Trouble in Tinseltown

by Aimee Duffy

  Ciara nodded. She could pretend he wasn’t there if it meant there’d be no more screaming matches.

  ‘We have more important things to worry about,’ Gem chimed in. ‘Like what we’re wearing to Aiden’s premiere.’

  Taking a sip of the cocktail was much, much safer than laughing at the way Gem spoke about the Hollywood star like she knew him – sometimes like she was dating him. And that’s all it took for Elle and Gem to have a marathon chat about what cut of gown they were going to keep an eye out for tomorrow, argue about the pros of Gucci against Marc Jacobs and Ciara decided it was time to clear out and heft her suitcase up god knew how many stairs before she was too shattered.

  ‘Which one will I take?’ she asked Elle.

  ‘Any. Most are the same and no doubt that shit has taken the master suite,’ Elle said with a scowl.

  Ciara cleared out of the way before her friend erupted again.

  As she roamed through the mini-mansion, suitcase in toe, she tried not to feel crappy about the dress she’d picked up in River Island for the premiere. She’d love to get glammed up and drip with designer gear and accessories but that wasn’t going to happen with the limited savings she had for the trip – the flights alone had ripped off a huge chunk.

  But she was in LA, on the first part of her journey before she had to go home and face the fact she had no job, a lot of university debt, and no clue what she wanted to do with her life. In the grand scheme of things, worrying about a high street dress was ridiculous. She shoved everything from her mind and focused on the tasks at hand.

  One, pull a possibly vital muscle by dragging her hundred pound suitcase up the stairs – what had she packed in it again? Cement? She didn’t want to imagine how flushed her pale skin was after, or whether her face looked like she’d pressed it into a puddle – especially since the hottie she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about was in the house somewhere.

  Two, find a room that didn’t look like it had been taken by the gorgeous, sweaty hunk she shouldn’t wonder about. This was trickier. Every door she opened looked the same. Pale décor, silky looking sheets instead of a duvet, and mini balconies facing down the hill, showcasing the city below. Surreal.

  There wasn’t so much as a rickety floor board in the house so when she heard someone clear their throat behind her she about jumped out of her flip flops. Turning, she prayed again that her face didn’t look like she’d sputtered her way round the London Marathon five minutes before.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Zack Muir asked.

  Thank goodness he was fully dressed this time. She didn’t think she’d be able to force words out if he was still sweaty and half naked.

  ‘I don’t know what– what’s up here.’ Keeping her mouth shut and staring at him like an eejit would have been better than what came out. Instead of Maths she should have studied English. Or taken a course in how to behave around gorgeous men she couldn’t have.

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘What’s what?’

  ‘You know, which room’s taken? Elle said you have the master suite.’

  Great, now her palms were as sticky as her face. So much for everything the girls had taught her about flirting. She was sweating buckets and getting tongue tied over a man who looked at her like he thought she was about to clear out with all his cash.

  Zack closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘That’s Elly all over. She shoots her mouth off without checking the facts. They’re all empty. I’m in my room down stairs. Take your pick.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ Ciara turned before she said something that would paint her cheeks scarlet, caught her toe beneath the cement filled case and took a not-so-graceful nosedive into the floor, cursing like a trucker all the way.

  Luckily she caught herself before she cracked her skull but she’d never live the shame of this one down. With her bikini covered bum – hopefully cellulite free – in the air and Zack now on his knees at her side, she’d be quite happy to have knocked herself a good one so she didn’t have to face him.

  ‘Shit, are you okay?’ he asked, pulling her off the floor so she was kneeling behind the case, not sprawled across it. At her nod, he smiled. ‘I didn’t understand half of what you said but I’m guessing it was pretty creative.’

  Her face burned, adding more humiliation to this scenario. ‘I’m glad you didn’t, it wasn’t very polite. Sorry.’

  Zack didn’t seem appalled, thank god. He pulled her to her feet.

  ‘So where in Ireland did you grow up?’ he asked.

