Читать книгу Lindsey Kelk 8-Book ‘I Heart’ Collection - Lindsey Kelk - Страница 50

The short walk from The Roosevelt to The Hollywood was just enough time to convince myself that the whole cheek-stroking incident hadn’t actually happened. And if it had, it was just because, as I had expected, James Jacobs couldn’t communicate with a girl unless he was trying to get in her pants. Except it hadn’t been that way all day. Looks aside, he was exactly the opposite of what I had expected. He wasn’t arrogant, he wasn’t rude and, irritatingly for Angela Clark, interviewer extraordinaire, he didn’t seem to want to talk about himself at all. Hmm. I’d been completely ready to fall in love with his beautiful face and expecting to grit my teeth and tolerate him being a total arse, but I wasn’t at all prepared for him to be nice. Even nicer than nice maybe. I needed a drink.

Standing by the barrier in The Hollywood’s rooftop bar, mojito in hand, the big white letters nestling in the hills didn’t seem any more real than they did on Saturday. If living in New York was like walking into a living movie, arriving in LA was like walking onto the set. It all seemed slightly artificial, as though the sky and the hills and the Hollywood sign could just pull away to make way for a more successful city if this one didn’t test well. I leaned over the balcony, and tried to take it all in. Nope, still not buying it.

‘Hey, English. Where’s Lopez at?’

‘Hi Joe,’ I smiled as he leaned against the barrier, his tight black shirt pulling against his arms. I didn’t remember them being so massive, but I guessed that was one of the perks of shaking cocktails all day. Insta-biceps. ‘I’ve been out all day, no idea where she is.’

‘Yeah,’ he held his hand up to shield the sun out of his eyes. ‘Jenny said you were interviewing James Jacobs. How’s it going?’

He stroked my cheek and I think he was going to kiss me and I really wanted him to and that makes me a horrible person because I have a lovely boyfriend but he hasn’t called me or texted me and isn’t it OK anyway because he’s a movie star? I thought.

‘OK, I suppose,’ I said.

Joe snorted. ‘Guy’s a douche. I’d love to hear what shit he’s spinning you.’

‘No really.’ I was actually a little bit surprised. I didn’t know Joe well but he didn’t seem like the kind of person to be jealous. ‘He’s not like you’d think. Not like he is in all the magazines.’

‘Please, I don’t read that kind of trash.’ Joe turned around, resting his back against the barrier. ‘I’ve met him and I’m telling you, he’s an asshole.’

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Where? When? What did he do?’

‘You’re like a proper reporter now, huh?’ Joe laughed. ‘Who, where, what, why, when? You really have changed, English.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, resting the chilled glass against my forehead. ‘Still haven’t got a blind clue what I’m doing.’

‘You seem to be doing pretty good to me.’ Joe draped an arm over my shoulders and gave me a half-hug. ‘You’ve been here, what, six months? And from nowhere, here you are, interviewing douche-bags in Hollywood. And, I might add, looking totally hot. I bet Lopez is pissed that she gave you such a great makeover.’

‘Thank you?’ It seemed like at least half a compliment. ‘But I think Jenny’s safe. She’s totally incredible anyway. And so ridiculously gorgeous,’ I added, marking it up mentally to score some points with Jenny if she was still mad later on.

‘Yeah, Lopez has always had it. But living with her looks good on you,’ he squeezed my shoulder. ‘Hey, whatever happened with you and that guy in Brooklyn? Is that still through?’

‘Alex?’ I was surprised Joe remembered. He’d moved to LA about a month after Alex and I had failed miserably the first time around and I hadn’t mentioned his name once after he broke it off. ‘We actually got back together.’

‘Too bad.’ Joe held my gaze a second too long before I broke off to stare back out at the hills. What was going on today? Did I have an ‘I’m easy and desperate’ sign taped to my back? Or was my dress still tucked in my knickers?

‘So tell me how you know James. Did he stay here?’ I asked. I might not be an amazing interviewer but I was very experienced in changing the subject.

‘Nah, I’ve met him out a couple of times.’ Joe frowned. ‘Guy’s got an attitude. He’s just kinda off. Thinks he’s something special, I guess.’

‘That’s so weird.’ I couldn’t quite believe we were talking about the same person. ‘He’s been such a gentleman to me.’

‘Maybe he’s different with the ladies,’ Joe shrugged. ‘And that fag he hangs out with. What an ass.’

