CHAPTER ONE
Christmas In Hollywood
‘I’m running off to Rio with Carlo.’
Cerys’s phone call from Hollywood woke me up in the middle of the night in London. I blinked, trying to focus on what was so urgent, but running off to Rio would probably qualify.
‘Rio?’
‘Yes, he says we should fly off this evening and throw caution to the wind. I think he’s planning on proposing to me on a sunset beach. Can you imagine, Ffion?’
I could. Even on a freezing night in London, tucked up in bed with the snow fluttering past the window, I could picture luscious looking Carlo, stripped to the waist on a romantic beach in Rio, asking my best friend Cerys to marry him. At thirty–five she’d been concerned that she’d missed the marriage boat until Carlo came along last December. I remember because the decorations and festive chaos was already up and running. Recently she’d been hoping he’d present her with a ring.
‘He’s hinted about getting married, and even asked what type of ring I’d choose if someone were to ask me to marry him. Oh, Ffion, I’m so excited.’
‘I’m delighted for you.’
‘But there’s only one thing . . .’
My heart sank as I sensed a favour looming. We’d been best friends since school in London, and while I’d stayed in my home city to become a newspaper journalist, Cerys had left long ago to live in Hollywood. She’d become an agent for actors. Quite a successful one. We’d kept in touch and she visited London a few times a year, especially when some of her clients were working on films over here. I’d visited her occasionally, but Hollywood wasn’t particularly my scene. Working as a tabloid reporter in London suited me. I had no ambitions beyond our shores, though I was happy for Cerys. But whenever she asked for a favour, it always involved trouble.
Her real name was Agnes. But Agnes the agent didn’t have the persona she wanted, so she’d changed her name to Cerys the celebrity agent. This was more her style, and I’d become so used to it that I hadn’t called her Agnes in years.
‘I need a favour,’ she said. ‘You told me that you were taking a week off from the newspaper in London?’
‘Yes, I want to enjoy Christmas. I need a break. It’s been a hectic year.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, sounding more American than a former Londoner. ‘You didn’t even get a vacation in the summer. So I thought you’d jump at the chance to get some heat in your bones.’
‘You want me to fly to Rio?’
She laughed. ‘No, don’t be silly.’
Her words hung in the air and I sensed this favour was at the top end of the ten scale.
‘I want you to fly over to Hollywood. Stay in my house for Christmas. Live it up in the sunshine and glamour.’
‘House sit?’ Surely she could lock up her property for a few days while she skipped off to Rio.
‘Yes . . .’
There was more.
‘I really need you to look after my business. I’m expecting some deals to come through, just paperwork, but they need signed and sorted. I don’t have anyone else I can trust going through my private business. These deals are important. I’ve been working on them for months and they’re due to come through now.’
‘I know nothing about being a Hollywood agent. You know that.’
‘Yes, but you’re a journalist, you’re media savvy. You’re…you. You know what you’re like, Ffion. You’re a fusspot for details and I know that you could handle this. All you’d have to do is phone and email me when the paperwork comes through. I’ll deal with things from Rio, email them back, and then you can send the paperwork out to the studios in Los Angeles. The actors I’m dealing with are real sweeties. You’ll have no problems with them. You’ve never been star–struck or in awe of Hollywood. You’re a London chick through and through. And besides, this is the silly season. Everyone is too busy with parties and promos. You’ll probably have no contact from them. I just need these deals sorted out. They’re due to arrive at my office in the next few days.’
Hmm . . . Christmas in Hollywood?
‘Come on, Ffion. It’s Christmas. Carlo’s going to propose. I’ve worked so hard on these deals. You know that you love my house. You can relax and swim in the pool. Catch some sunshine.’
I’d been hoping for a white Christmas, and judging by the snow in London this was pretty certain.
‘Say yes, Ffion. I’ll owe you a hundred favours.’
And so I agreed to fly over to Hollywood and step into Cerys’s shoes while she was away. Christmas in Hollywood? Santa and sleigh bells in the sunshine? It would be different.
I finished work at the London tabloid at five the following evening, and caught the first flight out to California. I didn’t tell anyone at the paper I was going to Hollywood, not even my editor, Gavan.
He’d taken over as editor earlier in the year when the previous editor left. Luckily, I worked well with him and had no problem when my old editor left. I thought I’d find it difficult working with a younger editor who was only two years older than me but we got on okay. He was tall, slim and attractive with dark brown hair, and initially a few of the women who worked at the paper were rumoured to have a crush on him. They said it was his sexy hazel eyes, and roguish smile that did it. But he hadn’t dated any of them.
