Heartthrob (Hollywood Hearts, #1) Read online

  I closed the distance between us and slipped my hand into his.

  He had a surprisingly firm grip for someone I’d figured would be all show. His palm felt rougher than I expected, too. Didn’t men like Jake spend more time on looking pretty than being involved in any sort of hard labor?

  By contrast my hand felt small in his. Delicate. Feminine. How the man could make a handshake feel so intimate, I had no idea. Some sort of celebrity voodoo.

  And I thought I was immune to all that movie-star bullshit. I needed to get a grip. He was just a regular guy, except for the secret Hollywood superpowers he used to control people and daze them into going and seeing his movies.

  I removed my hand from his. Well, I may not have superpowers but I did have a secret weapon to keep him from exerting his mind control on me. “Have you had breakfast?” I asked them.

  Lena shrugged. “I wasn’t that hungry.”

  “You’ve been for a workout,” I admonished. “You’ve got to eat.” I looked at Jake. “What about you?”

  He blinked. “Have I eaten or been to the gym?”

  He appeared a little uncertain at my line of questioning, and I finally felt like I was having a normal conversation.

  “Both.”

  “I had a piece of toast. And then, yeah, I did a workout.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “Ridiculous movie-star appetites. Give me strength. How about I show you what real food is like?”

  Jake grinned, while Lena shook her head.

  “Oh no, Ally. I really couldn’t eat anything. I—”

  I pointed at her. “You can and you will. You need to be in top form to star next to the Sexiest Man Alive here.” Oops. Where had that come from? Me and my big mouth.

  Jake’s annoyingly attractive smile stretched from ear to ear.

  “And you,” I continued.

  His grin faded.

  “Can you please make yourself useful and clean that mess up?” I said, pointing to the ruins of my breakfast.

  He just stared at me and I bit back a smile. Let’s see how sexy he was now.

  He nodded slowly. I thought I caught a glimpse of respect in his eyes but it was hard to tell because of the shadow from the cap.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  Oh, he was good. All cocky, smart-ass sexy, but it wasn’t going to work.

  “No, that’s all.”

  I turned on my heel and headed for the kitchen, allowing myself to smile now that my back was to them.

  “For now,” I added, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Chapter 4

  I’d long ago accepted I was a cliché. An Italian girl who likes to cook.

  Be that as it may, cooking was like breathing to me. Or perhaps it was that breathing wasn’t the same without inhaling the scent of good food.

  Whatever it was, cooking was in my blood and I always felt at peace when I was busy in a kitchen. Lena’s kitchen was even bigger than Mama’s restaurant. I hadn’t cooked since I’d left home and I realized I missed it.

  “I think I’m going to have to ask you to move out,” Lena said, with genuine pain in her voice. “I can’t resist your cooking but I can’t put on any weight either.”

  “Fine by me,” Jake said in between mouthfuls. “She can move in with me.”

  The pan I was holding almost slipped out of my hand, but I caught it at the last second. “What?” I said in disbelief. “And ruin your movie-star body?”

  “I’ll work it off,” Jake said, preoccupied with soaking up the maple syrup on his plate with his pancakes.

  It gave me a moment to ponder how exactly he would work it off, but that was a bad train of thought so I decided to keep talking. “Don’t you ever get sick of all that training?”

  Jake shrugged. “It’s part of the job. Truth is, I miss it if I don’t do it.”

  “I won’t pretend to understand.”

  “It makes you feel good, Ally,” Lena said.

  “So does eating food,” I replied, but probably shouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be attracting attention to my less-than-movie-star body in front of these two.

  “Take a run in Runyon Canyon and then get back to me,” Jake said.

  “I’ve heard it’s beautiful, but I don’t do sweaty, thank you very much. It will have to be a walk.”

  Jake set his knife and fork down on his now-empty plate and looked at me. “What’s wrong with sweaty?”

  Oh, God. This was not the direction I needed my thoughts to be heading in. Jacob Swan all hot and sweaty. Rivulets of moisture running down his bare chest . . . I cleared my throat and chose to ignore him. “Seconds?”