  A quick glance at the bikini top to make sure the triangles were still in place – check – and she felt a tiny bit better. ‘Blessington. Not too far from Dublin.’

  ‘I’ve never been, but keep meaning to. The accent is adorable.’

  There goes the flame again, heating her face all the way to her scalp. ‘It’s a great city.’

  Time to move away from him before she tripped up and fell through one of the windows or something worse. Pulling up the case, she turned to go but Zack lifted the whole thing off the floor like it didn’t weigh more than she did.

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Compared to Elle and her mum, you definitely travel light.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ciara said, not sure what else to stay.

  Following him down the corridor she tried her best to keep her eyes level with his shoulders. But they were wide and strong looking, and this really wasn’t going to help keep her mind off him like she’d promised she would.

  At the end of the corridor next to yet another set of stairs, he opened the door and led her in. This suite didn’t look the same as the others. It had too much space, a walk in wardrobe she’d never be able to fill with all the clothes she’d owned from birth to now and what looked like a massive ensuite.

  This had to be the master bedroom, and since Zack had lain her suitcase on a bed big enough to sleep ten people, she guessed he was giving it to her.

  ‘I can’t take this,’ she protested.

  ‘Why not? Elle thinks I’m here anyway.’ He headed for the door but she blocked the way.

  ‘I’d rather not fight with Elle. I’ll just take another.’

  He grinned and his eyes glowed, honey-like and melting. ‘Relax, Ireland. My cousin’s bark is worse than her bite.’

  ‘Ciara, not Ireland and I’m not coming into my friend’s house and taking the best room from her.’ If he wanted to fight with Elle he could go right ahead but she wasn’t being piggy in the middle.

  She grabbed the case, pulled it off the bed and narrowly avoided crushing her toe.

  ‘Give me that,’ he said, not as friendly as he’d seemed before. ‘Go pick a room before my poor arms break.’

  She reckoned it would take a lot more than her luggage to bend those biceps but didn’t point that out. She found a room quickly and let him place the case on a more reasonably sized bed.

  Before he left, he said, ‘Enjoy LA, Ireland. And don’t let Elle bully you.’

  Her eyes narrowed at the empty doorway for a second but she couldn’t stay annoyed for long. She kind of liked that he’d given her a nickname.

  And she decided to take the first part of his advice. These were her last eight weeks without worries so she was going to make the most of it if it killed her.

  Chapter Two

  Gem let out a low, star struck squee. ‘Don’t look now, but Shakira’s behind you!’

  Ciara turned anyway, pretending to dig something out of her bag and saw the same thing Gem did. A woman with a mass of gorgeous blonde hair ordering a smoothie at the outdoor café they’d taken a break at. And there was no mistaking who it was – those hips didn’t lie.

  ‘I love LA,’ Elle said. ‘There’s pretty and celebrity everywhere.’

  There definitely was. Elle and Gem had dragged her around the designer shops all afternoon and they’d spotted movie stars, an opera singer and the host of a reality TV show. But the high was mixed with anxiety when Elle got an outfit that probably cost more than her house back home and Gem’s wasn
’t far off. Part of her wished her friends hadn’t scored tickets to the premiere later, but when would she ever get the chance to go to something this amazing again?

  ‘You know, you can get a new outfit too, Ciara,’ Gem said, waving her father’s plastic Amex around. It was as tempting as the double fudge and raspberry sundae they wouldn’t let her order (they had dresses to squeeze into later, after all). ‘I don’t have a limit.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t want to spend your money,’ she insisted, again.

  They didn’t understand, since technically neither had paid their bills ever. One of the only things that frustrated her about her friends was that they hadn’t a clue how much money was worth – and how hard it was for the normal people in the world to get it.

  They didn’t get how tempting it was to ditch her morals and let them get her the prettiest dress, shoes, handbag and jewels in all of LA, either.

  But they got the important stuff. The first night she met them she was studying in the library at uni and it had hit her hard that she was really alone. At school she’d always gone home to her da and been able to tell him about her day but all bets were off in England. That’s when Gem and Elle had found her.

