Heartthrob (Hollywood Hearts, #1) Read online

  Obviously, Lena had other ideas.

  The profile page was impressive. Somehow Lena had gotten her hands on some of my sketches and her team had used them to create a montage. It was all very vintage-looking and creative and I loved it. I stared at the profile image. They’d even done a logo for me, designed to look like a stylized version of my signature.

  “Oh wow,” I breathed, stunned at what they’d done. Then I sucked in my breath.

  In the Twitter feed there was already a retweet from Lena:

  Introducing up and coming designer @AllegraValenti. Can’t wait to reveal what she’s got in store for me at the @goldenglobes!

  “Lena, what have you done?” I whispered.

  The tweet had been favorited four thousand times and retweeted one and a half thousand.

  Hands shaking, I checked out my new business Facebook account. It was much the same story, thanks to a similar message Lena had posted there.

  I guess when you were a famous movie star with millions of followers, people paid attention. The most high-profile my personal Facebook account got was when my mother ‘shared’ my posts so she could gloat about me to our extended family.

  My phone beeped again.

  You like?

  I stared at Lena’s message, not sure how to reply. Yes, I did like what she had done. The bit about the thousands of followers knowing I was designing her Golden Globes dress? Not so much.

  Another message came through.

  You’re freaked out, aren’t you?

  I typed back a quick message.

  A bit.

  Her reply came less than a minute later.

  Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Wait until you see the website I’ve got them working on. You’ll need to approve that before it goes live though.

  I shook my head and typed.

  Thanks. I think.

  Don’t think, just design was her reply. Why don’t you go for a walk in Runyon before dark? I’ll be home late.

  It actually wasn’t a bad idea, because there was no way I was going to be able to concentrate on anything now.

  *

  It felt wrong to be chauffeured around by Lena’s bodyguard and driver, Tim. If he thought I wasn’t worthy of his services, he didn’t show it.

  When I’d protested as I attempted to walk out the front door in my exercise gear, Jay had positioned his impressive bulk in my path and told me, “Lena’s orders.” Apparently Lena wasn’t too impressed I’d taken public transport for my earlier sightseeing mission.

  Then he’d directed me toward Tim waiting in the car. I’d relented without a fight because I wasn’t about to argue with or insult Jay a second time after our airport introduction.

  Tim wasn’t much of a talker, so I contented myself with watching the view of the mansions as we drove through the Hollywood Hills. It was easy to feel comfortable in his presence. He was medium height, a medium build, with short-cropped light brown hair and similar colored eyes. His unobtrusiveness seemed to fit with his job description.

  Twenty minutes later we pulled up at the end of an average-looking Hollywood city street. Low-rise apartments surrounded us, with the obligatory palm trees interspersed up and down the street.

  Tim nodded in front of us, toward a brown metal gate and a stone wall with a sign saying ‘Runyon Canyon Park.’ A pedestrian entrance was located on the left-hand side.

  “Parking around here is pretty grim,” he said. “Text me when you’re almost finished and I’ll meet you back here.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  “Jay programmed it into your phone.”

  “Um, I never gave him my passcode.”

  Tim shrugged. “He would have gotten around it.”

  I was about to launch into a rant about the invasion of privacy but stopped myself. What was the point? It was to protect Lena, and that now extended to me it seemed.

  I thanked him and got out of the car, following a few other people through the entrance. On the other side lay a very civilized concrete path that wound gently up the hillside. It was late afternoon and there were plenty of people enjoying the trail. I slipped in my earphones and set off at what I considered a brisk pace given my lack of fitness.

  A few joggers ran by, but to my relief a lot of people were walking. For the first time since I’d arrived in LA, I felt as though I fit in. Or at least blended in. Older, retired couples chatted as I passed them. Plenty of young women my age were out together and it seemed like a good spot to catch up with friends. I noticed it was dog-friendly, too—a few happy looking dogs with tongues hanging out bounding past now and then.