Anyway, I’d packed a suitcase, but Cerys said that I should rummage through her wardrobe of designer clothes. We were similar in size, though I was slightly slimmer especially from all the work I’d been doing for the past year without a break. Dress size eight to ten, depending on how hard the tabloid editor worked me, was the only thing Cerys and I had in common. I was three years younger, but as childhood friends I’d never noticed the difference. At five foot six, she was a bit taller, and I hadn’t seen her as a brunette, like me, since she was sixteen. Cerys was a blonde with blue eyes. My eyes were grey. While she worked out at the gym I relied on a harassing work schedule to keep me fit. So far it was working.
I stepped out of the taxi that dropped me off outside her house in Hollywood. It was a white painted bungalow with a front lawn and a patio and pool out back.
I shaded my eyes against the bright sunlight, and the pleasant heat reminded me of September in London. She’d left the keys under a pot plant round the back of the house, and I let myself in via the rear door that led to the kitchen and dining area. The house was filled with sunshine streaming in through the patio doors. I put my suitcase down on the polished wood floor that had cream coloured rugs scattered here and there and matched the cream and light grey decor. The only vibrant colours came from a couple of large abstract paintings in the open plan lounge/dining area.
A Christmas tree sat in the corner near the faux log fire. The fire was off, obviously, but I could picture that the room would be cosy when lit up at night.
I went over to the Christmas tree, wondering why a letter was dangling from one of the baubles. It was addressed to me. I tore it open and read the message.
Thanks a bunch for doing this, Ffion. Your presents are under the tree. Merry Christmas sweetie. Love, Cerys.
Four shiny wrapped gifts were lying under the tree and a large box of chocolates. I decided not to open the presents until Christmas but helped myself to a couple of the sweets.
Chewing on a chocolate coated toffee, I wandered through to her office which was situated in one of the rooms at the back of the house. Doors opened from the office on to the patio. It was a lovely house.
A note was pinned to the computer. Have fun!
I planned to relax on a lounger by the pool later, after having a swim of course.
I made myself a cup of tea to refresh my senses after the long haul flight. Then I hung my things up in the wardrobe. They looked drab in comparison to Cerys’s glamorous clothes. My classic grey and black ensembles wouldn’t cut in here. Besides, she’d given me carte blanche to raid her wardrobe.
I flicked through the array of exquisite fashions. Should I have a sleep to catch up from the flight? Or dress up to the nines in clothes that were totally beautiful? She’d always had great taste in clothes, while I was more the practical sort. Yes, I liked fashion, but high street fashion dominated my wardrobe at home. I made a reasonable wage from being a journalist for one of the top tabloids, and being single I had no one except myself to look after, but I never indulged in expensive designer wear, preferring to keep up with the high street trends. It worked for me as a journalist in the city.
After exhausting myself with my own fashion show, I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up prone on the big double bed.
It was almost nine in the evening. Where had the time gone? I stretched, had a shower, washed my hair, put on my comfy black leggings and a white chemise, and padded through to the kitchen to make myself a cuppa and something to eat. I pulled the fridge door open. It was fully stocked with everything I needed.
I rustled up dinner using the fresh vegetables and salad stuff in the fridge and cut myself two slices of bread. I added some cold cuts and sat at the breakfast bar enjoying the first meal I’d had since I’d left London.
I’d just finished my meal when the doorbell rang. Cerys had said that no one would come near the house. No clients at least.
Feeling suspicious of the caller, I kept the lights off in the hall and crept through to peek out to see who it was.
I blinked. No, it couldn’t be. Trae Linden was one of the top heartthrobs in the movie industry. I didn’t know he was one of Cerys’s clients. I’d planned to familiarise myself with her client list later.
He paced up and down the lawn, determined to get in. He’d obviously seen that someone was at home.
I went to answer the door. All I had to do was tell him that Cerys was away on business for a few days. We’d decided this was our mantra if anyone wondered where she was. Running off to Rio with Carlo was not to pass my lips.
All six foot three of him towered over me. It’s one thing to see someone acting on the silver screen and agree that they’re gorgeous, but it’s quite interesting to see them in the flesh. As a journalist I’d met a few celebrities and having worked in the media I definitely wasn’t the sort to be star–struck. No, not at all. It didn’t phase me. And it’s true that some of them aren’t as handsome in real life. Part of the Hollywood persona isn’t there. It’s all part of the dream. However, this man looked even better than on film. And then some. He was the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen. Not my type though, not that this was a possibility. He was out of my league by a zillion miles. Trae belonged to other women like, I don’t know . . . women who were nothing like a London hack like me.
His suit was pale grey and looked very expensive. A white shirt and silvery grey tie enhanced his smooth, golden tanned skin and blond hair. The blue of his eyes defied reality. Maybe he wore contacts, though judging from his other assets the blue was probably genuine.
I’d seen him earlier in the year being interviewed on television, promoting his latest action adventure film in which he played the lead role. Judging by the amount of media coverage, it was a success and popular with his fans. Now here he was standing on my doorstep wanting to get into the house.