‘Blake might be a bit highly strung,’ I said tightly, ‘but I don’t see how his being gay makes him an ass.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Joe held out his hands, ‘I got no issue with that, man. This is Hollywood, more than half the guys out here are gay. He’s just, well … He doesn’t play well with others.’

‘Why don’t you come out with us tonight?’ Two birds, one stone, I thought. Jenny will forgive me if I bring Joe and Joe gets to see that James isn’t, well, whatever he thinks he is. ‘We’re going to Teddy’s.’

‘With James Jacobs?’

‘And Jenny,’ I offered. ‘Come on, I’m sure we’ll hardly see James. He’s just going to get us in.’

‘I could have got you in,’ Joe sniffed.

‘Well, I’d really like it if you came. Jenny too,’ I said, squeezing his arm.

Joe paused, looked back at the bar he had been tending all day and then back at me. ‘What time?’

Since she’d blown back into my room around eight, Jenny had been in a much better mood than when we’d last spoke. But she hadn’t breathed a word about her whereabouts, waving me off with an insincere ‘just doing stuff’ in reply to any and all of my questions. Not too irritating. After what felt like a lifetime in the shower, she emerged a goddess, her masses of curls bouncing around her face like a halo, skin glowing with two days of sunshine and the most infectious smile I’d seen on her in months.

‘LA suits you then?’ I asked, as we jostled for space at the make-up mirror. I couldn’t help but feel as though she should have to apply her make-up blindfolded as a handicap. Where the sun had given her a golden sheen, the beach had left me blotchy and my hair was just an unmanageable mess.

‘I’d forgotten how much fun it was,’ she admitted. ‘Makes me feel like doing crazy stuff. Makes me feel – I don’t know – alive? Is that too cheesy?’

‘No. I know exactly how you feel,’ I said, sketching around my eyes with a jet-black Mac pencil. The aim was to draw attention away from my riotous mane and flaky nose. Not too big an ask, then. ‘Not about here, admittedly, but that’s how I feel about New York. Maybe you needed to get away, give yourself a bit of a kick-start.’

‘And now I need something else.’ She gave me a wink and started on her fourth coat of mascara. ‘Seriously, I know you can’t make a move on James Jacobs, but what’s the protocol on me taking him for a test drive? I’ll give you all the details. Now that would be an exclusive worth reading.’

‘Jenny,’ I warned, slipping into my new bright yellow Phillip Lim mini-dress. I’d hoped the sunshiny colour would lift me into an LA frame of mind. So far, all it had lifted was my credit limit, but it was beautiful. ‘I don’t think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had. What about Joe?’

‘What about Joe?’ She pulled on what I recognized immediately as her lucky dress. A beautiful red, purple and gold Alice + Olivia silk number with a deep V-neck slashed to an empire line. The crossed straps on the back emphasized her flawless tanned skin and tiny waist while the flared skirt whirled around her as she moved. My God, she meant business. ‘If I’m not totally mistaken, Joe had his chance already. You should always aim for the top, Angie. If you don’t believe you’re worth the best, why will anyone else?’

‘Oh dear, Oprah Lopez is back,’ I said, slicking on some clear lip gloss and hoping for the best. ‘You know I am just as keen as the next man for you to have some empty, meaningless, hopefully utterly demeaning sex, but does “the best” have to be the man I’m interviewing?’

‘Of course not,’ Jenny took my shoulders and looked at me closely, assessing my make-up. ‘I mean, if James knows Jake Gyllenhaal I’ll be more than happy to trade up.’

‘That so wouldn’t be trading up,’ I said quietly, taking the new lip gloss she held out. ‘James is definitely hotter than Jake. And nicer too, I bet. And a better actor.’

‘Uh-oh, someone has a crush,’ Jenny nodded at the peachy gloss. ‘And what does Alex think about you trading up?’

‘Please …’ I blushed. I was so happy that she was talking to me again, it just didn’t seem necessary to tell her about the cheek stroking. ‘Not even a movie star would be trading up from Alex. You can’t compare hotness with love, can you?’

‘Wait, he’s said he loves you?’ Jenny stopped in her nose-powdering tracks. ‘When did this happen and why am I only finding out now?’

‘Well, no,’ I admitted. ‘He still hasn’t actually said it. I just meant that I wouldn’t swap what we have for anything.’

‘Angie, I wish you would just pick up the phone and say it,’ Jenny said. ‘What are you waiting for? You can say it first, you know.’

