Beautiful Secret (Dirty Hollywood Book 1) Page 2

  “I got it,” I reply just as the alarm sounds indicating the arrival of luggage.

  It only takes a few more seconds before the whispers start and Ava gives me a little nudge with her elbow as the couple standing next to us begins the usual argument.

  “It’s not her,” the guy says, his voice as hushed as it can be in a busy airport baggage claim.

  “Yes it is,” the woman hisses, visibly annoyed that she is being doubted, and before the guy can respond back, I turn and say, “Yes, it is her.”

  “Oh my god, see I told you!” the woman practically shrieks giving the guy a shove, and as much I don’t enjoy being recognized, I know I’ve made this woman’s day. That makes these moments worth it.

  “Would you mind if we took a picture with you?” she politely asks and of course I comply, telling the woman to hand her phone to Ava.

  We take a few shots and she also asks if I mind if she shares it on Instagram, which again, I agree to. She’s been polite and kind, and we strike up a conversation while we all wait for our luggage. They’re here on their honeymoon after getting married last weekend and I wish them a wonderful trip as I watch my suitcase move down the line.

  I reach for my bag just as someone standing near me does the same, offering to graciously help the celebrity. Sometimes it gets a little creepy.

  “I’ve got it,” I tell the man heaving the bag off the belt, dragging it behind me. I only make it about thirty feet before a swarm of photographers are snapping pictures of me toting my own luggage and looking like I haven’t bathed in a week.

  This can be spun one of two ways after the pictures are sold to highest tabloid bidder… Julia Harris: She’s just like us! Or Julia Harris: Hot fucking mess!

  After a long wait in customs and more of the whispering, we find our driver waiting for us, and he’s holding a sign that announces he’s waiting for Ava McDonald. We use Ava’s name for almost all our travel. Once the paparazzi get wind of where I might be filming my next movie, they convene in droves. They haven’t figured out who Ava is yet, but it’s only a matter of time before someone sells her name to a tabloid and our cover is blown.

  “Ava McDonald?” the man asks as we stop in front of him and we both reply together making him give us a strange look.

  “Yes, I’m Ava McDonald,” she says, smirking at me, like this guy doesn’t immediately recognize me. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, just makes his way over to the doors to where his car is parked.

  “I have a car waiting for you…” the driver starts, and I nod my head gratefully.

  It takes over an hour in traffic for us to arrive at the apartment and if I thought I was tired before, I was mistaken.

  “Do I have time for a nap?” I ask, and Ava shoots me a look that basically screams, Are you stupid?

  “I’d suggest you opt for the shower over the nap,” she says giving me a once over as she punches a series of numbers into the keypad on the black iron gate of the apartment.

  “I thought you said we were staying at an apartment?” I ask, walking through the gate to the front door, which is also outfitted with a keypad. “This is a house, a big ass house.”

  “I told them that you like your privacy, so here’s privacy for you,” Ava says, her hand gesturing around to the quaint little neighborhood.

  It’s well after ten p.m. when I finally arrive at the table read, but it’s Ava’s calendar that makes sure I’m the first to arrive. Exhaustion is an understatement and I’m on my third black coffee in the last two hours. It’s the only thing keeping me going at this point.

  I’m looking down at my phone, texting Ava as I walk down a long hallway, attempting to figure out exactly where I’m supposed to be when I collide with something. My phone goes flying from my hand and skidding along the carpeted flooring.

  “Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I say, scrambling to grab my phone as the person leans down too, getting to it before I can.

  I finally get a good look at the person I’ve nearly run down as he hands me my phone. His deep brown eyes are focused on my face and I look away quickly.

  “Are…are…you okay?” I ask and he laughs a little. Of course he’s okay. He’s like six foot-two and all lean muscle. And while I might be in good shape, there’s no way my tiny five-foot five frame could have done any damage.

  He doesn’t answer me immediately, so I apologize again, suddenly feeling awkward as we stand only a few inches apart. It’s then that I realize my hand is still covering his with my phone resting between us.

  “Thanks for picking up my phone,” I say, my hand slipping away from his as my fingers accidently brush the inside of his wrist.

  “Sure,” he finally says, his voice quiet and he gives a small nod of his head.

  “Are you working on the film?” I ask, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation, but again he doesn’t reply, just stares at me. “I’m Julia Harris…” I start, but he cuts me short.

  “Yeah,” he says like he knows who I am and just as I’m about to ask his name I hear, “Julia! There you are!”

  Chapter Two

  Aiden

  She’s shorter in real life. Not sure why I even notice that. Or think it. Or even care. But she is and for some reason, it’s all I can focus on as she sits at the head of the table, surrounded by the other main cast members, the director Stephen, his assistant director Dan, and my boss, Geoff, the executive producer.

  They’re all fawning over her and on any other occasion, it would be completely ridiculous, but this time, it isn’t. Maybe it’s because she barely even notices, much less cares.

  Or maybe it’s because she looks like she’s struggling to stay awake and would rather be anywhere but here.

