Breaking Hollywood Read online

  ‘OK, so do you want the truth, or do you want me to kiss your ass?’ she finally said, rounding in the seat to face him.

  ‘I think I’d prefer it if you would kiss my ass.’

  She ignored the suggestion. ‘You have got to stop doing this. I’m fucking furious. Zander, it has to stop. I was just starting to think that things were going to be OK again, that you’d kicked the booze and the coke, and I wasn’t going to wake up to the headline that you were dead in some alley.’ Her voice was raising with every sentence. ‘I’d finally stopped worrying that some rancid woman was gonna infect you because you were too whacked out to use protection. I’d finally started trusting that I could leave you alone for a whole night without checking my phone every five minutes in case you’d gone off the rails, or got wasted or fucked up in any one of a thousand other ways. Or fricking died. I was finally getting a life. I was dating. I even had sex! And then you go and get yourself arrested.’

  ‘But the charge didn’t stick . . .’

  ‘I don’t care!’ she was shouting now. ‘And don’t give me the fricking puppy-dog eyes, because they don’t work on me.’

  ‘Not at all? And by the way, you had sex?’

  He could see by her body language that that one had dented the wall of her irritation. She no longer looked like she wanted to dole out the same treatment delivered to Raymo Cash. ‘Zander, I love you. I do. But I swear to God . . .’

  ‘Matt Damon?’

  She punched him on the arm, as hard as she could.

  ‘Matt Damon. I’ll be the best fricking thing that ever happened to him.’ She started up the engine and screeched out of the car park.

  ‘I could be your assistant if you fancy a career in stunts,’ Zander offered.

  She ignored him, switching directly to PA mode. ‘OK, so I’ve doubled up your training schedule for the next week to keep you busy while you’re on suspension.’

  ‘So where are we going right now?’ he asked. The irony didn’t escape him. He was an A-list star, recognized all over the world, and barring recent events he was at the pinnacle of his career, yet he wouldn’t know where he was meant to be from one hour until the next if he didn’t have Hollie there to direct him. Right now, all he wanted to do was go hang at the beach with Hollie. They could head up to Malibu, pick up coffee on the way, watch the sunset and forget the world for a few hours. Peace. Tranquillity.

  ‘Shutters. Adrianna Guilloti has requested a meeting. I think she flew in this afternoon and the trip was unscheduled, so you might want to brace yourself for turbulence. And not the good kind.’

  Zander’s headache made a sudden reappearance, as, for the first time, he recognized the other consequence of the altercation. He had a strict standards clause in his Guilloti contract and he had no doubt that his recent actions breached it. He could still remember exactly what she’d said when they’d made the initial deal: Red carpets, editorials, publicity shots – all good. Fights and anything that could lead to your clothes being accessorized with handcuffs – all bad.

  His nerves felt like they were on the outside of his skin as he contemplated seeing her. Of course, she’d come to terminate his endorsement contract. And sure, that wasn’t ideal. But the truth was, advertisements weren’t his thing, and he’d only agreed to do it in the first place because he wanted her so badly he’d have agreed to anything. That hadn’t changed. He still thought about her constantly, craved her touch, longed to be inside her.

  Adrianna Guilloti was his crack cocaine, only this time there was no rehab.

  If she was going to terminate his contract, fair enough. At least then he’d be forced to shut that longing down. He’d beat the booze and the powder. Maybe it was time to get over this one too.

  The sun was setting by the time Hollie dropped him in front of the hotel’s glass doors. ‘Are you OK making your own way home? I want to head back and get to dealing with the mountain of crap your latest stunt has unleashed upon us.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll walk home.’

  ‘Great. Zander Leith, on the beach, walking from Santa Monica to Venice in front of several hundred tourists having an evening stroll along the boardwalk. What could go wrong?’

  He put his hands up. ‘OK, OK! I’ll take an Uber. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Preferably not from a ten-by-twelve cell with a request for bail money,’ she warned, before adding a cheeky ‘Love you!’, then slipping the gearstick into drive and pulling away.