‘I hate it when you flip into Oprah mode,’ I mumbled, slipping on my ever-ready Louboutins. How did a simple red sole transform a strappy gold sandal from ‘nice shoe’ to ‘spend-a-month’s-rent-on-me-and-I-will-complete-you’? Those shoes and I had been through a lot together, including breaking someone’s hand; and even though they should remind me of some not-so-good times, the effect they had on my legs was magical. And therefore they would always be forgiven everything.

‘So that’s it? You just don’t want to say it first?’ Jenny pressed on. I knew she wouldn’t rest until she got an answer. And the cow could always tell when I was lying.

‘No,’ I sighed, perching on the end of the bed to fasten my shoes. ‘I don’t want to say it first, OK?’

‘It’s more than OK,’ she said, sitting down next to me. ‘But really, I already know you love him, honey. Everyone knows. Erin knows, Vanessa knows, I think even Scottie in the diner knows. So I’m pretty certain Alex knows.’

‘His name isn’t Scottie,’ I sighed. ‘So you think I should say it?’

‘No, what I’m saying is, you wear your heart on your sleeve, Angie, and maybe this time you wait him out.’ Jenny combed my hair back off my face. ‘Let him do the running. If he loves you, he’ll say it.’

‘If.’ It was hours since we’d spoken and I was starting to get really annoyed that he hadn’t called back.

‘Anything else you want to tell me, doll?’ Jenny asked. ‘Because if he has done anything wrong—’

‘No, no.’ I breathed in deeply and stood up. ‘Just me being paranoid. He’s just been hard to get hold of the last couple of days. Come on, let’s go and get you some.’

‘Hell, yeah.’ She kicked on her sandals. ‘But he can’t say he wasn’t warned. If I see so much as a tear out of you because of him, I will kick his ass all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge.’

‘I’ll have to get you back to Brooklyn first,’ I said, linking arms and pulling her out of the room. ‘You seem awfully at home here.’

‘Well, let’s see how I get on with your movie star,’ Jenny said cheerfully. ‘I can always fly back in his private jet if I really have to.’

Joe was waiting in reception, propped against the desk in tight black jeans and second-skin grey T-shirt, artfully stretched at the deep V-neck. He was clearly taking his rivalry with James very seriously. Even if James didn’t know anything about it. Jenny literally leapt out of the lift and scooted over, curling herself into the crook of his arm, her dreams of private jets and Malibu mansions forgotten for at least the length of time it took us to walk from reception to James’s waiting car outside.

I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not, but he’d swapped the Hummer for the limo, much to Jenny’s delight. But nothing could compare to the look on her face once she was safely positioned between a slightly terrified-looking James and a slightly territorial-looking Joe. I hopped in next to Blake for the five-minute ride down to The Roosevelt, trying to pretend the awkward moments with both James and Joe had not happened. Trying and failing.

‘How come we have to drive five minutes down the road?’ I asked after the introductions were done. ‘It’s not terribly environmentally friendly, is it?’

‘Want to see what happens when I hang around Hollywood Boulevard at eleven at night?’ James asked, pressing the button to let down the blacked-out window. ‘Hi ladies,’ he called at a group of girls hovering outside Gap.

‘Omigod, are you …?’ The tall brunette closest to the limo dropped her drink, spilling Coke all over the pavement.

They peered inside at James and, honestly, even if he hadn’t been a megastar, I don’t think I would have been able to keep it together. His tight black shirt stretched over his ‘just finished a movie’ six-pack and his loose, straight-cut jeans couldn’t conceal his fantastic thighs. And even though he was sitting on it, I’d already had a sneak peek at his backside when he climbed across the limo seat. Not that I was looking.

‘Yeah, James Jacobs,’ he nodded, holding up a hand in a short wave. ‘Have a great evening.’

All three of the girls paled and stood open-mouthed for a split second as James buzzed the window back up. Then they broke out into an ear-piercing, glass-shattering scream. Before I could lean back into my seat, they were on the car. Actually on it.

‘Enough games, James?’ Blake sighed, as the limo began to move at a crawl, leaving the girls behind us. ‘This is all going to end up in her freaking magazine. Is that what you want?’

‘Does that happen everywhere you go?’ I asked, staring back at the girls standing in the middle of the street, clutching at each other just to stay vertical.

‘More or less everywhere,’ James laughed. ‘You didn’t notice it today?’

‘Only in the restaurant,’ I said, thinking back over the day. It was quite possible that people had been collapsing left, right and centre, but I had been so busy trying not to fall in love with James myself that my own mother could probably have passed out in front of us and I wouldn’t have noticed. ‘Wow. That must be a nightmare.’

