Hollywood Hearts: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  In moments I’ve found us both some hot and cold things to eat. The studio’s airline never slouching on meal options even for a short unattended flight.

  Listing off our options, I’m relieved she’s not a lobster, caviar, and champagne girl.

  I can’t eat that stuff and booze just gives me a headache.

  Sensing Denise has worked some more of her magic, I find a healthy supply of cheesesteak sandwiches and rolls from my favorite deli that look and smell like they were just made.

  Olivia’s eyes are wide with amazement as she helps herself to the less fancy options, and in no time we’re both tucking into what I still believe to be the best food in the state.

  “Oh my god, this is amazing,” she exclaims, her chin dripping with meat juice and cheese.

  “Tell me you don’t do this every day,” she insists as I hand her a hot towelette to freshen up as she eats.

  “I could I suppose, but nah. Not every day,” I remind myself. “Whenever I’m in town though, I make sure and get these sandwiches from my favorite deli. It looks like Denise read my mind,” I mention casually.

  The name seems to catch in the air again between Olivia and me.

  “She’s a pretty good agent, huh?” Olivia observes, but I can see a little green spark of envy in her eyes.

  It’s hardly something I feel like talking about right now, I’m trying to enjoy the time away from my nagging mom and agent. But Olivia’s got a point.

  “It is good to have someone who knows what I like,” I tell her and leave it at that for now.

  “I wish my boss was as easy to please,” she murmurs to herself, and I have to strain my ears to even catch that.

  I’ve never even met Naomi Pilkington, but like a lot of things in Hollywood, she has a certain reputation. And none of it good from what I’ve heard.

  “Is entertainment reporting what you really want?” I ask Olivia. Not surprised when she shakes her head in the negative before taking another full bite from her food.

  For a second I think the topic of her boss might have put her off her food, but her expression shifts as she politely changes the subject.

  “Any journalism is fine, but I guess there are not so nice people in every office. Mine just happens to be my boss,” she says trying to sound tactful and I get the impression she wants to leave it at that.

  I try to remind myself it’s none of my business really, not to interfere. But today, me and Olivia. It’s not an ordinary day and it’s not going to end come five o’clock.

  But maybe it’s time somebody pushed back against Naomi Pilkington and everyone like her.

  Eating the rest of our meal in silence she finally pipes up. “I didn’t mean to whine about my boss,” she murmurs, and I smile.

  “Bosses, they’re everywhere,” I respond with a shrug but file the name Naomi Pilkington away for future reference.

  “You don’t have a boss though,” Olivia counters. “You can do whatever you want.”

  That really makes me smile. “Uh, try telling that to studio executives when your last three movies have tanked,” I chuckle.

  The jet lurches with turbulence again and we end up close but this time I manage to grab hold of my seat instead of her chest while she falls into my lap.

  “Is flying always this much fun?” she asks, grinning without trying to move off me.

  “It could be,” I tell her, letting my hands wrap around her, holding her as the whole jet feels like it’s being pulled on a string.

  With anyone else or on my own, I’d be panicked by now. But with just the two of us, and how it’s brought us closer together physically it feels perfect.

  The pilot makes a rare announcement, apologizing for the choppy ride and telling us we’re almost ready to land, but even once things level out I can tell Olivia’s in no hurry to get off my lap.

  A familiar firmness has risen again, pressing into her softness and making us both feel like we’re in no hurry for this to end any time soon.

  “I’m having a really nice time, Jack,” Olivia whispers, clinging to me as I shift just a little in my seat.

  “Can I call you Jack?” she asks.

  “What else would you call me?” I wonder aloud.

  “I dunno, Mr. Mercury,” she replies, putting on as deep a voice as she can and making me laugh.

  I haven’t laughed like this with anyone. Everything feels so light, so easy with Olivia.

  “Well, there might be a bit more of that and even some Ms. Fanning once we reach the studio,” I caution her. “I get the feeling the ‘spend a day with the star’ organizers have a bit more in store than just a plane ride and a steak sandwich.”

  “I hope you’ll remember that,” she says cryptically, flashing just a little coy smile before pulling herself up off of me and sitting opposite again.

  “Oh, you can count on it,” I tell her firmly, already missing the feel of her body against mine. Wanting to touch her again already.

  Needing her like air now, I know I’m more than just interested in Olivia Fanning.

  I’m falling and the dive is deep.

  I can only hope she’s there waiting for me at the bottom.

  The jet lands and we’re driven to the main studio, with Olivia only taking her eyes off me to follow my finger as I point out various things and places of interest before we get there.

  She’s interested, excited to be on a whirlwind trip of some sort, but it’s the look I get from her when our eyes lock that tell me I’m not imagining this thing between us.

  She’s reserved still, a little shy. But those windows to the soul speak a whole lot more than words ever could.

  The greeting we get at the studio gates feels weird too.

  Last I heard I’d be lucky to work in this town ever again, but once we’re in my predictions prove true and I’m glad the focus is on Olivia and not me for a change.

  Seeing her get the royal treatment is the least she deserves.

