Read Online Hollywood Confessions by Gemma Halliday - Free Book Online
Authors: Gemma Halliday
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purse higher on my shoulder. “So now everyone thinks I’m banging the boss?”
Cam went to nod. Then paused. “Maybe our mailroom guy hasn’t heard yet?”
“ Fabulous.”
“ Sorry,” she said. “I just thought you should know. And, hey, I’m glad it’s not true.”
“ Right. Thanks.”
I watched Cam walk away. Then glanced around the newsroom. Max Beacon, our obits guy, peeked around the side of his cube at me. Mrs. Rosenblatt, who did our weekly astrology column, stood at the copier with Celia, our office manager. They were both shooting glances my direction then quickly back down at their copies, pretending they weren’t talking about me. Across the room one of our freelancers was talking to our summer intern, a pimply kid with braces. They both stared my way, and I thought I saw the intern wink at me.
I narrowed my eyes at the back of that purple hair.
That’s it. This is war, Bender .
* * *
The Grove is a shopping center located between Beverley Hills and West Hollywood. It’s an open-air affair, but strip mall it definitely ain’t. This is a full block of the most prime retail real estate you could get, housing upscale boutiques, exclusive restaurants and gorgeously choreographed fountains. On any given day you might see Angelina Jolie strolling through Baby Gap, or Kat Von D dragging her latest rock (or road) star to Maggiano’s Little Italy. This was shopping, Hollywood style.
I self-parked in the garage off Fairfax and window-shopped (wishing I hadn’t seen those credit card bills yesterday) my way to the middle of the center where the directory said Bella Sole was located. It had a Grecian-style entrance, pillars flanking a window display with mannequins all dressed like goddesses. In three-inch heels. I felt my Visa do a little wistful sigh as I pushed through the doors, inhaling the scent of new leather and four-hundred-dollar pumps.
In the center of the room were two rows of plush red chairs, three of which were currently occupied by women who could have been on Real Housewives of Orange County (and maybe one of them was…it was hard to tell, but the brunette closest the door looked a little like Jeana Keough, with a smaller nose.). To my left and right were rows of white shelves, illuminated from below, filled with fabulous footwear.
I walked to a shelf and fingered a pair of iridescent pink kitten heels. Bella Sole was way too classy to display price tags, but I could tell by the way the supple leather gave way beneath my fingers that it was somewhere in the range of out-of-my-means, bordering on I’d-be-paying-off-the-loan-for-the-rest-of-my-natural-life.
“ May I help you?” a deep voice asked behind me.
I spun around…
Then looked down.
Gary Ellstrom stood all of four feet tall, his hands clasped in front of him, an expectant rise to his bushy eyebrows.
“ Um, yes. Please. I’d, uh, like to try these on in a seven,” I said, figuring posing as a customer was the best way to garner a little info from our Little Bachelor.
“ Ah. A wonderful choice. Just a moment while I find them in the back. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the red chairs.
I did, sinking into the plush cushions as I waited two beats for Gary to return with a pink and silver box. He made a big ceremony of setting it down beside me, lifting the lid with flourish and unwrapping layers of pink tissue.
“ Hey,” I said, leaning in. “Don’t I recognize you?”
Gary pulled a poker face. “I don’t think so.”
“ I do. You were on that show.”
He sighed. “Here we go again.”
“ That dating show, Little Love , right?”
He sighed again and sat back on his haunches. “Yep. That’s me. The Little Bachelor.”
“ I loved that show!”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Really.”
“ Yes, it was fantastic! The way they—”
But he didn’t
Cam went to nod. Then paused. “Maybe our mailroom guy hasn’t heard yet?”
“ Fabulous.”
“ Sorry,” she said. “I just thought you should know. And, hey, I’m glad it’s not true.”
“ Right. Thanks.”
I watched Cam walk away. Then glanced around the newsroom. Max Beacon, our obits guy, peeked around the side of his cube at me. Mrs. Rosenblatt, who did our weekly astrology column, stood at the copier with Celia, our office manager. They were both shooting glances my direction then quickly back down at their copies, pretending they weren’t talking about me. Across the room one of our freelancers was talking to our summer intern, a pimply kid with braces. They both stared my way, and I thought I saw the intern wink at me.
I narrowed my eyes at the back of that purple hair.
That’s it. This is war, Bender .
* * *
The Grove is a shopping center located between Beverley Hills and West Hollywood. It’s an open-air affair, but strip mall it definitely ain’t. This is a full block of the most prime retail real estate you could get, housing upscale boutiques, exclusive restaurants and gorgeously choreographed fountains. On any given day you might see Angelina Jolie strolling through Baby Gap, or Kat Von D dragging her latest rock (or road) star to Maggiano’s Little Italy. This was shopping, Hollywood style.
I self-parked in the garage off Fairfax and window-shopped (wishing I hadn’t seen those credit card bills yesterday) my way to the middle of the center where the directory said Bella Sole was located. It had a Grecian-style entrance, pillars flanking a window display with mannequins all dressed like goddesses. In three-inch heels. I felt my Visa do a little wistful sigh as I pushed through the doors, inhaling the scent of new leather and four-hundred-dollar pumps.
In the center of the room were two rows of plush red chairs, three of which were currently occupied by women who could have been on Real Housewives of Orange County (and maybe one of them was…it was hard to tell, but the brunette closest the door looked a little like Jeana Keough, with a smaller nose.). To my left and right were rows of white shelves, illuminated from below, filled with fabulous footwear.
I walked to a shelf and fingered a pair of iridescent pink kitten heels. Bella Sole was way too classy to display price tags, but I could tell by the way the supple leather gave way beneath my fingers that it was somewhere in the range of out-of-my-means, bordering on I’d-be-paying-off-the-loan-for-the-rest-of-my-natural-life.
“ May I help you?” a deep voice asked behind me.
I spun around…
Then looked down.
Gary Ellstrom stood all of four feet tall, his hands clasped in front of him, an expectant rise to his bushy eyebrows.
“ Um, yes. Please. I’d, uh, like to try these on in a seven,” I said, figuring posing as a customer was the best way to garner a little info from our Little Bachelor.
“ Ah. A wonderful choice. Just a moment while I find them in the back. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the red chairs.
I did, sinking into the plush cushions as I waited two beats for Gary to return with a pink and silver box. He made a big ceremony of setting it down beside me, lifting the lid with flourish and unwrapping layers of pink tissue.
“ Hey,” I said, leaning in. “Don’t I recognize you?”
Gary pulled a poker face. “I don’t think so.”
“ I do. You were on that show.”
He sighed. “Here we go again.”
“ That dating show, Little Love , right?”
He sighed again and sat back on his haunches. “Yep. That’s me. The Little Bachelor.”
“ I loved that show!”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Really.”
“ Yes, it was fantastic! The way they—”
But he didn’t
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