Lovestruck in Los Angeles (3 page)

Once the email loaded, I joined the mass of humanity spilling down the steps toward the tube. I’d never gotten used to the crowds in London, to the sheer mass of people that lived and worked and visited the city every single day. I was born and raised in a small suburb of Detroit, about as far away from London as you could get. When Callie and I had first moved here, I’d had a few scary moments of regret. I was sure there was no way I was going to be able to maneuver the crowds, the tubes, the bus schedules. It was all so foreign to me. I wondered if maybe my parents had been right about moving being a mistake. But, somehow, I’d gotten the hang of everything. And along the way, I fell in love with the city.

I loved it for its history, for the way quaint, ancient buildings mingled seamlessly with modern construction. I loved that you could stroll through parks and palaces in the morning and scurry through the busy, frantic streets of the City in the afternoon, mingling with tourists and bankers alike. I loved the restaurants, the museums, the theaters. I loved walking along the Thames, loved catching sight of Big Ben or the London Eye unexpectedly from across Westminster. I loved shopping at Foyles, my favorite bookstore. Loved zipping around town on a double decker bus—though in actuality no one really zipped anywhere in London traffic.

Mostly, I loved the little family I had formed there. Thomas had introduced me to Charlie, his best friend, early in our relationship. Charlie’s sister, Sarra, her boyfriend, Mark, her college roommate Meghan, and Meghan’s boyfriend, Carter, rounded out our little group. We met up in pubs around the city, played trivia together every Tuesday, ate brunch at the same restaurant every Sunday morning. When I had gone back to Detroit, I’d missed them nearly as much as I missed Thomas.

My train was right on time, and I was lucky enough to find a seat in the early morning rush of commuters. I pulled out my phone and smiled to see I’d received emails from both Sofie and Callie.

I read Sofie’s first, hoping that if there was any unpleasant mention of my father, Callie’s letter would take my mind off of it. I needn’t have worried. She filled me in on several matters of family gossip before bemoaning the fact that I got to spend a few days in sunny California. It would be starting to get cold at home. Sofie always hated the cold.

Callie’s email was short and to the point. She and Charlie were going to be back in London for a week before Thomas and I left for L.A. again. My excitement at this news was so great that I smiled broadly at several strangers on the underground before I remembered where I was.

Callie and Charlie were coming home! I hadn’t been expecting that at all. Charlie was finding some success with his photography in New York, and Callie had gotten a job in the Manhattan offices of her father’s company. She’d always had money, so I knew she wasn’t hurting, but even so, a transatlantic flight was never cheap.

Thomas and I had been hoping to arrange our own schedule to meet up with them in New York on our way to L.A. But now I knew I’d get to see my best friend in a mere matter of weeks, whether Thomas could make arrangements or not.

We would need to throw a party, I decided. Thomas and I had been planning on keeping our last few weeks in London really low key, just enjoying our friends and the city the way we always did. But Callie and Charlie’s visit certainly called for a bit more flair. Besides, Thomas had been so busy with the explosion of his career that he hadn’t really had time to pause to celebrate everything. What better time than the eve of our temporary move to Tinsel Town? I spent the rest of the tube ride making party planning lists in the memo app on my phone. I was so engrossed I nearly missed my stop and had to squeeze out the sliding doors just before they closed.

Back above ground my paced quickened, the tired haze of my jet lag fading under the excitement of my party plans. This was going to be fantastic. We could invite Thomas’s family, all of our friends here in London. A last hurrah before we headed back across the ocean.

Heidi Greenblatt, Thomas’s long-time agent, kept a small office in the West End. It was on one of my favorite blocks in the neighborhood, tree- lined with just the right amount of foot traffic. Bustling without feeling overcrowded. And there was a cafe right on the corner that made the best scones I’d ever tasted. Even though I was late, I slipped inside to pick up a latte, knowing I was going to need caffeine if I wanted to keep the jet lag at bay while I worked.

Five minutes later, I stepped off the elevator and slipped through the glass-fronted door of the office, relieved to see Heidi’s door closed at the back of the space.

“Hiya, Lizzie,” Imogen called out from the fax machine. “How was L.A.?”

She checked over her shoulder, probably also making sure that Heidi’s door was in fact closed, before abandoning the fax to come over and give me a hug. She sighed, peering into my face. “You’re tan. I’m so jealous.”

“You’re going to be there in less than a month,” I reminded her. “You’ll have plenty of chances to get tan yourself.”

She blew her bangs out of her eyes in a huff. “Yeah, right. I’m cursed with a totally British complexion. I’ll burn for sure. Won’t that be attractive? A giant red tomato stumbling around Los Angeles.”

I shoved her shoulder a little. “You’ll look as lovely there as you do here.”

It was true; Imogen was exactly how you would picture an English rose—soft pale complexion; delicate frame; gorgeous, thick brown hair that fell in a straight wave down her back. Rarely was I so conscious of my Latina curves than when I stood next to Imogen. She made me feel giant and awkward, though I was pretty much a shortie myself.

“Never mind my ability to tan,” she said, following me over to my desk as I pulled off my scarf. “Tell me about the house! Did you pick one?”

I grinned at her, crossing my fingers that she liked the beach. “We found the most amazing place—”

“It’s the one in Malibu isn’t it?” She squealed, clasping her hands in front of her face. “I knew it! As soon as I saw the fact sheets the studio sent over, I knew you’d pick that one!”

“You saw pictures?”

She nodded. “I nearly went mad at the sight of them. That view.” She sighed dreamily. “God, Lizzie, you are so lucky.”

