Hollywood Hills 1 Read Free Page A

anymore.
    I heard a knock at the door and I raised my head from where it sat in my hands. “It’s open!” I mumbled.
    It was a delivery man, a bouquet of white roses in one arm. “Are you Josie?” I nodded, confused, looking from the expensive crystal vase her held, to the roses in it, and then back again.
    “I… ah, think you’ve got the wrong Josie.” I didn’t know anyone that would want to send me flowers.
    “Josie Bel-lee-floor?”
    “It’s Bellefleur . Pronounced Bell-Fler. But yes that’s me,” I said confused.
    He handed me the roses, got me to sign for them and then wished me good-day. The moment he was gone I clawed through the blooms, searching for a card.
     
    Here’s to the end of your first week, which I hope is the beginning of many weeks to come.
    –Archer
     
    A mile-wide smile plastered my features. I read the card again, then I buried my face in the sweet-smelling flowers. No matter how many times I told myself I shouldn’t, suddenly I knew he’d be in my dreams tonight, too.

Chapter 4
     
     
    I arrived to work on Monday tired and exhausted. Every time I’d looked to those roses, a huge smile had split my features. Every evening when I’d visited my mother, a frown had replaced it. I didn’t like what I was going to have to do to Archer, and it had troubled me all weekend.
    “You feeling okay today?” Archer asked when he saw me. He had a sweet, earnest look on his face which said he really cared about the answer. I forced a smile. “Just… stayed up too late watching movies with Mom last night.” It wasn’t exactly a lie . I had been at Mom’s.
    Archer grinned. “Your mom’s a big movie fan?”
    Despite myself, I smiled. “You have no idea.” I rolled my eyes. “Then again, so am I.”
    “What’s your favorite?” Archer asked curiously.
    I frowned. “That’s a hard one. I’m a huge fan of the old musicals. Judy Garland, Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse. The singing and dancing, you know. All fantastic and beautiful and always with a happy ending. Maybe Singin’ in the Rain? But there’s just so many—I don’t think I could choose.”
    “Singin’ in the Rain is a classic.”
    “You like it?” I asked.
    “Of course.” Archer did an impromptu—and very bad—tap dance, ending with a flourish. “Gene Kelly’s 13 th musical, following An American in Paris , but arguably his best.”
    I broke into a smile. “The old movies are my favorite in general. When Turner Classic Movies runs the Oscar winners throughout February? Forget it—the DVR has to be cleared out in advance so I can record each one. Mom and I sit around and watch them together; she’ll call me, or I’ll call her when there’s a good one coming up. She raised me on them.”
    “I guess you grew up with stars in your eyes, then,” he teased. “How many times have you dreamed of dancing off into the sunset like Fred and Ginger.”
    I winced. “More than I’d like to admit. Once a week, at least.”
    He chuckled, “I promise I won’t tell, on the condition that you never, ever tell anyone you saw me try to tap dance.”
    I laughed.
    Archer looked at his watch. “Listen, I have meetings offsite for the rest of the day. Why don’t you take it easy for a bit? Grab an early lunch, extend it late, then go and catch a movie or something?” He winked as he walked off.
    I sighed . I’d known Archer for exactly one week, and already it felt as though we’d been friends for years. I’d expected him to be some self-centered tyrant, a crusty genius who stomped his feet when he didn’t get his way. I’d expected to be afraid of him, or at least to resent his attitude.
    Instead I’d found… something else . Someone I could chat to about movies. Someone who caught me when I fell, and then made me feel at ease and just that little bit special. Someone who sensed my moods—and could change them with nothing more than a friendly, open smile.
    My rate-of-clutz went up by 200% whenever I