  She’d escaped to a quiet corner in the library when the waterworks started. They’d cheered her up, comforted her and made her feel like she had other people in her life who cared. People she could rely on.

  They’d grown so close over the years they even knew her worst fears and insecurities – mainly that she’d end up like her ma.

  But, more importantly, they knew how much she hated charity.

  ‘Okay, so if you don’t want to hit our plastic, but you’re miserable about having nothing—’

  ‘I’m not miserable and I do have something,’ she said, cutting Elle off.

  ‘That’s why you’ve been all smiles since we left Gucci?’ Gem asked.

  ‘Is this pick on Ciara day?’ She wasn’t budging, or spending enough to buy her da a house for one party. It was madness. Wasn’t it?

  Elle relaxed back into her chair with a calculating gleam that kept Ciara sharp, despite her wavering. After sipping on her ice tea, Elle said, ‘Okay, so you rent. You can afford that, surely.’

  ‘Rent?’ she asked.

  Gem clapped her hands. ‘Yes! Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Because I’m trained to see every angle and you’re trained to see whatever’s in front of you,’ Elle suggested.

  Before a fight erupted about business management verses biological science, Ciara jumped in quickly, ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘Exactly how Shakira does it!’ Gem said too loudly. Ciara hoped the woman was out of earshot. ‘You don’t think they really buy all those red carpet dresses to wear once, do you?’

  Ciara did, and also thought it was a bit of a waste when you could do so much more with the money, but she didn’t say that to her friends either. They wouldn’t get it. She was just the poorest point in their triangle who always dressed plain and had such a thick accent when she got worked up that it was hard for anyone to understand her. But she was pretty and funny at times too, so the other girls had taken her under their wings, styled her hair and taught her about make-up and boys.

  More than that though, they’d been there for her when she needed them. More than she could say for her ma who’d walked out on her without saying goodbye.

  ‘Which shops do that?’ she asked.

  Elle slipped her Ray Bans off and leaned over the table. ‘We flash this, and we’re good to go anywhere.’

  The little rectangle of plastic was black, no doubt limitless in its spending potential but she couldn’t take money from her friends. It was bad enough her da had worked fourteen hour days to send her to Oxford and she was done owing people she cared about.

  ‘Elle—’

  ‘Before you start, this is just to wave at the sales assistants so we have their undivided attention. You can give me back the dollars if it makes you feel better.’

  It definitely did.

  Elle hadn’t been kidding. The second she flashed the black credit card at the Louis Vuitton counter she had three sales assistants eager to give her anything she desired. Ciara had even wondered if they’d go out to get her lunch if she asked, but according to Gem and Elle they wouldn’t be eating anything after three in the afternoon so they could look slim and sexy tonight, and by the time they’d got to the shop it was closer to four.

  And after she’d been brought a zillion dresses, stripped and dressed in the middle of the biggest dressing room she’d seen surrounded by her friends, sales people and far too many mirrors, they’d picked the perfect dress – or so Elle and Gem said. Personally, she liked it. It had a high neckline and focused more on the simple slit all the way up her thigh, almost to the right of her belly button. Knickers would be out, but the deep blue looked great with her dark blonde hair, which the sales assistants said had to be put up.

  Gem agreed, planning the perfect style all the way home and now it was 6pm they had mere hours to get ready (which according to Elle, was not enough time). While her friends hectically showered, buffed, fake tanned and buffed again, Ciara snuck off to the kitchen to find something to ease the grumbling in her stomach. She didn’t care if she burst out the dress, she just wanted the starvation pains gone.

  Jackpot. There was cheese, like honest to god full fat cheddar cheese and a loaf of British, thick cut bread. Heaven. Firing the grill up she hunted for a knife and got to work shredding thin slices of cheddar, hoping Gem and Elle didn’t catch her fatty carb on carb pig out.

  When one side of the bread was nice and toasted, she flipped it over, layered on the cheese and slipped it back under the grill.