  Inside, he scanned the foyer, but there was no sign of Adrianna. Reception had the answer, directing him to the Beach House Suite, 1,350 square feet of pale blue and white luxury, situated on the third floor, overlooking the sands. It was her favourite room. Overstuffed sofa, big comfortable chairs, a fireplace and shutters that could be opened to allow the breeze from the Pacific to fill the room.

  It only took one knock for the door to open, and she beckoned him in. She was obviously in work mode. Her black suit was tailored to give it a masculine edge, a stark contrast to the hint of lace that protruded from the cami underneath. Her hair was tied back in a long, sleek ponytail, her feet supported by the red soles of her Louboutin ankle boots. In his jeans and white T-shirt, Zander felt decidedly underdressed.

  He walked past her and felt her tense as he headed straight for the minibar, then breathe again when he pulled out a soda.

  ‘Here to fire me?’ he asked casually. He wanted this part over now, so that he could move past it and get to the bit where she told him they could have no more contact. It made perfect sense, and he was in no doubt that would be the case. Adrianna Guilloti valued her time, and she valued her career. She wouldn’t waste either on a guy who had been rolling about in the street, brawling with a nobody only a few nights before. The only positive in the whole situation was that he hadn’t been wearing the latest look from her spring–summer collection at the time.

  ‘That was the purpose of my visit.’ The arch of her back curved into her perfect ass as she walked to the window.

  Zander didn’t move. Safer over by the wall. He’d yet to manage more than a few minutes alone in a room with her without nudity being involved, so he felt it prudent to remain at a distance for now.

  ‘But it seems that you’ve earned a reprieve. Our marketing team have reported that since you were apparently defending a woman from attack, your approval rating has climbed several points.’

  ‘I thought it was only presidents who had approval ratings.’

  ‘Presidents and you,’ she spat sharply.

  He wasn’t sure he was getting this. She’d come here to fire him, decided not to and yet she was still giving off very distinct vibes of fury. In Zander’s life, he’d had no long-term relationships. Every romance lasted a couple of months, sometimes three at the outside, all ended by him. Through choice, he’d never lived with anyone, always preferring freedom to claustrophobia. Sometimes, like now, he knew he wasn’t getting the message she was delivering. When that kind of miscommunication happened, he’d invariably decide it was too much work and call it a day. Yet somehow this time the furious pout of her lips and the flash of irritation in her eyes made it impossible to leave, but impossible to stand there any longer.

  Walking towards her, she folded her arms, a barrier between them, compelling him to establish the facts.

  ‘Look, you’re going to have to help me out here. So our working relationship is to continue. And our non-working relationship?’

  ‘What is Mirren McLean to you?’

  To his surprise, there was real anger in her voice.

  ‘She’s a friend,’ he answered honestly.

  ‘A friend?’ Scepticism now. ‘A friend that you will fight with another man for?’

  Zander laughed, finally getting it – a reaction that riled her even more. ‘Hey, baby, are you jealous?’ he teased, reaching out to touch her face. She slapped his hand away and he was just about to back off and give her time to cool down when she was on him, her mouth hard on his, her hands in his hair, lock
ing his face to hers.

  His blood immediately thundered to every extremity as she fiercely broke off from the kiss and sank to her knees, deftly opening his jeans and tearing down the zipper as she went. By the time her face was level with his cock, he was hard, ready for her, but she didn’t do the expected. Instead, she slipped her tongue along the length of his shaft and then back down again, this time going lower, taking one of his balls in her mouth and sucking, while her hand came up to massage his dick. The pain was exquisite, extraordinary, sending tremors shooting around his body. The other ball now, sucking, teasing, gentle, hard, rough, soft, constantly changing pressure and tempo.

  His toned butt clenched as he felt the stirrings of an orgasm. No, not yet. Pulling back, he leaned down, slipped his hands under her shoulders and raised her up, not stopping when she was on her feet. Instead, he reached underneath her and lifted her, Officer and a Gentleman-style, over to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led out onto the balcony.