  The terrain made me feel a long way from home, though. The hills were covered in scrubby bushes and the few trees that lined the path were unfamiliar to me. To my eastern senses, the landscape looked dry and even a little barren, devoid of the tall, woodsy trees we had back home.

  I continued up the trail, the beat of Maroon 5 encouraging me. As the paved road gave way to a wide, dusty track I ignored my straining muscles and kept going. The higher I got, the more difficult it was to turn back. I’d pay for it tomorrow, but the glimpses of LA I was catching as the path wound higher were hard to resist.

  When I arrived at a spot where I could see the white letters of the famous Hollywood sign on the hillside, I grinned and reached for my phone. So sue me, I was a tourist. I took a few snapshots of the view, then turned the phone around for some awkward selfies. I posted one of the shots to my personal Facebook account and shared it on Twitter, too.

  Then, in a moment of madness, I retweeted Lena’s Golden Globe tweet using my personal account. I knew my cousin Arabella would see it sooner or later, and then she would tell everyone in our entire extended family. While I’d mentioned I was going to work on some dress designs during my stay in LA, I hadn’t said exactly who they were for.

  Maybe the City of Angels was starting to go to my head.

  I went to put my phone back in my pocket before I could do any more damage to my reputation.

  “Spot the tourist.”

  I looked up and very nearly dropped the phone onto the ground instead of into my pocket.

  “Jake.” I swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 7

  As soon as I said it, I wanted to kick myself. It was pretty obvious what he was doing here.

  Sweat glistened on his bare arms in a way that gave me a new appreciation for physical exertion. If we all looked that good when we exercised, I was sure most of us would make a habit of it. His dark blue T-shirt clung to his chest—another point in sweat’s favor—and I did my best to keep my eyes focused on his face. If not for his deep voice, I may not have recognized him. His oversized Ray Bans covered his eyes, and a black cap kept his golden hair hidden.

  “Just out for a jog before I head home,” he said. “I’m impressed. You’ve almost made it to the top.”

  “I walked,” I said quickly, then grimaced. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to move tomorrow.” There was no point sugar-coating it. He already knew about my love of food and my lack of regular exercise.

  “You’ll be alright in a day or two. And it will be easier next time.”

  “Next time?” I scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  “You could run up here if you practiced enough.”

  I shook my head at him. “There is no amount of practice that would make that possible.”

  Jake put a hand on one hip, drawing my eyes to his strong bicep. I used all my willpower to return my gaze to his face.

  “Let’s look at it another way,” he suggested. “Does learning to cook take practice?”

  “Well, yes . . . ”

  “Exactly. Exercise is the same. The more you do it the better you get.”

  “If you’re built like you!” I shot back, exasperated. “I’m pretty sure you already know this, but there’s this little thing called genetics that gives you the upper hand.”

  He grinned at me, flashing a row of impossibly white teeth.
Genetics alive and well.

  “Alright, if we’re talking about the goal of being an elite athlete, you’ve got a point,” he admitted. “But for general well-being? Everyone can build their fitness. It just takes commitment.”

  I pushed my sunglasses onto my head and narrowed my eyes at him. “You’ve done a celebrity endorsement for a sports drink or something, haven’t you? You’ve got to keep up the act or you’ll lose millions.”

  He laughed and I closed my mouth, all my muscles tightening at the sound. Now this was a new sort of exercise I might be able to live with.

  “Very funny,” he said. “No, I haven’t, as it turns out. I just believe in the benefits of regular activity for both my body and mind.”

  “Well, my mind disagrees. It would rather sit at home with a book.”

  “Something tells me you’ve never experienced an endorphin high.”

  I screwed up my nose. “Sounds painful.”

  “It’s better than drugs.”

  “I also wouldn’t know about that, Mr. Hollywood. I’m a good Italian girl.” I wasn’t ashamed of it either.

  Jake’s expression turned thoughtful. “Better than your pizza then,” he announced.