  “I’d love to, but I won’t. Don't take it personally.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “But see if you can resist seconds when I cook pizza sometime.”

  His eyes rounded in boy-like hopefulness and I was sure I heard every woman in a hundred-mile radius sigh. “You cook pizza, too?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I’m Italian.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Well, it won’t be this week,” Lena announced. “It’s going to take me days to work this off.”

  “Coward,” I said.

  “That’s not fair, Ally,” Lena replied. “Those few extra pounds show up on the camera and you know it.”

  “Sorry. You know I’m just teasing. I hate that you can’t eat what you want.”

  “That’s OK. Truth is I’m jealous of your curves.”

  I felt uncomfortable talking about my curves in front of Jake so a joke seemed the obvious choice. “But not my height, right?”

  I was what you would call ‘height impaired.’ I’d accepted that no matter how much I exercised, my lack of height, ample cleavage and curvy figure meant I was never going to look thin like Lena. The only plus side was that it meant exercise was futile and I could avoid it altogether.

  “I don’t know why you always put yourself down, Ally. You’re gorgeous.”

  OK, we definitely did not need to be having this conversation in front of Mr. Heartthrob. “Alright,” I said to Lena. “Stop trying to make the normal people feel better. It won’t work. I’m happy with my lot in life so long as I don’t have to be in front of a camera.”

  “I don’t know why you’re worried about your figure,” said Jake. “Anyway, it’s your eyes everyone would notice when the camera was on you.”

  Lena smiled triumphantly while I tried not to grip the counter too obviously. He’d noticed my eyes? Personally I considered them one of my best features. Overall I was content with my face. My big forehead was bearable because it set off my brown eyes, and my neat little nose and full lips seemed to fit, too. It was just my body and my love of food that were problematic.

  “I’ve been telling her that for years,” agreed Lena. “Aren’t they amazing?”

  “Stop it, Lena,” I interrupted. “You film people are way too caught up in appearances.”

  “Says Miss Allegra Valenti, fashion designer.”

  “That’s different,” I muttered and started clearing plates.

  “Who’s Allegra?” asked Jake, and Lena laughed.

  “That’s Ally. She’s not actually a professional chef. She’s a fashion designer. It’s her full name. It sounds awesome, doesn’t it?”

  I shot Lena a warning look. “You’re playing make-believe again.” I turned to Jake. “I’m restaurant manager of my family’s Italian restaurant. I toy with fashion design in my spare time.”

  “You never got the chance to go to fashion school because your father got sick. You just haven’t realized your potential yet.”

  “Which you’re determined to unleash, I know, I know. So how about you go back to practicing your lines so I can go figure out what the hell you’re going to wear to the Golden Globes?”

  Lena stood and put her plate in the sink. “Ooh, do you have any ideas yet?”

  “None.”

  Her face fell.

  “I’m joking, Lena. I’ve got some idea
s.” I just hadn’t put them on paper yet. Truth was, I was kind of scared to, but I wasn’t going to tell Lena that.

  “Alright. I’ll catch up with you this evening then,” she said. “Jake and I have to head over to the studio for a few hours later this afternoon.”

  “Have fun. Nice to meet you, Jake.” Imaginary high five for my apparent calm. Next I’d be name-dropping to my family. Yeah, Jake stopped by for some of my pancakes this morning. He had to rush off to a studio meeting but not before asking when he can try some of the Valenti pizza . . .

  Jake stood and I faltered while collecting his plate. He really was tall, wasn’t he?

  “Thanks for the food, Ally. Seriously good. And hey, say hi to the gardener for me when you see him.”

  Nice. I tried not to pout. What a smart-ass. “I’ll try not to hurt him.”

  “I’d aim a little lower with your shoulder then. You were a bit close to my ribs.”

  I couldn’t help myself and laughed. “Go before I’m tempted to refine my technique on you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be ready next time.”

  He flashed me a heart-stopping smile and turned toward the patio.