  I don’t know how Denise managed it at such short notice, or how much trouble we’ll both be in because of it. But there’s everything from a red carpet and flowers to greet Olivia once we exit the limo, with her first invitation being to hair and wardrobe.

  She looks to me for support and although I kinda just shrug, I move closer to her, hooking an arm around her waist and murmur into her ear to just go with the flow.

  “I thought all girls liked getting a makeover?” I ask her, quickly adding that personally, I don’t think she needs it.

  “You’ll come with me though?” she asks, suddenly looking nervous.

  “You’re mine now,” I tell her, squeezing her a little closer as we’re both guided by a small army of staff towards everything her special day has waiting in store for her.

  Chapter Nine

  Olivia

  I’ve written enough articles about famous male actors and their exploits, some of it even true, Naomi assures me.

  But with Jack, I can tell it’s genuine, even though he’s hands on and not shy at all if I can see just how happy he is to see me.

  It’s a day of firsts for me so far. Actually winning something, flying on a plane, and then getting an up-close and personal experience of what a real man looks and feels like once I fall into Jack’s lap.

  At first, I think he’s just being sweet, making the plain Jane fan feel special for the day.

  But once I get an eyeful of his biggest asset, straining against his pants as he gives me the look that even I couldn’t mistake for anything else, I know that Jack means business.

  I’m excited, who wouldn’t be? But at the same time, it’s nerve-racking for me. Jack’s no fumbling schoolboy. He’s a man of the world, could have any girl he wants.

  So why me?

  I’d like to ask, but there’s a bigger part of me that’s screaming ‘who cares? Let the man have whatever he wants.’

  It’s not every day the man of your dreams and crush of a lifetime whisks you off to be spoiled by him.

  On
ce we land and I’m inside another limo, I feel like I’m in a dream I could get used to.

  The huge city outside feels way less scary from in here, and with Jack, as my tour guide, I get the inside scoop on the most interesting places and things as we cruise past.

  I could ask Jack if he lives here full time, but something tells me he doesn’t. It’s definitely got the vibe of a nice to visit but couldn’t live here sort of town.

  I wonder where Jack does live, how his house looks. If he ever gets lonely. But those thoughts come and go quickly before we’re at the studio and I can see even Jack’s surprised by all the attention I’m suddenly getting. I’d normally hate it but because everyone seems so nice it’s another thing I feel like I could get used to pretty quickly.

  Queen for a day.

  I’m glad my boss can’t see me now, she’d be furious.

  Even the thought of work and Naomi doesn’t dampen my mood, nor does the announcement of a makeover.

  Stuff I’d usually cringe at, but with Jack by my side and telling me I don’t need it, it sounds more like fun than anything sinister.

  Far from what other people in my life have pointed out to me so far, I’m told by the make-up and hair people that I have beautiful skin and really nice hair.

  “You’re just saying that,” I try to tell them, but they mean it.

  “Seriously, I wish I had skin like yours.”

  “That hair, all-natural? Girl, you’ve got it going on.”

  “And those nails? I wish mine could grow like that.”

  I’ve never had so many genuine compliments, and within a half-hour of pampering, I feel like every word might just be true.

  Jack’s far from bored and makes sure he’s right next to me the whole time, getting himself a trim and some north of the border manscaping done himself.

  Seeing him get his brows and nose plucked makes me feel less intimidated by my own treatments, which are mainly just hair, nails, and some light makeup which I never really wear.

  They make it look easy, but I’ve never played with makeup much because it’s so easy to get it wrong. Plus no one ever looked at me twice with or without it, so it’s a cost saver for me to just give it a miss.

  But now I’m not so sure.

  With my hair styled professionally and in a way I’ve never worn it before, plus my face looking like something out of a magazine for a change, I feel-

  “Beautiful,” Jack says, looking at me intently in the mirror. “Not that you weren’t to start with,” he reminds me, and there’s a chorus of ‘aww’ from the ladies who take a step back to admire their own handy work.

  There are a few pictures and my own phone gets hijacked early for the before and after’s but I don’t mind this time.

  It’s nothing like my bungled entrance this morning.

  “All we need now is some new clothes,” Jack announces, and hamming it up, he claps his hands as though he’s a sultan in charge of a harem, cocking his brow with delight as everyone agrees, scurrying to another part of the maze-like building I know has the word wardrobe on it.

  “We’re gonna steal her for a minute, Jack.” Somebody warns him and although he’s playing along I can tell he really doesn’t want me out of his sight.

  “You don’t want to see me getting fitted and changed,” I murmur to him as I get up to follow, doing as I’m told.

  But one glance at Jack tells me that’s not true.

  “I’m not far behind,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear, and the hundred fingers that helped me look better than I could have imagined pass me over to the hundred more who are eagerly waiting to measure me up.

  Anywhere else, I’d probably be scared to death. But just like the people helping with hair and makeup, there’s no judgment. Hell, half the women are way older and not bothered by how they look, so I don’t feel like it’s a beauty contest.

  “You can keep your panties, but we’re gonna try and do away with this.” One of the ladies announces, making me gasp when she unhooks my bra and tosses it onto a chair like it’s already trash.