  “You haven’t tasted my pizza.” Why was I challenging him? All it was proving was how tame my life was, as well as my love of consuming rich, Italian food.

  I heard a camera phone go off behind us and we both turned.

  “Oh wow,” a young woman gushed. “It is you!”

  I stepped back while Jake let the woman take a photo with him. Then she asked him to sign her tank top—right above her left breast. He agreed amiably. She was gorgeous, tanned, slim, and blond. I went to look away, but for some unexplained reason my eyes remained glued to the woman’s cleavage. Thank goodness for sunglasses. I wouldn’t have been able to articulate whether it was envy or possessiveness that caused me to do so, because either reason felt wrong. I mean, who went jogging with a marker pen in their pocket? Oh wait. This was Hollywood. Maybe the purpose of her jog was to spot a star.

  Jake seemed entirely unperturbed by the meeting and waved as she jogged off. “Nice to meet you,” he called, then turned back to me. “On that note, I better keep moving or I’ll never make it home.”

  “I bet that happens a lot, huh? I’m surprised you’re here, to be honest. Don’t you have a gym in the privacy of your own home so you don’t get accosted?”

  “Yeah, but I like the outdoors. Runyon’s actually not too bad. The locals are used to having celebrities around.” He reached up and repositioned his cap. “So, do we have a deal?”

  “Huh?”

  “You run down this hill with me,” he said.

  I choked out something between a laugh and a gasp of disbelief. “Not a chance—”

  “Hear me out. You run down this hill with me so you can experience some endorphins and after that you cook me pizza. Then we’ll make a call on which is better.”

  “That’s easy. My pizza.”

  “You just don’t want to run.”

  Damn it. He was on to me.

  When I didn’t say anything, he took off his sunglasses and started wiping them on the edge of his T-shirt. “What’s so wrong with running, anyway?”

  I sighed. “I’m not sure I can run. The last time I ran anywhere I was in the fifth grade.”

  He shrugged. “It’s like riding a bike.”

  “I’m not very good at that either.” Then I muttered, “Although riding a bike would probably be safer.”

  Jake frowned, revealing two neat little lines between his eyebrows. “I don’t see how running is safer than a bike.”

  I glanced down at my outfit self-consciously. As far as exercise gear went, it wasn’t too bad. The black leggings and tank top I was wearing were near new on account of my lack of endorphins. It still wasn’t going to solve my little problem. Or two big problems.

  “Oh. Right. Those.”

  To my mortification Jake’s eyes had dropped to my cleavage. I was already flushed from the walk, but now I was certain I was neon red. I put my hands on my hips and tried to appear indignant. “I didn’t have them in grade five.”

  He looked away and put his sunglasses back on. “Forget about it. Come on.” Then he jogged off, leaving me standing alone on the trail.

  “Hey, that’s not cool,” I called. “I never said yes!”

  “Come on!”

  With a grunt of frustration, I started to jog after him. What on earth was I doing? I didn’t run. But then I didn’t usually banter with movie stars, either. Living in this city was full of firsts.

  I caught up to him relatively easily—I had the feeling he was going slow for me, but I needed all the help I could get.

  “See? There you go. It’s not that bad.” The superior athlete wasn’t even puffing. “It’s all flat or downhill, so you should be right.”

  It was good in theory, it really was, but the way my heart was pumping in my chest gave me reason for concern.

  “I’m . . . not . . . sure . . . about . . . this,” I puffed. On so many levels. I was certain I wasn’t physically up to this, for one. Two: I had to look ridiculous. There were parts of me jiggling that I didn’t want to think about. And three? There was the possibility I was going to die a sweaty, jiggly death in front of the Sexiest Man Alive. At least death would put an end to the embarrassment.

  Jake glanced across at me. “You’re doing fine. Just give yourself half a mile to find your rhythm, and you’ll find it easier.”

  I couldn’t reply because that would deprive me of precious oxygen and I’d lose the will to move my legs.

