what I mean?"

Honestly? It had been so long I almost didn't know what she meant.

Which, even though I still had my reservations, prompted me to nod in agreement. "Okay. Fine. I'll go look."

Dana grinned. A big, wicked thing that instantly had me second guessing my decision.

"Look!" I emphasized. "Just look."

Peach's Pleasure Den was located two blocks south of Laurel Canyon in Studio City, right between a dry cleaner and production company with the NBC logo emblazoned on the side of the building. In the windows of the Pleasure Den were mannequins dressed in bright red lingerie with little pink feathers and hearts placed in strategic places. The sign above the door flashed "open" in pink neon, and the sign to the right of the window said to ask about their latest latex fetish gear.

I was having serious second (and third, and fourth) thoughts.

"You know, I'm not sure this is really Ramirez's kind of place."

"Trust me, Maddie," Dana said, grabbing me by the arm and steering me inside. "This is every man's kind of place."