  Lena hadn’t moved and was watching me carefully.

  “What?” I mouthed, because Jake was still in hearing distance.

  She leaned in close. “I could be wrong, but I think he likes you.”

  I pushed her away gently. “Yeah,” I hissed, “and I’m a world-renowned designer. He just likes my food, you idiot. Now get out of here and stop trying to set me up with your hot Hollywood friends. You know they’re not my type.”

  Good grief. Jacob Swan interested in me? If that was true, this wasn’t just a different city, it was a different planet.

  *

  Hollywood wasn’t what I expected.

  In an attempt to consolidate ideas for dress designs I was spending the afternoon being a tourist around Hollywood. Or procrastinating, but I wasn’t going to linger on that.

  I had a million ideas for Lena’s Golden Globes dress, but they all hinged on the Lena I knew. The dress she wore needed to reflect movie-star Lena, who was a woman I was still getting to know. Sure, I’d seen every single one of her films, but I had to see her the way the world saw her—not as my teenage best friend.

  A stroll along the Walk of Fame wasn’t helping, either.

  The whole place had a decidedly urban—not urbane—feel to it. Nothing like the glamorous images of Hollywood I had in my head. Apart from the stars decorating the sidewalk it could have been any other city street. So far I’d passed an auto store, various food outlets, an optometrist, and even a shopping mall. For an easterner like myself, the rows of palm trees had some novelty value, but they were hardly remarkable in LA.

  The strange guy further up the road who appeared to be propped up by a bin, hadn’t improved my impression of the area. I couldn’t figure out if he was a homeless person in genuine need or just an extremely disorientated drunk man. When he’d decided it was appropriate to pee on the sidewalk I hadn’t stuck around to find out.

  And what was with the helicopters? One minute you’d be walking along—probably annoying the locals because you were going slowly and staring at the stars on the ground—and the next there’d be a helicopter flying overhead. Most people ignored them, but I had no idea how they couldn’t notice because the damned things were so loud. On one occasion I’d had the urge to cover my head and crouch down on the sidewalk it sounded so close. Spot the tourist, anyone?

  Determined to walk the full length of the two-mile Walk of Fame, I spent my time checking the gold-lettered names. Ambience aside, it was impressive. Every well-known actor and actress I could think of was here.

  “And there she is,” I said to myself, not the least bit worried I was talking to myself in public. I was beginning to understand that the locals were used to drunk, drugged or mentally unstable people. Either that or they’d probably just think I was practicing lines.

  I stopped in front of a star. The gold lettering was there for the whole world to see: Lena Lyons. My closest friend was the real deal. Hollywood celebrity and accomplished actress.

  I blinked away tears of pride.

  The public didn’t know her as I knew her. When we’d met she’d been a quiet, shy teenager. Beautiful, there was no questioning it even back then, but she’d been uncertain of her beauty and her place in the world. Lena had also been terribly sad and lonely. Her dad traveled a lot for business and so Lena took on the role of her mother’s carer when the cancer progressed. It had made Lena emotionally mature before her time. I’d always done my best to provide comic relief when the hollow look in her blue eyes had deepened and her translucent skin had turned dangerously pale. At times it was as if she was suffering the cancer too, which in a way I suppose she was.

  To her credit, Lena had taken that pain and translated it to something beautiful on-screen. She was known for her ability to play heart-wrenching roles with ease, and I’d sat sobbing silently in several of her movies.

  I took out my smartphone and took some selfies, grinning like an idiot in front of Lena’s plaque. Then, for fun, I texted her one, hoping to make her smile during whatever production meeting she was currently attending.

  Further up the road I stopped in front of another star.

  Jacob Swan.

  Alright, so I wasn’t entirely unaffected by the Hollywood factor. It was kind of cool I’d met the Sexiest Man Alive in the flesh. The bit where I’d almost damaged his flesh was best left unmentioned.

  Like Lena, underneath the sparkle of the Hollywood lights, he was a person, too. A pretty relaxed person from what I’d seen, but I wondered what his story was. Was there more to him than his easygoing, all-American persona? Or did everything just come easy to a guy like that?