  With the doors still locked, the lights of the iconic Ferris wheel on the end of the pier were visible in the distance. Zander reached over and flicked one of the switches that controlled the lights in the room to off. They could now see out over one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world, but those on the outside couldn’t see in.

  A more poetic man would consider it a metaphor for his life.

  He dipped his head and kissed her hard on her perfect pillow lips, then gently placed her down so that she stood in front of him.

  She reached for him, but he blocked her hands.

  ‘My turn,’ he whispered, before taking a step back. Their sex was always hard, passionate, frantic, forceful . . . but not this time.

  Eyes flaring with fury, she opened her mouth to speak, but he placed his fingers to her lips, shushing her.

  First, he pulled off his T-shirt, revealing shoulders that looked like they had been carved from stone, each inflection and curve expertly crafted. His pecs crowned a torso that rose in a perfect V, each abdominal muscle clearly defined. In the Land of the Perfect Body, Zander Leith was king, and although she’d seen him, touched him, tasted every inch of him, Adrianna still emitted an involuntary gasp. He bent, pushed his jeans down further, then stepped out of them, making clear he’d been in the commando squad today. Another gasp from his lady. He could see this was excruciating for her. No movement, no sound, just the electrifying torture of anticipation.

  Gently, Zander turned her round so that she was facing out of the window directly in front of her. He lifted her hair, making her shiver as he traced a line across the back of her neck with his tongue, moving to her ear, his hot breath making her tremble again. He placed her jet mane over her shoulder to the front, then, still standing behind her, slipped the jacket from her shoulders, let it fall, revealing the black lace cami top. Silently, using only his two index fingers in slow, synchronized movements, he ran lines down each side of her neck and along the tops of her shoulders, down her back until they reached the bottom of her delicate top. He raised it up, her arms lifting so he could pull it over her head. Using feather-light strokes, he ran his fingertips down her spine, then slowly walked round her, stopping when they were face to face, only inches apart, repeating the exploration of her stomach and breasts using only the tips of his fingers. His gaze was locked on hers for every second, their breathing hard, the electricity between them crackling with desire.

  Only when he was sure that there wasn’t a pore of her naked skin that he hadn’t caressed did he open her trousers, letting them drop to join her other discarded clothes on the floor. She took one step forward, leaving them behind; her only adornments now were a black lace thong and the black leather Louboutin ankle boots. The thong broke with one sharp tug. Just the boots left. They could stay.

  Her eyes were blazing now, with passion, excitement, fury . . . a combination of all. Still he held her gaze, controlling her, refusing to let go, unwilling to let her take the lead.

  He used his foot to nudge her legs open, wider, a bit more, then reached below and slipped his fingers inside her.

  ‘Zander,’ she groaned desperately.

  Once again, he shushed her, moving his face closer to hers so that their lips were almost touching. But not quite. He felt her wet, pulsing pussy clench round his fingers. He slowly teased them out, found her clit, began to massage. A tremor worked its way from her toes to her shoulders.

  ‘I want you,’ she whispered, her breath coming in short bursts now.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Pulling away from her, he moved around behind her again, this time lifting her hands and placing them on the window, so she was bent forward. Still behind her, he placed his hands over hers, his chest on her back, his hips on her ass, his feet between her wide-open legs, letting his cock find her, enter her, ride her until they were both drenched in sweat, legs weak, his final, ferocious, explosive thrusts making her shout his name as she came . . . and came . . . and came . . . and collapsed on the floor.

  The lights of the Ferris wheel on the end of Santa Monica Pier were basking the room in a kaleidoscope of colour when he woke and realized he must have dozed for a few minutes. Adrianna was already up and dressing, her breasts barely contained by the lace cami, her taut buttocks clearly visible in the curves of her trousers.

  He pushed himself up on one arm. ‘Hey. Somewhere to be?’

  Leaning over, she traced one blood-red nail down the side of his perfect face. ‘I’m on the late flight to London. I’ve got a meeting there tomorrow.’

