Fashion Jungle Read online

  "Fashion Jungle not only invites you into the fast-paced and imaginative world of fashion, it addresses important and unfortunate issues that occur within our industry, told through the experiences of four strong women. Thank you, Kathy, for taking us on this journey, sharing your truth and reminding us all that we must be rooted in authenticity as we pursue our wildest dreams."

  —Ashley Graham, Supermodel and Entrepreneur

  "Fashion Jungle is a thrilling read that takes us deep inside the fast tempo world of big city life and its four female forces making their way through the fashion industry’s drama, pain and triumph. Exciting, current and a must-read."

  —Vanessa Williams, Award Winning Actress, Singer and Author

  “Make sure you don’t miss Fashion Jungle from an iconic model who had a tendency to cause car accidents just by crossing the street. I remember Kathy because of her beauty, but I mostly remember her because she always made you feel loved.

  One time I was staying with Kathy at the Sunset Marquis and she tried to order us a pizza and they thought she was a little girl. She had the sweetest voice ...she worked really hard to lower it. It’s just one of those funny memories I have of her.

  Always warm, always kind, that’s Kathy!”

  —Andie MacDowell, Actress and L’Oreal Spokesperson

  "Fashion Jungle is an intriguing tale of what goes on behind the scenes in the modeling industry. It is a great read!"

  —Jane Seymour, Award Winning Actress, Author, Producer

  "Ever wonder the truth about the fashion industry from a model's perspective? Read this book. Kathy Ireland was right in the middle of it, and what makes this such a compelling story is her extraordinary insight and compassion. I thank her for turning on the lights."

  —Rene Russo, Actress

  "Kathy Ireland is a fashion icon whose understanding and experience in the world of fashion and modeling is matchless. Fashion Jungle takes the reader on a bewitching yet terrifying journey of what can be, has been and never should be. Kathy’s knowledge and sensitivity on the subject reveal how alluring the dark side of such a beautiful business can be.”

  —Nigel Barker, Fashion Photographer and TV Personality

  "A great fashion read with suspense from the very start. Leaves you wanting to read more and more."

  —Michael Costello, Fashion Designer and TV Personality

  “Through it all, Ireland stresses the rewards that can come from navigating the right way and remaining true to yourself.”

  —Gillian Zoe Segal, Author

  “Kathy Ireland, a modern day superwoman, supermodel and supermogul — tells a hauntingly beautiful story based on her own experience that explores what is deep beyond the surface of all the glitz and glamour of the fashion industry. “Fashion Jungle” is a chilling novel that exposes what really goes on behind-the-scenes from danger to deception to a triumph in female empowerment and how staying true to one’s self, even against all odds, is the ultimate superpower.”

  —Dixie Dixon, Fashion Photographer

  "Wow! Reading Fashion Jungle is like being able to be behind the scenes during a Fashion Shoot. What a way for anyone to get to experience a little bit of what goes on in 'our world'. Loved it!"

  —Luis Casco, Celebrity Make-up Artist and Beauty Author

  “Reads like a front row seat to Fashion Week. Effortlessly capturing the glamour and energy of Manhattan with just enough twists to keep the pages turning."

  —Lauren Layne, New York Times Bestselling Author

  "An edgy, riveting, and rare glimpse into the dark side of the fashion industry. I see this as an incredible cautionary tale for women everywhere."

  —Audrey Carlan, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author

  Fashion Jungle

  Kathy Ireland

  Rachel Van Dyken

  Copyright © 2020 KATHY IRELAND

  Copyright © 2020 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  FASHION JUNGLE

  Copyright © 2020 KATHY IRELAND

  Copyright © 2020 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7336680-5-7

  Editing by

  Oxford Comma Editing, Theresa Kohler

  Kay Springsteen

  Chelle Olson

  Cover Design by

  Jena Brignola

  Formatting & Editing by

  Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction

  Table of Contents

  Praise For Fashion Jungle

  Front Matter

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Kathy Ireland

  About Rachel Van Dyken

  For Greg…

  Because of Love…

  we’re forever on The 4th Watch.

  ~Kathy

  To every person who reads these pages

  may you feel acceptance and love,

  may you find your happily ever after

  and realize you ARE enough.

  Hugs, RVD

  It happened too fast.

  She wouldn’t listen to reason.

  They’d tried everything.

  One movement, large enough for her to stumble.

  Big enough to set the universe into action.

  One movement.

  One decision.

  A scream.

  And then, nothingness.