  Apparently, she only flew in this morning and I know from my own schedule that her day was packed with promo and shit and then dinner with Stephen. I wasn’t a part of or invited to any of that and the first time I laid eyes on her was when she crashed into me in the corridor outside and tried to…

  “Julia?” someone suddenly says.

  She lifts her head, obviously startled. “Sorry,” she mumbles, blushing a little. “This, ugh, this time change is brutal. Where were we?”

  I watch as she scans the pages of her script before glancing sideways to check she’s even on the right page. Her blush deepens as she realizes she’s not and with her bottom lip between her teeth, she shoots the director an apologetic look before turning the page.

  Yeah okay, she’s much hotter in real life, too.

  And that is something I definitely did not expect.

  “Maybe it’s time we called it a night,” her co-star says, sliding a hand on to her shoulder.

  She smiles at him gratefully before pulling away, the movement subtle but still an obvious enough fuck you.

  I don’t blame her; the guy is a total cock. Arrogant as all hell and clearly keen to get in her pants.

  The director wraps things up and everyone starts to pack up their things. I watch as Julia stands, her co-star, Brandon Madden, turning to face her, practically blocking her in against her chair as he suggests they go and get a drink so they can, and I quote “discuss the direction of their characters.”

  Clearly that’s code for something along the lines of I need to get you naked and I can’t help but smile as I watch her turn him down, instead turning around as though she’s looking for someone else.

  People shuffle out, most of them ignoring me because I’m considered a nobody, especially when Geoff’s around. He shoots me a wry smile as he walks out the door, clearly glad this read through is over.

  Geoff’s actually one of the good guys. Someone who doesn’t talk down to me or treat me or anyone else like shit just because we’re lower on the food chain than him. He’s got a great rep in the industry, which is half the reason I tolerate living in L.A.

  He’s also generous with his time and not a prick when it comes to work and what he expects me to achieve with zero notice and fuck all budget.

 
“Julia?” I hear a female voice call.

  Turning, I find what I’m guessing is her assistant now back in the room, a hand on Julia’s arm as she explains that she has no idea where the driver is and she’s going to make a few calls and find out what the fuck is going on, not sparing the explicit language just because she’s talking to an Oscar winning movie star.

  “Fuck’s sake,” Julia mutters, running a hand through her now messy hair. “I may as well just sleep here.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” the assistant says as she immediately starts jabbing at the screen of her iPhone. I watch as she lifts it to her ear, a look of pure rage on her face as the phone rings.

  “Anything I can do to help?” I hear myself ask.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Julia turns to face me, a look of exhausted surprise on her face. “Seems our driver hasn’t shown,” she says, gesturing toward her assistant. “She hates it when things don’t go according to schedule,” she adds with a shrug. “She’s kinda OCD.”

  The assistant finishes her curse-filled voicemail message and then shoves her phone in her bag. “I’m very fucking OCD actually, and I have to be, to keep your ass in line,” she says, nudging Julia to the door where I’m standing. “We’ll just have to get a taxi,” she says.

  I watch as Julia’s shoulder sag, as though just the thought of waiting for a cab to show is too much to bear. I don’t blame her. Not only is it late, it’s also pouring with rain and she’s a movie star coming from the well-known Pinewood Studios.

  This means whenever the cab shows, it’s going to be driven by some bored idiot who’ll spend the entire drive asking her a million questions about her career and movies, culminating in a selfie request and autograph as she attempts to stagger out when they finally reach her hotel.

  “I can give you a lift,” I say, as once again I wonder what the fuck I am actually doing.

  “What?” they both say at the same time.

  I shrug. “I’ve got a car,” I add. “A cab will take forever.”

  The assistant stares at me, a hard look on her face as her eyes bore into me, hunting for some sort of ulterior motive for my offer. Truth be told, I’m not sure what the hell possessed me just now, and maybe it really isn’t such a great idea.

  “Or not,” I add, gathering up my notes and bag.

  I turn and walk out the door just as Julia says, “No, a lift would be great, thank you.”

  I glance over my shoulder and find Julia closer than I expected, a grateful look on her face as she stares up me, her tired blue eyes bloodshot to hell.

  I nod. “Wait at the entrance to Lot 5, I’ll come and pick you up.”

  Julia shakes her head, glancing back at her assistant. “We can walk to the parking garage,” she says. “It’s fine.”

  I nod again, before turning and heading toward the elevator down to the garage. Julia and her assistant spend the ride down discussing the logistics of the next few days, the assistant listing all the events and interviews she has to get through before filming actually starts.

  I sneak a glance at Julia in the glass walls of the elevator, her reflection clearly showing how much she doesn’t want to do any of this. It kinda surprises me, given everything I’ve seen and read about her. Guess it’s true that most of that tabloid stuff is just pure bullshit after all.

  As we approach the car, her assistant tells me the addresses of where we need to go. Neither place is close to my brother’s place, which is where I’m crashing while I’m in town, but it’s too late for that.

  Both of them climb into the back seat, leaving me to feel like a fucking chauffer and an idiot for suggesting this in the first place.

  I turn out of the studio and head toward the Savoy, where I assume Julia is staying. Neither of them speaks to me and the assistant spends a large portion of her time on the phone. When I glance in the rearview mirror, Julia has her head back against the headrest and her eyes half-closed as she stares out the window.