  Why on earth was I doing this? If it was to impress Jake, I needed my head checked. The only thing impressive about this situation was that my heart hadn’t given out yet. Besides, I didn’t try to impress celebrities. That wasn’t my style. Then what was this, I wondered.

  We settled into a companionable silence as we ran, which was just as well because it was taking all my effort to stay alive.

  Halfway down the trail I suddenly realized what was to blame for my out of character behavior.

  It was this stupid city. Everything about it was unfamiliar and new. For the first time in forever, I felt like I could experiment. Back home I was dependable Ally. Safe, boring. Here, I didn’t feel the same constraints. I’d chosen to walk up Runyon Canyon. The old Ally wouldn’t have done that. Probably because I was so busy in the restaurant or babysitting, but thinking about that was just depressing.

  For the first time since leaving home, I felt excited. The next six months gave me the chance to try new things. I’d always looked upon my life in Providence with a sense of contentment. Occasionally I’d get bored or a little frustrated, but now I was starting to see it for what it was.

  I’d been sheltered.

  “Still going OK?” Jake asked. “You’re quiet. I don’t know you very well, but I’d say that’s unlike you.”

  I laughed. “Just thinking, that’s all.” And I wasn’t puffing as much now, either.

  “Another benefit of exercise. It’s a great way to clear your head.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Careful. You might be enjoying yourself.”

  “It still hurts.” I was trying really hard to ignore the burning sensation in my thigh muscles with every step.

  “It will at first. We’re almost done. Probably better if I go solo from here. Just in case there’s any paparazzi.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of that. “Yeah, that makes sense.” I bit off saying ‘I guess.’ It wasn’t like I wanted to spend more time with him. His presence was proving painful on so many levels.

  “So what should we say? Lena’s place at seven for pizza?”

  I tripped on a rock, my trainers skidding to a halt on the loose gravel.

  “Whoa.” Jake stopped and reached over to steady me, placing a palm on my shoulder.

  I stood, hands on my hips trying to catch my breath, doing my best to ignore his hand o
n my bare skin. “Tonight?” I’d thought he was joking about the pizza thing.

  He let go of me and gave an offhand shrug. “Why not? Filming starts on the movie next week and then I’ll be doing sixteen-hour days. Lena said she was out tonight and that you could do with some company.”

  I dropped my gaze to my feet and hid a wry smile. Lena. Of course. The damn woman was meddling. I knew she was trying to help, but this was going too far. Jake seemed like a nice guy and Lena had probably guilted him into keeping me company tonight. The absurdity of the situation really was too much.

  “Look. Jake.” I straightened and met his eyes. “You don’t have to babysit me. It’s OK. I was probably going to work some more on Lena’s dress tonight anyway. Besides, when you’re from a family my size, peace and quiet is a rare and beautiful thing.”

  “Why would you think I’d be babysitting you?”

  “Um, Lena?”

  “Yeah? What about her?”

  “Well, I’m guessing she told you I’d be here . . . ” Was he going to make me spell it out?

  Jake took off his sunglasses again and I stiffened when I met his gaze. Annoyance made his blue eyes appear brighter.

  “You thought Lena put me up to this?” he asked.

  I nodded, not sure what else to say. I was the sad, pathetic one, not him.

  He shook his head. “I had no idea you’d be here.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Nope. Running into you was a coincidence. A good one.”

  “Why would you say that?” I hated myself the moment I said it. It sounded like I was fishing for a compliment.

  He leaned across and put an arm around my shoulder. Our sweat made our skin stick together. It should have irked me, but, as already established, I was appreciating sweat in a whole new light.

  He grinned at me shamelessly. “Ever since those pancakes, I’ve been dying to try your pizza.”

  Chapter 8

  The benefit of living with a movie star was that I was able to swing via the supermarket on my way home in chauffeur-driven luxury. By the time Jake arrived, I’d prepped the dough, chopped up some essential ingredients, had a shower, and was back in the kitchen setting everything out.