‘You learn to live with it,’ he said, smiling at Jenny, who had been silent (for the first time in her life) for the whole journey but sat staring at James with the most ridiculous grin I had ever seen etched into her face. Joe, however, had a face like thunder. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea ever. ‘Shall we go in?’

Teddy’s really was fun, if not completely surreal. Like the rest of The Roosevelt, it was gloriously old Hollywood, and wandering through the darkened bar, past the subdued booths lined with wine-coloured velvet and mahogany-coloured people, I felt just like Elizabeth Taylor. If Elizabeth Taylor had been incredibly self-conscious about weighing at least as much as two of every other woman in the room. Whilst having to restrain her best friend from physically attacking every man in the room. But then maybe Elizabeth Taylor did have to do that, how would I know?

‘Jesus, Angie, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Jenny whispered as we were escorted through to a VIP table. ‘This is totally where I belong.’

‘Well, don’t rely on me hanging out with you when you’re here,’ I whispered back. ‘I feel like someone stuffed an Olsen twin down my dress. How thin are these girls? And I think Joe is going to deck James. Or Blake. Or both.’

Despite James’s attempt at conversation, Joe had maintained an impressive stony silence, except for when he was addressed by me or Jenny. Plus he and Blake had been exchanging stares ever since we got in the limo and it had only got worse since we arrived at the club.

‘So, Joe,’ I started with my quickly formulated plan of distraction. ‘Do you come here a lot?’

‘Mmmm,’ Joe nodded, swirling the beer he had insisted on buying himself at the bar, ‘with some of the guys from the hotel. And you know, sometimes I model a little. I actually did a job at the Tropicana a couple of weeks ago, the roof bar here.’ He sat down in between me and Jenny, sliding an arm around each of us. It might have looked casual, but the firm grip on my shoulder said it was anything but.

Jenny idly caught his fingers and entwined them with her own, even though her eyes were firmly locked on James. I was working extra hard at not making eye contact with anyone other than myself in the mirror behind the bar. And someone that looked just Kristen Stewart. Oh. And Kristen Stewart.

‘Have you ever thought about acting?’ James asked, pouring everyone a generous measure of vodka from the bottle that had just been brought to our table.

‘Whatever,’ Joe replied, looking away. ‘Modelling is one thing but dancing around in tights for a living? I don’t think so.’

‘Hey,’ Blake turned sharply.

James laughed, seemingly oblivious to Joe’s enormous attitude problem. ‘It’s just one of the perils of superhero movies. But you know what, tights are surprisingly comfortable. You do get used to them.’

‘Tights, really?’ Jenny mooned, dropping Joe’s hand and giving James’s knee a quick squeeze. ‘Are you wearing them now?’

‘Seriously?’ Joe narrowed his eyes at Jenny as she let out her most impressive flirty laugh. ‘Everyone knows actors are just delusional egotists. They all end up in rehab sooner or later.’

‘Are you taking Jenny on for title of the next Oprah or what?’ I forced out a laugh but this was all getting a little bit too tense and I really wasn’t one for confrontation.

‘I’m gonna take a walk.’ Joe measured his breathing and draped his arm possessively around my shoulders. ‘You coming, English?’

James looked over at me but I really wasn’t sure what his dark blue eyes were trying to say. I opened my mouth to stall but Blake beat me to it.

‘Maybe that’s not a bad idea,’ he challenged Joe, taking a swig straight out of the vodka bottle. ‘Maybe you should both just go.’

‘Me?’ I asked, snapping to surprise. ‘What did I do?’

‘You brought this asshole,’ Blake replied. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the interview is over. In fact, James, we’re leaving.’

‘Great, why don’t you just move on, fag?’ Joe said into his beer bottle.

‘What did you just call me?’ Blake stood up suddenly, followed in a heartbeat by Joe and then James.

‘Hey, guys, come on.’ James pushed himself in between the two as they squared up. ‘This isn’t happening.’

‘No, this is bullshit.’ Joe pushed his way past the two of them, knocking Jenny off the edge of her seat and into me as he left. The weight of the Lopez wasn’t ever going to cause me trouble but the vodka soda she spilled all down my dress wasn’t exactly ideal.

‘Oh, shit,’ I said, leaping up, right into James’s waiting arms.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Blake said, pulling at James’s shoulder. I froze for a second, pressed against James’s chest, my wet dress soaking through against his shirt, until it was warmed by the heat of his skin. It wasn’t until he’d scooped me up, as if I weighed nothing, as if I was half an Olsen, let alone three strapped together, that I realized we were moving out of the club.