  It wasn’t long enough. He’d come here tonight expecting, almost hoping, that she would break off whatever thing this was that they had, but instead, he just wanted her more, couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go. Resisting physical cravings had never been his strong point. Like a true addict, his mind was already forming a plan to get more.

  ‘I have a better idea.’

  He pushed himself up, his body groaning, his muscles aching with pleasure and pain as he reached for his phone.

  He called a number he’d used a few times before, a personal concierge service that could get him anything he wanted, anytime, anywhere.

  The first request was for a limo to take them to another LA destination. The car would be on the way before he disconnected the call.

  The second request was for a different mode of transport altogether.

  Two hours later, he sat next to Adrianna in the chariot he’d arranged for her. They were just about to depart when he realized his actions required one final communication. The press of one button connected him to Hollie.

  She bypassed ‘Hello’ and went straight to ‘If you’re heartbroken and unemployed, I have three episodes of Scandal and a box of cronuts and I’m happy to share while giving you a lecture on the perils of dating a married woman.’

  ‘Erm, thanks, Holls, but it turns out I’m neither of those two options.’

  ‘Oh God. You are to self-discipline what I am to the Atkins,’ she told him, and from the muffled sound he took it that there would soon be one cronut less in the box.

  ‘Look, I need to go in a minute, but can you cancel the training for tomorrow and block out my schedule for a couple of days?’

  ‘Damn, not again. Zander, where are—’

  ‘Mr Leith, Ms Guilloti, if I could just ask you to fasten your seatbelts, as we’re about to take off.’ The flaxen-haired stewardess sashayed off down the aisle and through the privacy curtain at the front of the Gulfstream G200.

  ‘Zander, what was . . . ? Zander, are you on a plane? Oh, for the love of God, you’re a nightmare. Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ll be back in a couple of days, Holls. Seems I’ve got some stuff to take care of in London.’

  19.

  ‘Fix You’ – Coldplay

  Sarah

  Spike Hollywood, a luscious den of music and debauchery, was the most popular club in LA right now and the hang-out where anyone who was someone wanted to be. And Sarah. From her vantage point on the
staircase between the upper and lower floors, she had eyes on every corner of the club and a full view of the ground-floor bar.

  She’d been coming here a couple of nights a week for the last month, and she’d learned some interesting stuff. She knew that every one of the bar staff was skimming the till, the biggest culprit being the male-model-good-looking head barman, who only rang up every second drink, then balanced out any potential stock deficit by overcharging by 50 per cent in the last two hours of the night, figuring that the clubbers would be too wasted to notice. Most of the time he was right, and when he wasn’t, he just claimed genuine error and corrected it. The guy could win an Emmy for his performance of the innocent mistake.

  Sarah also knew that the pretty blonde waitress was shagging both the bearded dude behind the bar and his goth girlfriend, neither of whom was in on the other’s secret.

  She knew that two of the door staff were dealing coke and amphetamines for a 300 per cent mark-up, which increased by 20 per cent every hour. It was a natty sales strategy that encouraged the buyers to come early.

  She knew that two of the bus girls, whose job it was to keep the tables clean and return empty glasses to the bar, offered the additional service of blow jobs in the store cupboard for thirty dollars per ejaculation.

  And she also knew that she had to get entry to the VVIP room, because that’s where the real action took place. Of course, she could just come back with Davie and the doors to the exclusive lounge would open to welcome him, but that wasn’t the way to play this. She wasn’t going to use him to further her career and then drag him into the ensuing and inevitable fallout. She had to do this on her own. She just hadn’t quite figured out how yet.

  Her mobile phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  Davie.

  ‘Come home. Require house call. Refusal not an option.’

  ‘I’m working. Later?’

  ‘Nope, now. Don’t make me come down there . . .’ He added two laughing-face emojis to let her know he was kidding. Maybe. Over the last couple of months he’d shown up here on three occasions, totally buggering up her surveillance, given that the moment Davie Johnston appeared, it was all about him.