  It was probably better not to think about it or I’d get insanely jealous. I didn’t have ridiculous good looks or talent to catapult me to stardom—not that I wanted any of that. For all Lena’s promises to support my non-existent fashion career, I was just happy to have the opportunity to design something again. Her flighty ideals of me becoming a renowned name were incredibly loyal of her, but misplaced. I secretly hoped she had another designer on speed dial if I messed up her dresses.

  I glanced down at Jacob’s star again. My mouth curling into an evil grin, I got out my smartphone and took another selfie. Then I sent it to Arabella with the message:

  Guess who I met today? For real btw.

  It took her approximately nanoseconds to reply.

  OMFG! Seriously? I need evidence. NOW.

  I laughed to myself as I started walking back the way I had come, typing a response:

  Sorry. I didn’t want to appear desperate asking for a photo. He was over at Lena’s practicing lines. I did cook him breakfast though . . .

  Another quick response:

  NO WAY! It’s not fair. When can I come over?

  I shook my head at her enthusiasm, then replied:

  Not so boring now, am I?

  Chapter 5

  “You’re trying to impress me.”

  In response, Lena handed me a drink—some elaborate cocktail concoction—and didn’t say anything. She leaned back in the plush upholstered seat and picked up her glass, scanning the bar area.

  “It won’t work, you know,” I persisted.

  I might have been lying—a little. The bar was spectacular. Like something out of a movie set, all yesteryear charm and glamor. It figured that Lena would pick somewhere as enchanting as Bar Marmont at the Chateau Marmont hotel for my first night out in Hollywood. It was essentially a French-themed castle. It struck me as an exercise in fantasy. Anywhere else in the country and it would have reeked of pretentiousness, but here in the land of make-believe it felt romantic and luxurious.

  “This place does suit you,” I allowed.

  The bar had an intimate boudoir feel, dimly lit and mysterious. Wood-paneled walls in deep browns and burgundy furnishings brought to
mind early twentieth-century excess. Ornate red silk light shades hung from the ceiling, which drew my eye to the unusual decorative touch of scattered butterflies above our heads. I had no idea if they were real or not, it was too dark to tell.

  “I’ve only been here once before,” Lena told me.

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise and she shrugged.

  “I’ve never really been into the party scene and Duncan wasn’t either. I thought you might like it though.”

  “I do,” I admitted, then continued quickly, “I like the unique ambience. But I’m still completely unaffected by all this celebrity bullshit. Case in point, I remained a normal person when I met Jake.”

  Lena’s bright red lips quirked. “After you tackled him.”

  “That was before I knew who he was!”

  “Funny. That’s what most of his fans try to do to him.”

  “I’m not a fan,” I corrected. “And I really wasn’t trying to hurt him, I already told you that. I was protecting you. God forbid I permanently mark the man’s beautiful body, or I’d have the women of America out to kill me.”

  “So you think he’s beautiful?”

  I paused to study her, taking a sip of the sweet cocktail. She looked stunning, as usual. She was wearing that floaty red dress again. I was secretly relieved Hollywood hadn’t turned her into a pretentious clothes snob and that she was happy to wear the same outfit twice.

  “You need a softer color for the Golden Globes,” I informed her.

  She blinked at the change of subject. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Of course he’s beautiful, he’s Jacob Swan. Moving on. I’d like to dress you in lilac for the Golden Globes. What do you think?”

  She placed her drink carefully on the low black table in front of us and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you think red is too harsh on me?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. It suits you. Everyone in the room can’t miss you in that dress, it’s fantastic.”

  “Then why lilac?” she asked, sounding confused.

  “Because all the others are going to be trying to stand out. It’s all ‘look at me’ and ‘aren’t I beautiful?’ You’ll get the usual young ones half-dressed showing off cleavage and God knows what else, and then the standard classic blacks. A few will go for colors you can’t miss, like the red you’re wearing, or perhaps a green. Then there will be you.”