18
We pull into the long, sweeping driveway of Silver Hills. It sits in Bel Air and is the home of a grand old white mansion lit up and crawling with celebrities and media. The driveway is lined by prim evergreens and lit by glowing white balls every twenty feet. The grounds are vast and the drive itself lined with limos parked up either side like we're on our way to a state funeral. Josh is in the 458. To my surprise, he bypasses the valets outside the mansion entrance and around to the far end of the vast gravel driveway. He parks the Ferrari on the end of a line of limos and supercars. I pull up alongside. I'm about to get out when the passenger door opens. Josh climbs in and shuts the door. He's back to his usual California glow, perfect hair and designer suit and tie combo. Though hi