  “Nobody has to know,” a voice said from the left, and they listened because the alternative was unimaginable.

  “It was an accident.”

  “And the evidence?” A finger pointed to the notebook next to the blood that trailed down her chin. “What do we do about the evidence? What if there’s more?”

  “You better hope t
o God there isn’t… because all of it points to you.”

  Nobody has to know.

  Nobody has to know.

  The blood was cleaned.

  Nobody has to know.

  The future was set.

  Nobody has to know.

  And somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed.

  Time’s. Up.

  Rain slid off the umbrella.

  Dane counted the drops.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Why did it always rain at funerals? Maybe because the world was painfully aware that it had lost someone good—someone incredible. Perhaps this was the Earth’s way of mourning while Dane couldn’t.

  He was too livid to mourn.

  Familiar faces locked onto his. The entire fashion world had come to pay its respects, even politicians and people who feared him as much as they loved her.

  And all of them seemed altered.

  A chill ran down Dane’s spine as he locked eyes with Frederick. The man was married, and yet he cried as if he’d lost more than a friend, more than his wife’s best friend—almost as if there were something hidden behind the depths of his dark gaze.

  Her best friends surrounded Dane, each of them staring at the ground in disbelief as the casket was lowered.

  It was a nightmare.

  Dane had done nothing but dedicate his life to collecting secrets so that he could protect those he loved.

  His eyes locked on Zoe.

  She refused to look at him.

  Maybe because he looked so much like her.

  He was the darkness to Zoe’s light.

  He had done everything to protect Danica.

  And still.

  Still, he’d found her with a crumpled-up note in her hand that said simply: I’m sorry.

  The police said suicide.

  But Dane wasn’t stupid.

  His sister had been murdered.

  Because she was a fighter.

  Because he couldn’t bear to think he hadn’t seen the signs.

  Because he wouldn’t survive if suicide was her truth.

  His gut clenched as he squeezed his gloved hands together.

  The leather tightened around his knuckles.

  Somebody would pay for this.

  Dearly.

  Somebody standing around that casket knew the truth.

  And he was a patient man. He searched the faces once more and imagined the number of secrets, the amount of deception, and how each and every one of them was drowning in it.

  The land wept.

  He did not.

  Because he chose to focus on revenge… on collecting trust, secrets, money, power. He would amass it all, and then he would bring hell down on this city.

  On these people who had somehow made Danica feel less than worthy.

  On the plastic faces with their plastic bodies.

  Dane would destroy them all.

  He stared down at the three women again and pressed his lips into a grim line. He would destroy them all.

  And he was going to use Danica’s best friends to meet that goal.

  A man wrought his revenge not in seconds, minutes, or even days. No, he found his revenge in years, by planning, building, brick by brick.

  Thunder boomed.

  An omen, perhaps.

  Not that it mattered. The devil owned his soul the minute Dane had handed it over in exchange for one thing.

  Power.

  “Let us pray.” The pastor lowered his head.

  Everyone but Frederick did the same.

  Dane narrowed his eyes.

  The last person his sister had been seen with refused to pray.

  Dane lowered his head with a cruel smile on his lips. Dane would kill Frederick as a bonus.

  Because beneath the sadness etched in his eyes, Dane saw something he knew all too well.

  Guilt.

  New York Fashion Week Countdown - 17 Days

  It was impossible not to notice him. His height alone dominated half the people in the room, and the other half, well, the other half didn’t pack the same amount of muscle, did they?

  Zoe sipped her champagne and fought to keep her attention on her friends, Everlee and Brittany. They’d fought tooth and nail for this moment. Twenty years in the modeling industry had a way of leaving a woman jaded, and they’d shed enough tears between the three of them to create a tropical storm.

  But it was worth it.

  For this moment.

  Zoe flashed a smile at Everlee, who thrust her champagne flute into the air. “To the new fall line.”

  “Hear, hear!” Brittany’s laugh was easy and carefree. The woman was walking, talking sunlight from her long, golden-brown locks to the freckles dusting her nose. She’d been America’s sweetheart for so long, it would be impossible to think of any other model—retired or not—taking her place. She was still the it girl, while the rest of them clawed to stay on top. It seemed that Brittany didn’t need to lift a fingernail to stay there. Editor at one of the most sought-after magazines in the world, and they still asked her to pose for pictures because they had to do additional reprints every time she graced a cover.

  See? Lucky. Sunshine. If Zoe didn’t like her so much, she’d want to strangle her with the strap of her purse or at least set all her heels on fire.

