Hollywood Roommates

3

I swirl my tea around in my cup as I consider. “I don’t really have any other options.”

Brooke types away on her phone. “I’m texting him now about it.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You won’t thank me when he makes you cry on a daily basis. You sure you don’t want to ask your sister for help?”

“Very sure.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She points her phone at me. “And whatever you do, don’t get a crush on him.”

I let out a miserable laugh. “That’s definitely not in the cards.”

“Really? Because I know you. You meet a halfway decent guy. You fall instantly head over heels in love and start seeing babies and dogs and a minivan. You make reckless decisions like moving in with him way too soon. Sound familiar?”

“It wasn’t reckless…” I say, even though everything she said was spot on.

“You’re a romantic. It’s one of your most endearing qualities, but it means you need to be careful too. My brother’s single and he’s not a bad looking guy. Until he opens his mouth and ruins it with his personality, anyway.”

“You don’t need to worry. I am done with love. Totally over it. As far as I’m concerned, romance can suck a big one. Besides, I’ve seen your brother on TV before. He’s not my type.” Okay, that’s not entirely true. Shane Easton is a damn fox, but he’s probably Photoshopped or wearing tons of makeup or whatever they do to make actors look hot all the time, even when they’re sweaty and tired. In person there’s no way he actually looks like that. “If he’s half as bad as you say he is, I won’t be interested anyway.”

“Uh huh,” she says. “Shane says he can meet you tonight at five. That work?”

“Perfect.” That gives me enough time to run back to the apartment and pack my things.

“Don’t get any ideas about the other roommates either. They’re all actors and—” She pauses and glances down at her phone, which is vibrating. “s**t, I have to run. I have a meeting with a client that I can’t miss.” She downs her coffee in one gulp, grabs her purse and jumps to her feet, only stopping to give me a quick hug. “I’ll text you Shane’s address. Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

After she speeds out, I finish my tea and sit up a little straighter, bolstered by her words. My love life may be in shambles, and I may have no place to live and only a few pennies to my name, but at least I have the best friend in the world.

Her brother and his roommates can’t be that bad…right?

Chapter Three

ALLIE

This can’t be the place.

I switch off my car and stare at the house in front of me. Actually, house is an understatement. Something this gigantic and majestic can only be called a mansion. Or a beach house, considering the glimpse of the bright blue ocean behind it.

A really freaking huge beach house.

I check the address on my phone. Then the numbers on the house. Then my phone again. The numbers. My phone. The house. It all checks out, but my brain can’t seem to connect the dots.

I text Brooke just in case. Are you sure this is the right place?

Yep. Told you it was big.

Big? No. Not even close. This? Is freaking massive. And completely unbelievable.

It’s like I’ve stumbled onto the set of The Bachelor and at any moment some guy in a tux is going to hand me a rose. Except I don’t have a limo to get out of, just my old Ford Focus with no less than three warning lights on the dashboard.

As I swing my leg out, green tea in hand, I’m gaping at the house so much that my kitten heel catches on the edge of the door and I stumble. I recover quickly, but not before spilling tea down the front of my dress.

Classy, that’s me all right.

I quickly grab some napkins from the glove box of my car and try to clean myself off. This dress is one of my favorites—mint green with white polka dots, tight in the bodice and flared at the waist, the epitome of retro cute—and I’ll hate myself forever if I’ve ruined it. I do the best I can to clean it up, then ball up the napkins and toss them in my car. I don’t think the dress will stain, but the wet fabric clings to my body in ways that leave little to the imagination. Not exactly the best way to make an impression.

While it dries, I lean against the side of my car and take stock of my surroundings. The house looks like an architect’s wet dream, with square arches, huge windows, and hard edges. Everything is stark white mixed with metal and glass. Palm trees and ferns soften the ultra-modern exterior, as does the nearby lapping of waves and the cool ocean breeze. A huge fence surrounds the property, and as I stand there, the gate closes, trapping me inside.

There’s no way this can be the right place. If it is, I definitely don’t belong here. I certainly couldn’t afford a room in that house, not on my measly salary. But I came all this way, through the windy roads of Malibu, and I might as well go inside. What other option do I have?

I step up to the door, smooth my wayward red hair, and ring the doorbell. A soft chime sounds within. Through the glass, I can see all the way through the house to the sparkling ocean on the other side. Beachfront property. In Southern California. This place must have cost a fortune.