  I open my mouth to ask her if it’s her first time in London but shut it before I can. Why the fuck would I think she’d be interested in a conversation with me? And more to the point, why do I even care if it is her first time here?

  Eventually I pull into the Savoy and a valet rushes over to open the back door, ignoring me as he too clearly assumes I’m just the driver. Both of them get out, the valet practically wetting himself with excitement as he tries to usher them inside.

  I’m about to drive off, figuring a goodbye is not an option, much less a thanks, when the front passenger door opens and Julia slides into the seat beside me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She smiles at me as she pulls on her seat belt. “Oh, I’m not staying here,” she says, waving goodnight to her assistant. “Do you know how to get to Kensington Gardens? That’s me apparently.”

  Jesus, why the fuck did I assume it was her assistant staying in the apartment and Julia in the luxury five star hotel? And why is she now sitting up the front with me instead of in the back?

  “Hello?” she says, waving a hand in front of me.

  I blink as I try to comprehend what the fuck is happening right now.

  “Are you alright?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “Yep, sorry, just thought you were staying here.”

  Julia smiles at me as she shakes her head. “No, I prefer something a bit more private,” she says, before looking away.

  “Right,” I murmur as I pull out of the bright lights of the Savoy and onto the darkened streets. It’s weirdly quiet for the middle of London, but then it is nearly 2 a.m. on a Tuesday morning.

  “I’m Julia by the way,” she adds, as though I couldn’t possibly know that.

  “Yeah,” I reply, cocking an eyebrow at her. “I know.”

  “And you are?” she says, motioning to me, brows raised. “You didn’t actually mention it when I bumped into you earlier.”

  “Aiden Morrissey,” I reply, eyes on the road.

  “Right,” she says. “Well, nice to finally meet you.”

  I glance at her and find her twisted in her seat, a small smile on her face as she watches me. “What?” I immediately ask.

  “Nothing,” she says, laughing a little as she looks away from me. “So, Aiden, tell me what it is you do?”

  “Production assistant.”

  I see her nod from the corner of my eye. “And you’re English?” she asks. “I mean obviously, right?”

  “Right,” I say, a small smile tugging at my mouth, which I force away by biting my cheek.

  “So, you must be glad we’re filming here then?” she continues.

  Why the fuck is she talking to me?

  I nod. “Yeah,” I reply.

  “Okay. Tell me something, Aiden,” she continues. “Can you answer me with anything more than a single word or is it monosyllabic answers from here to my house?”

  My eyes jerk to hers and I find her looking back at me, an amused look on her face that suggests she either thinks I’m a complete idiot or just outright stupid. I turn back to the road without answering.

  “So what, now it’s nothing?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I just…why do you even care what I think or do? I’m the second assistant producer, I barely exist in all of this, much less show up on the radar of the Oscar winning movie star who’s starring in this movie.”

  Julia says nothing, her silence echoing through the car as she seemingly realizes how little I’m worth her time.

  “Right,” she eventually says. “And of course you don’t stereotype at all now, do you?” she adds, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  I exhale, wondering how it is I managed to find myself in this situation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, hand out in front as she starts to count suggestions off on her fingers. “I’m a stuck-up movie star, you’re the poor hard-done by nobody, I couldn’t possibly be interested in anyo
ne but myself because my head is shoved so far up my own ass. Do you need any more?”

  She’s breathing hard when she finally finishes and looks away, goes back to staring out the window as the lights of the city pass her by, seemingly done with anymore conversation that involves me.

  My brain on the other hand is churning with everything she’s just said to me. The truth in her words and the way I had automatically pegged her to be one thing when everything she’d said and done so far had actually suggested something entirely different.

  Fuck me, I’d acted exactly like I’d expected her to act. God, what a dickhead.

  The silence stretches between us and even though it’s for the best because there’s not a chance in hell she and I are ever going to have a meaningful conversation or interaction as soon as filming starts, I still feel like shit for judging her like I just did.

  But I don’t say anything and finally I pull up to the gated townhouse she’s evidently staying in. A far cry from the obvious celebrity-ness of the Savoy, even if it is clearly several million pounds worth of townhouse she’s staying in.

  Julia clicks her seat belt and reaches for the door, pushing it open even though the rain that hasn’t stopped falling all night is now heavier.

  “Thank you for the lift,” she says, not looking at me. “I really appreciate it.”

  She grabs her bag and steps out of the car. I watch her, feeling like a total jerk for the way I’ve acted tonight.

  “Julia,” I call out, the apology halfway out of my mouth.

  She slams the door in my face though, not looking back as she stalks toward the entry gate. I don’t move, even though I know I should get out of the car and apologize as I sit here and watch her punch the code in three times before the gate finally gives way and lets her in.

  She slams the gate shut, the noise heard in my car as she turns and stalks toward the front door, her anger evident.

  I feel like a prize dickhead and just as I switch off the ignition and move to get out and actually apologize, she opens the front door and disappears inside, the door shutting behind her just as hard as the front gate did.