  A fresh, fluffy robe covers me in seconds and I’m invited to sit and wait while a few outfits are chosen for me to try on.

  They’re all beautiful, but the red low cut piece leaps out at me, but I’m the first to admit aloud that there’s no way I’d fit into it.

  “That’s what we’re here for honey,” somebody chimes in, telling me I’m right though.

  “It’ll need to be let out a whole cup size or two up top,” she adds, and there’s a murmur of agreement.

  No laughing or name calling. No pointing.

  Nothing I’d ever associate with Olivia Fanning trying on new clothes in front of other people.

  Especially in a Hollywood studio of all places.

  I try it on, and to my surprise, it fits pretty well, but there are chalk lines and fingers under elastic in seconds, then I’m ordered to take it off and wait.

  I don’t feel like trying anything else on. Somehow the red dress is just right, but I do wonder how I’ll keep warm enough in it.

  I miss my sweater and jeans already.

  It feels like minutes before the dress is back again and trying it on, I’m convinced it must be a different dress in the same style they went and found.

  But the same chalk lines tell me it’s not.

  “That was pretty quick,” I remark, wondering how they even did that.

  “It’s our job,” someone cheerfully reminds me, handing me matching shoes I know will fit but they’re no less pleased than I am once I slip into the whole outfit.

  “Perfect.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “I think red is your color,” somebody else says approvingly.

  I feel a tightness in my chest, and it’s not because the dress doesn’t fit.

  My lip trembles and as much as I try to stop them, there are tears.

  “I’ve never had anyone say so many nice things before,” I finally manage.

  Expert hands dab my tears away and rub my back, telling me I look beautiful and there’s no need to cry about it.

  If only they knew.

  The years of agony, torment, and tears far worse than today. Every time I went to class or got on the bus. The locker room jeers and schoolyard pranks.

  All because I was never quite one of the beautiful people, or because I’m just not naturally tall and thin.

  Strange though, that it’s Hollywood that accepts me. Makes me feel like a queen. Sees things and brings them out, even if I can’t accept them as part of myself.

  I stand admiring myself, collecting myself really as I see a hundred reasons not to cry.

  But the biggest reason is behind me, his huge warm hands gently clutching my shoulders from behind.

  “You look stunning,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss my neck but stopping himself. Making me wish he wouldn’t stop. Not now, not ever.

  But like I said, he’s a gentleman. For the most part.

  Jack’s changed outfits himself. From fashionable casual chinos and shirt to a full three piece tuxedo, which he fills perfectly and has a single rose in his lapel to match my dress.

  I watch his hands disappear from my shoulders and reappear in front of me, gently placing what looks like a diamond studded necklace on me before he clasps it at the back.

  “There,” he says gently. “Now we can blend in as I show you around,” he says with a smile, his own hands lingering on me as long as they can.

  “Are these real?” I hear myself ask, tracing a finger over one of the largest stones.

  Jack shrugs and then smiles. “We’re in Hollywood, what is real?” he asks and offers me his arm which I take without hesitation.

  They feel real.

  Not that I’d know.

  But one thing I do know is that Jack is real and how I’m feeling is real. I tell him again that the day so far has been perfect.

  “I just don’t want any of this to end.” I confess, noting his look that asks the que
stion, ‘who says it has to end?’

  Chapter Ten

  Jack

  I owe Denise an apology, although I probably wouldn’t put it that way to her in person.

  She’s arranged things pretty well so far, turning what I dreaded being a cringe-worthy day with a boring studio tour into something magical.

  Magical for Olivia, having her treated the way she deserves, but I’d feel just as special with her on my arm if she had gray sweats and a T-shirt on.

  A mental image I find just as interesting as watching her curves move under then red dress as she walks.

  Once we’re out of the wardrobe department we take a stroll around various sets that aren’t filming. I introduce Olivia to a few faces I know she’d like and maybe a few she doesn’t even know.

  But after an hour or so of sightseeing, a familiar voice stops me in my tracks. Making me wonder if it’s the end of the fairytale day so far.

  “Jack Mercury. I should call security, have you thrown off the lot,” a gruff voice almost shouts from behind us.

  I feel Olivia tense up on my arm, but I whisper to her that I can handle it from here.

  Turning with a smile and a suave wave of recognition, I introduce Ms. Olivia Fanning to the studio’s senior executive and head of production, Marcel Goodwyn.

  I half expect to be told to get out of the borrowed clothes and leave, until I notice the aging studio executive having a light globe moment once he sees Olivia.

  “Actually, you’re just the man I was looking for, Jack. You and your latest companion,” he drawls, smiling to himself and changing his mood faster than any actor could, and with way more conviction.

  “I need you, but only for a moment. A second unit’s having trouble with some talent,” he says mysteriously.

  “Glad to help,” I lie, knowing this guy never asks for a favor, only knows how to use people. But seeing as I’m probably trespassing, anything to take his focus off that is worth it, for Olivia’s sake.

  “Good,” he announces. “Kissing lesson, Jack. Your last movies stunk but you do have presence. You know how to kiss for the camera. I need you to show some younger talent just how it’s done.”