‘Angie?’ Jenny yelled over the music, still on the floor beside the wreckage of our table. ‘Wait!’

‘Jenny,’ I protested, preferring the view of James’s dark brown curls to the stares and whispers all around us. And, oh dear God, the camera flashes.

‘Blake, go back for her,’ James commanded, striding into the lift, leaving an incensed Blake standing stock-still. ‘Now I remember why I stopped going out.’

I didn’t know what to say. On one hand I felt awful about leaving Jenny – sick, actually –?but on the other, I knew that the second James put me down, the interview, my job, possibly my visa and then more or less my entire life was over. I had to try and get this back on track somehow, otherwise Jenny wouldn’t have a roommate to be mad at.

‘James, I am so incredibly sorry,’ I said as we scrambled into the limo and tore off up Hollywood Boulevard. ‘I–I should just go back to my hotel and—’

‘That’s not a good idea,’ James said quietly. ‘Have a look out of the back window.’

Twisting against my seatbelt, I turned to look back, trying not to get dizzy at the speeds we were travelling. I don’t know what I was expecting to see but, whatever it was, the sea of bright lights and industrial-strength flashes was not it. True, I still had an issue with what side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, but these cars were literally all over the road. The honking, the screeching, even the screaming was so loud, so intense. It made a wander down our block in New York sound like an episode of Songs of Praise.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked, slightly dazed and very nauseous.

‘Paparazzi,’ James sighed. ‘My good friends, the paparazzi.’

‘How did they know where you were?’

‘Who knows? Maybe someone overheard us this afternoon and tipped them off. Maybe they were already outside Teddy’s on the off-chance someone would show up. Maybe someone called them when we arrived.’

‘But we were only there for half an hour?’ I couldn’t believe it, no matter how fast we went, they came at us faster until they were swarming all around the car.

‘Get away from the window.’ James pulled me into the centre of the limo, on the floor between the seats. ‘Some of the flashes are bright enough to see you through the tinted glass.’

‘Wow, this is glamorous,’ I said, trying to shuffle my dress around my thighs to avoid any further pant revelation.

‘Yes, the rock-and-roll life of a movie star.’ He held out an arm to steady me as we skidded around a tight corner. ‘But you’re all-over rock and roll, surely?’

‘Me?’ I squirmed across the floor of the car, trying not to nestle against his broad, warm and still slightly damp chest.

‘Your boyfriend, the rock star? Alan?’

Oh. ‘Alex. His name is Alex. He’s so not a rock star. There’s a pretty big difference between him and Bono.’ I fumbled around on the floor of the car looking for my bag. ‘What time is it?’

‘Not even twelve, what’s up?’

‘Just wondered.’ I pulled out my phone. Twelve here, three in New York. And a missed call from Alex. Just one. Twenty minutes earlier and no message. ‘Bugger.’ Just as I was about to redial, James snatched the phone out of my hand.

‘If you throw that out of the window, I will freak out.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, turning the phone off. ‘They’ll hack it.’

‘They’ll what?’ Could this get any more bizarre?

James nodded slowly. ‘They can hack your phone if you use it near enough. I don’t know how.’

‘But how do you call anyone, ever?’ I asked.

‘I don’t. It’s like living in Nineteen ninety-five.’ He shrugged. ‘If I really need to get hold of someone, Blake goes out and calls them for me.’

‘So you can’t text your friend to see what flavour muffin they want?’

‘Can’t go out and buy muffins. Can’t really eat muffins.’

‘And you can’t call a taxi when you’re hammered?’

‘To be fair I have a driver.’

‘What if you need to extend your credit limit to buy something amazing?’

‘Yeah, that’s not really a massive problem right now. Unless that something is a Bentley.’

‘I might be able to live with not having a mobile phone if I was you,’ I said, feeling less sympathetic by the second.

James nodded. ‘But if I wasn’t me, we wouldn’t be running away from the club now. The paparazzi wouldn’t be chasing us. And you wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a car ruining your beautiful dress, not able to call your boyfriend.’

‘But if you weren’t you, I wouldn’t be in LA at all, I wouldn’t have met you and, well, I wouldn’t have been able to wear my beautiful dress in March anyway.’ I shuffled back up onto the seat as the limo twisted around some invisible corners and then slowed to a stop. The din from the paparazzi got quieter and quieter until I couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of the cooling engine as we climbed out.