  Brittany winked at Zoe. Brittany was chugging champagne like it was water. Uneasiness settled in Zoe’s gut; she knew why her friend was overindulging.

  All of them were painfully aware of what day it was. They just didn’t know why Brittany let loose on this day every year. All they knew was that she’d been hospitalized and had lost some of the light behind her eyes. Dane had been there then.

  He was always there. Rescuing, making the world think he was its savior when he was the devil himself.

  And then there was Zoe.

  Kohl-lined cat eyes.

  Long, lanky legs.

  Brown-skinned.

  Short, ebony hair. Zoe.

  She and Brittany couldn’t be more opposite if they tried.

  “He’s staring.” Everlee sipped her champagne and smiled into her glass. Her lips were stained a dark purple hue that brought out her flawless porcelain skin. “When are you going to put him out of his misery, Zoe? I mean really, the guy’s had this torch for you since… I don’t know, the day you took the subway for the first time and ended up in the Bronx.”

  Zoe glared and tried to settle her racing pulse. Stay calm. Appear indifferent. “Okay, first of all, I came from California. We don’t do subways, we drive cars. Remember what those are?” She snapped her fingers and hoped nobody saw the tremble in her hand. “Oh, right, Miss I don’t have a license and would probably have to ask a homeless person to parallel park for me.”

  Everlee shrugged and winked her long, elegant eyelashes in defiance. “Frederick has a driver for me.”

  Brittany let out a dreamy sigh. “Must be nice to have a world-renowned photographer in your bed—”

  “Ladies.” Frederick chose that moment to wrap his bulky arm around Everlee and press a kiss to her neck. “I missed you, sweetheart.”

  The guy had a smile for days and a body that young models whispered about whenever he was on set. The better half of Hollywood had been begging for years to put his face on a movie poster. Who needed to know how to act when you looked like that?

  “Cute, I just saw you five minutes ago. What do you really want?” She patted his chest lovingly.

  Zoe gritted her teeth. While Brittany smiled at them adoringly as if their happiness was her happiness. See? Perfect. She was perfect.

  He sighed and then pulled Everlee against his chest. Her champagne sloshed over the glass and ran in a tiny bead down her pointer finger as he leaned in and whispered, “A couple of the guys wanted to head uptown. Dane has a new club where everyone has to wear masks and use secret names. Sounds fun. Plus, it’s good for business, you know how it is. Networking.”

  Everlee made a face tha
t basically said she’d answer yes to whatever he asked. “Sounds like a really good place for infidelity.” She shook her head with a teasing smirk. “Thanks, Dane.”

  As if he heard the private conversation, Dane nodded in their direction.

  Zoe scowled. She felt that heated look all the way down her slim thighs, past her toned calves and elegant ankles, and into her new Jimmy Choos. The guy had always been bad news.

  His sister had started in the industry the same week the three of them had, and they all became fast friends—which happened when an agency forced models to basically sleep on top of one another until their big break. Most girls ended up moving back home.

  The conditions at fourteen years old were more like summer camp than making it in the big city.

  “Frederick?” Dane’s voice cut through Zoe’s memories like a knife. She mentally cursed. Did he need to have such a rough, exotic voice? Like he couldn’t help the rasp that always accompanied his magnificent presence. The entire city worshiped the ground he walked on. Maybe that was why fat decided that it couldn’t attach itself to his body—it was actually offended by the idea of upsetting him.

  “Sweetheart.” Frederick gripped his wife’s right hand and then kissed her palm. “I promise I won’t be out too late.”

  Everlee let out a sigh that Zoe knew was coming. She was definitely going to say yes. Then again, when did Frederick Grassi ever hear a no? That would be a big fat never. He was almost as intolerable as Dane. Beautiful men like that had no business standing so close to one another. Zoe’s right eye started to twitch with annoyance.

  “Fine.” Everlee smiled warmly at her husband. Zoe ignored the ache in her stomach and didn’t miss the flash of pain in Brittany’s eyes as she took another long sip of what was soon another empty glass. Not that Zoe was counting. At thirty-four, both women were single, still trying to find their person who understood the darkness of their pasts and the way it clung to them like armor in the present. Not to mention, it was nearly impossible to find a man who wasn’t intimidated by a woman who knew both her mind and her body.

  Finding a man like that in New York was basically the equivalent of finding a unicorn. They were either intimidated or narcissistic sociopaths who would need a magnifying glass to locate their tiny hearts—if they even had them.