  ‘So you won’t steal a room but you’ll steal food?’

  She whirled around, her hand over her heart to stop the thumping – like that would work. Ciara just hoped it was shock and a little bit fear rather than think Zack brought this reaction out in her.

  Then something clicked. Elle had barely nibbled on a carrot stick since they’d arrived – there was no way she’d eat bread and cheese when they were hitting the beach in a few days. She dived for the tray, whipping it out before the lovely, orange stuff even managed to bubble.

  ‘This is yours, isn’t it? Sorry.’ She switched off the grill, thinking it was a bit late since she’d already wasted his food.

  He sauntered over to the tray and poked at the cheese on top of the bread.

  ‘It doesn’t look done.’ Zack then switched on the grill and shoved it in. ‘You don’t have to apologise for being human. I’ll bet Elle has you all on a fast for your party tonight.’

  Ciara smiled. He knew his cousin well. She wondered why Elle never talked about him. ‘I’m rubbish at diets. I like food too much.’

  He nodded. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘Did you just call me fat?’ she asked, shocked that he wasn’t more polite. And she certainly was not.

  Zack laughed and squeezed her hip. ‘No, you’ve got curves and that’s not a bad thing at all. Sexy, but not bad.’

  Instead of fawning over the fact he found her sexy, sputtering incompetently because he’d touched her, she checked the grill to see the cheese starting to bubble. Her poor, empty stomach groaned at the delicious smell.

  ‘I was referring to your choice in snack. You’ve got good taste. But let me show you how to make it even better.’ He opened the cupboard door, pulled out some Worcester sauce and handed it to her.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d have this here!’ Ciara pulled the tray out, splatted a few drops on top and then shoved it back in. ‘Amazing.’

  ‘Enjoy it, and tonight,’ Zack said, then turned to leave.

  ‘Don’t you want a slice? It’s your food, after all.’ Her stomach growled out a protest at the threat of having to share, but she didn’t want him to go.

  He grinned. Her heart started to race.

  ‘Sounds like you need it more. Oh, I almost forgot.’ Zack pulled a piece of
paper from his pocket and handed it over.

  Ciara opened it and her lips parted on a gasp. ‘Is this your number?’

  ‘I know how Elle can be. If things get too wild or out of hand tonight phone me and I’ll pick you all up.’

  Oh, so it wasn’t just for her. He was worried about his cousin.

  ‘And Ciara?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, trying not to hope.

  ‘Your grilled cheese is burning.’

  With more make-up, hairspray and designer clothes/accessories than she’d ever had, she made her way down stairs five minutes before the taxi was due. Elle wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but Gem was in the kitchen making short work of a glass of pinot grigio.

  ‘You’re going to be smashed before we get there,’ Ciara pointed out.

  ‘It’s for Dutch courage. C, you won’t mind if I can’t come on the rest of the trip, will you?’ Gem asked.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, thinking about hugging her friend but not wanting to mess up the pretty, fire red ringlets or the dress that cost an arm and a leg.

  ‘Oh, nothing yet.’ Gem grinned. ‘But if Aiden asks me to stay I’ll have no choice.’

  She refrained from rolling her eyes, but said with mock outrage, ‘What happened to chicks before dicks?’

  ‘Some dicks can’t be resisted.’

  This time she did roll her eyes.

  ‘Not a conversation I want to hear.’ Zack. His deep voice made her shiver, and feel a bit more aware of her underwearless state.

  ‘Depends what kind of dick you want to be,’ Gem replied, smooth as silk.

  Why couldn’t she be like that?

  He laughed at Gem and reached over to ruffle her hair. It was the wrong thing to try on a girl who’d just spend three hours perfecting those ringlets. He was met with a scowl that put the shits in her, never mind poor Zack.

  ‘So you’re that kind of dick,’ Gem said, 100% serious.

  Ciara wondered if she’d have to referee an argument, but Zack just laughed. ‘Gemma, you should take a leaf out of your pal Ireland’s book and chill out a bit. Looks aren’t everything.’