James ran his hands down my sides, smoothing down the creased-up skirt. I breathed in sharply as they ran back up my bare arms. ‘It’s a great dress, did I tell you that already?’ he asked, towering above me. He was awfully tall. I hadn’t noticed how awfully tall. ‘Phillip Lim, right?’

‘Every so often, you throw me off completely, you know?’ I said, cricking my neck to get a better look at him. ‘If you weren’t all Hollywood, I’d think you were gay. Which would just about break Jenny’s heart.’

‘Good to know,’ he said, fumbling for keys in his jeans pocket. I was right, his backside did look great. ‘We should have just stayed here. You know what they say, if you’re going to get into trouble, do it at the Chateau.’

He wanted to get into trouble? Meep. ‘I really should go back to my hotel,’ I choked. ‘It’s late and I was supposed to be conducting an interview with someone tomorrow.’

‘I heard he’s a delusional egotist who likes to prance around in tights,’ James said, opening the door and pulling me inside. ‘So I think you’ll be fine. Besides, I can get that dress dry cleaned inside twenty minutes and then get you a car home once the paps have moved on outside. Come on, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

Following him into the bungalow, I shrugged. I couldn’t argue with a well-thought-out plan.

‘Can I use my phone in here?’ I called from the bathroom, peeling off my damp yellow dress. The bathroom was full of products: Clinique, Anthony Logistics, Peter Thomas Roth. Sent over by PRs, I figured, but still, men with more moisturizer than me made me edgy.

‘The landline should be OK, but I’m keeping your mobile hostage until you leave.’ James knocked once on the door and then came in. Giving me just enough time to grab one of the robes hanging from the back of the door. But not enough time to put it on. ‘Nice knickers, Calvin Klein?’

‘Erm, yes,’ I said, trying to slide into the robe without revealing an inch of flesh or white lace. Not an easy task at the best of times, and even more difficult when you were a) ridiculous clumsy and b) in the hotel bathroom of a stupidly hot actor. A stupidly hot actor who had taken off his shirt. Oh. It was pretty.

‘Don’t tell your model friend, but I did a campaign for them last year.’ He took one arm of the robe, in theory to help me put it on, but in practice just to help me get even more wound up in the acres of jersey. ‘I think that’s the set Eva wore.’

Perfect. Who didn’t want to be compared to Eva Mendes in their underwear?

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I said again. ‘I don’t know what his problem is. It’s just … God, Jenny is going to kill me.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’ James pushed his hair back off his face. Had his cheekbones always been so high? What else were those brown curls hiding? ‘And please stop apologizing for that knobhead. I’m just surprised you’re friends with him, to be honest. You did realize he was all over you? Do you know, I haven’t called anyone a knobhead for ages. You really do bring out the English in me.’

‘Thanks, I think.’ I pushed past him, moving very quickly through the bedroom, accidentally glancing at the rumpled bedsheets and settling in the living room. In an armchair. Made for one. Could he please just put a shirt back on? I was only human, for God’s sake. ‘And, just for the record, he’s absolutely not interested in me. I don’t even really know him; we’re not really friends. He and Jenny used to work in the same hotel in New York, that’s all.’

‘So they’re friends?’

‘Sort of,’ I wrinkled my nose. There was no way Jenny would be exploring their ‘friendship’ now. I was going to suffer for this one.

‘I see, friends with benefits?’

Before I could clarify, there was a knock at the door. James opened up and swapped my dress for a tray of drinks. ‘Thanks,’ he said to someone I couldn’t see. ‘Tea?’

‘Yes please,’ I sighed, realizing suddenly how tired I was. ‘I’d kill for a cup right now.’

‘I don’t want to know how you’re going to react to my HobNobs then,’ he said, producing a full packet of biscuits. ‘This really is the best hotel in the world.’

‘Don’t say that in front of Jenny,’ I said, taking a handful of crumbly biscuity goodness. ‘She’s all about The Union. Or at least she was; she hasn’t stolen anything in ages.’

‘So we’ve got twenty minutes to fill,’ James said, nursing his steaming mug. ‘What do you want to do?’

What did I want to do? Now there was a question. My head wanted to call Jenny, make sure she was OK and actually going to speak to me again. My heart wanted to call Alex and see how his gig went, hear his soft sleepy voice and have him put the phone on his pillow until he fell asleep so I could just listen to him breathe. But another, slightly less poetic part of me was absolutely burning to stand up, take that cup of tea out of James Jacobs’s hand and put all of his flirting to the test. To trace a finger up his abs, his sharply cut chest and over his full bottom lip. Just press it, just to see if it was as firm and plush as it looked. And then possibly nibble on it a little bit. And then—

‘You’ve got such a strange look on your face,’ James interrupted. ‘What are you thinking about?’

Pushing you backwards against the sofa and doing lots of very dirty things until my passport expires.

‘Nothing really.’

‘There’s something I wanted to say, actually,’ he carried on. ‘About this afternoon, at the burger place.’

Maybe just a quick nibble. ‘No need, really.’

‘Yes, there is. I’m sorry, I just get caught up easily. Really, it’s pathetic. I spend so much time spouting crap that’s written for me, I start coming out with it when they haven’t even given me a script.’ He rested on the arm of my chair. And smelt delicious. ‘I suppose that’s why Blake gets so angry. I get myself into so much trouble with all those photos.’

‘Photos?’

‘Of me. Well, if they were just of me it wouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Oh.’

‘They’re just photos, Angela,’ he said, looking down at me.

‘You don’t have to explain anything to me.’ I stared straight ahead. Trying not to be jealous.

‘Well, I do, you are the reporter,’ he said. ‘But I’m just saying. Although I can’t help but wonder what that interview is going to come out like.’

‘The interview.’ I covered my face. ‘I’m really not doing well, am I? I’m so going to get fired and then I’ll be deported. And homeless. And someone’s going to have to tell my mother …’

‘What are you talking about?’ James pulled away my hands with his own, warmed through by his hot tea. ‘Why are you going to get fired?’

‘Because Blake cancelled the interview.’ I looked at him as though he was slightly stupid. Very pretty but slightly stupid.

James looked back at me the exact same way. ‘Blake can’t cancel the interview.’

‘He can’t?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘I thought he did everything?’

‘Well he didn’t set it up,’ James explained.

‘He didn’t?’

‘No, Angela. I did.’

‘OK, I know I’m not very clever at the best of times, but I don’t understand …’

‘The interview, you, it was my idea,’ James said, looking really rather pleased with himself. ‘I’m not stupid, I know what people must think when they see all those photos of me and, well, every woman I’ve ever met. So I read some women’s magazines, checked out some of the writers and that’s how I came across you.’

‘You asked for me?’ I was confused. Not unusual, admittedly. ‘It was actually you?’

‘I asked for you. I loved your writing,’ he nodded. ‘But once I’d chosen you, I had to put everything through Blake, after I’d picked a magazine, otherwise it would have been weird. Actors don’t usually set up their own press. To be honest, Blake wasn’t completely convinced you were the right pick, so I would really, really appreciate it if you could at least attempt to prove him wrong.’

‘So the interview isn’t off?’

‘Well, you threw up on me yesterday, got me and my assistant into a fight today, I can’t wait to see what you come up with tomorrow.’ He shook his head and looked out of the window. ‘I’ll call for your car, you should be safe now.’

I sat back in the chair and watched the muscles in his back leave the room. James Jacobs had chosen me. The interview wasn’t off. Maybe I wouldn’t have to leave the country after all. Which meant Alex and I probably wouldn’t be breaking up because I had to go back to England. Which was a really, really good thing.

Unless Alex was still so busy getting it on with his groupies he didn’t even have three minutes to spare to leave me a voicemail. The battery indicator on my silent phone flickered in the bottom of my clutch. Obviously it wasn’t as though he was desperate to get in touch and tell me he loved me or anything. How come he couldn’t even tell me how he couldn’t bear to live a single second of his life without me when a global superstar – no, megastar – had handpicked me out of every single journalist in the entire world to interview him? I’d now been in his hotel twice. And twice I’d been out of my frock. That had to be a sign. Another knock on the door interrupted my entirely unhelpful thoughts.

‘That’ll be your dress,’ James called from the other room. ‘Your car’s going to be about five minutes.’

I wrapped myself up in the dressing gown, trying not to trip over the hem and opened the door. There was my dress, all pristine, wrapped in shiny plastic. Twenty-minute dry cleaning had revolutionized my life. ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking the hanger.

‘No … thank you,’ said a voice behind a huge camera.

‘What the …?’ I stumbled backwards, holding my dress out in front of the rapid fire-flashes.

‘Angela!’ James yelled, sprinting across the living room. ‘Close the door, get away from the door!’

I slammed the door into the camera, heard a dull thud, a quiet ‘shit’ and then the sound of quickly retreating footsteps. Dazed, I looked at James, but he was already on the phone, yelling incoherently. For the want of something to do, I staggered into the bathroom and got changed. I checked myself in the mirror: nope, my skirt wasn’t tucked in my pants, not even a bra strap was on show. Impeccable. For me. And if you went for the ‘startled deer in headlights’ thing, I actually looked pretty good.

‘OK,’ I said, teetering back into the lounge and grabbing my handbag. ‘I think it’s best if I just go, I’ve caused enough chaos tonight.’

‘You can’t go out there now.’ James looked at me as if I was stupid. He and Jenny would actually get on really well. ‘I’ve just called security but they haven’t caught him yet. You can’t go anywhere until they’ve got that camera.’

I wanted to laugh but had a feeling that it wouldn’t go down well. ‘Seriously? James, all they’ve got is a picture of me holding some dry cleaning.’

‘Yes, maybe,’ James mused. ‘Or, they’ve got a picture of you, without your dress on, standing in the doorway of my bungalow at one a.m. What’s that going to be worth to your boyfriend? Or your editor? Or your mum?’

‘My mum would probably be quite impressed actually,’ I said, feeling a little bit sick. ‘But I see your point. I really can’t stay here, though. I have to see Jenny; I have to go back. Is there no way out without those arses getting a photo?’

All six-foot-something of James Jacobs stood squarely between me and the door, staring me down with an intensity I usually saved for the person in the queue between me and the last espresso brownie in Starbucks. And I wasn’t sure if I was the person or the brownie. ‘Do you really want to leave?’

No no no no no no no no no no.

‘Yes.’ Wow, who knew I was so strong?

‘Then I’ll call a car to come to the back of the bungalow,’ he said, breathing out and letting his shoulders drop. ‘They should have something that won’t attract attention. I left the phone in the bedroom.’

I realized I hadn’t breathed out since I’d said I wanted to leave and the zip on my bag was cutting into my hand, I was clutching it so tightly. This was horrible. How could I even be thinking these things about James when Alex was at home in New York, just waiting for me to call. Probably. He just wasn’t desperate to call me. Or tell me he loved me. Or even come to LA with me. Whereas James seemed relatively keen for me not to leave for one reason or another. Surely ninety-nine out of a hundred girls in this situation would stay, boyfriend be damned. Maybe if I talked to the boyfriend quickly, it would be easier.

I released my vice-like grip on my bag and pulled out my mobile. Yes, it was four a.m. in New York, but he wouldn’t mind a quick call. And tough luck if he did.

‘Hello?’

‘Alex, it’s me,’ I gushed. ‘I’m sorry; I suppose I didn’t expect you to answer. I’m just having the most chaotic night and—’

‘Angela?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s four in the morning.’

‘I know.’

‘What do you want?’

I bit my lip. ‘I just wanted to speak to you. Tell you I missed you.’

‘Are you drunk?’

‘No,’ I frowned. ‘I’m just having a bit of a nightmare evening. We were out and James got into a fight and then there were loads of paparazzi—’

‘Seriously, Angela, I’m sleeping. Call me tomorrow, OK?’ Alex sighed.

I tried not to be stung. He was perfectly within his rights to be a bit peeved but I had been hoping he might have thought my spontaneous call was cute. He certainly seemed to think it was acceptable to turn up on my doorstep at all hours of the night. Surely just calling to tell someone you missed them at four a.m. was romantic? ‘OK,’ I muttered into the phone, ‘go back to sleep. I just wanted to say – I just thought I’d call and … well, I love you.’

‘What?’ he suddenly sounded considerably more awake.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow, go back to sleep. Bye.’ I hung up, threw my phone back into my bag as if it was on fire and clapped a hand over my mouth. How had that snuck out?

‘Did you say something?’ James asked, appearing back at my side.

Before I could answer, the hotel phone rang once and then stopped. ‘That’s your car,’ James said, taking my arm and leading me towards the back door of the bungalow. ‘So, we’re not meeting tomorrow, right? Unless you want to come and watch me in make-up testing?’

I shrugged. I had been known to enjoy a touch of guyliner. Had I really just told Alex I loved him?

‘So I’ll collect you Wednesday morning. Eleven OK?’

‘Fine,’ I said, stumbling the short distance between the back door and the open crack of the waiting car’s back door.

‘And don’t worry about anything,’ James said, closing the door behind me. ‘Tonight was just a standard Monday, as depressing as that is. Get some sleep.’ He leaned in the window, gave me a soft, warm kiss on the cheek and then slapped the top of the car.

If all my Mondays were this eventful, I thought drowsily as we pulled out of the hotel and onto Sunset Boulevard, I’d need to get more than ‘some’ sleep to make it through my week.