I smiled at her, though I felt a little uncomfortable. Imogen was a wonderful girl and had become a good friend since I’d started working for her, but I sometimes forgot how fairytale obsessed she was.

After graduating from Cambridge, just like her parents had wanted, she turned around and broke their heart by interning at Heidi’s office. She was twenty-two, and they thought she should be getting a proper job with a bank in the City. But Imogen had stars in her eyes and was determined to work in the entertainment industry. She’d been brought into the office right before me, just after Thomas hit it so big, and it was obvious she was star-struck by him. I sometimes got the feeling she might actually have a bit of a crush on him, but for the most part she seemed totally enamored with his lifestyle—or what she assumed his lifestyle must be. Likewise, she thought I was living some Cinderella kind of life as his girlfriend. She’d told me how lucky I was more times than I could count.

“So many stars live in Malibu,” she went on. “So many. God, Lizzie, you could be neighbors with Julia Roberts. Can you even imagine? And I’ll be working right there!”

“It should be fantastic—” I started to say, but Heidi came rushing out of her office.

“Imogen, did you send that fax for me because I really need—” She caught sight of me and stopped mid-sentence. “Lizzie! How lovely to see you. I trust you had a good flight?”

“We did,” I said, glancing guiltily at the clock behind her head. “A bit jet lagged, I’m afraid.”

She waved away my excuse. “Please, don’t worry about it.”

She came and perched on my desk. “So, everything went well, I take it?”

I nodded. “We picked a house, and Thomas said all of his meetings went well.”

She nodded, having heard all of this, I was sure, from her counterpart in the West Coast office. “Wonderful,” she said briskly. “Now, if you’re sure you’re feeling quite up to it, there is a bit to be getting on with around here.”

“Of course.” I tried my best not to grimace. It was so obvious that Heidi treated me quite differently than she treated Imogen. Or any of the other employees in the agency. It wasn’t totally unexpected—her job depended on Thomas being happy with her, and she certainly wasn’t going to risk that by being a bitch to his girlfriend. But I wished, not for the first time, that she could find a way to treat me the same as anyone else.

She set a file folder on my desk. “I need those calls to be made by lunchtime. And there’s the magazine shoot to finalize.”

“I’m on it,” I said, turning my computer on.

“Great, dear. Thank you.” She stood and headed out toward the glass doors. “Imogen,” she practically barked over her shoulder. “That fax.”

“On it,” Imogen cried, scurrying back to her desk. I scowled. Like that. There was no way Heidi would ever use that tone with me. Not that I wanted her to, of course, but that kind of thing didn’t help my insecurities about riding Thomas’s coat tails.

“If you have time, you could start packing,” Heidi said before she slipped through the door. “I’ll be in meetings for most of the morning. Call if anything comes up.”

The moment she was gone, Imogen took a deep breath. “She’s grouchy when she’s stressed.”

“Do you think she’s stressed?” I asked, surprised. Heidi always seemed supremely put together to me.

Imogen nodded. “I overheard her on the phone to that boyfriend of hers.” She made a face as if picturing Heidi’s long-term boyfriend, Walter. “She said all this change was about to do her head in.”

“Wow.” I knew a lot was going on for Heidi professionally. She’d made a name for herself at a major London talent agency before jumping ship to start her own, rather small, agency. She seemed to enjoy working with just a few select clients, including Thomas. But once his career broke out, she’d gotten overwhelmed pretty quickly. She pretty much worked constantly on his behalf—I couldn’t count the number of times she had called this period of his career critical. “This is make-it-or-break-it time,” she would say. “The decisions we make and the work we do now could very well determine the trajectory of his entire career.” But that single-minded determination was wearing on her. She had finally agreed to a partial merger with the same large agency she’d left years earlier—she’d retain her autonomy, but she’d get more help.

Our leaving for Los Angeles would also signify our leaving this space; when we returned, we’d be relocating to the agency’s huge modern office building right on the South Bank. Imogen had toured it with Heidi and was beside herself with excitement (“They have a cappuccino machine, Lizzie! And views of the river!”), but I knew I would miss this little place in a forgotten corner of the West End.

“They’re all big changes,” Imogen said, nodding. “I’m feeling a bit stressed myself.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You? I thought you were excited!”

“Oh, I am.” Her eyes widened. “But there’s so much to consider.” She lifted a foot in my direction, showing off her shoe. “Do they still wear wedges in California? Or have they moved onto something different? I’m so sure I’m going to pack all the wrong things and stick out like a sore thumb in L.A.!”

I turned back to my computer, trying hard not to roll my eyes. Just like Imogen, to be worried about something like that when she was about to travel more than five thousand miles away.

“We should probably get some work done before she gets back,” I pointed out.

“Right,” Imogen muttered. “This bloody fax…”

After she left, I tried to concentrate on the list of calls I was supposed to be making, but I was having trouble keeping my mind from wandering. Imogen was right, silly shoe talk aside—they were all big changes. And it had already been a year of big changes for me. I’d spent most of my life with everything being the same—painfully, entirely unchanging. But in a little over a year I’d moved to London, fallen in love, tried to move back home, decided to come back to London, and was now about to embark on an adventure thousands of miles away. Where I would know very few people. Surely L.A. was nothing like Detroit. Or London, for that matter. How was I going to cope?

My phone beeped in my bag, and I pulled it out to find a text from Thomas.
Want me to pick you up for lunch?

I grinned, texted back my agreement, and suddenly felt silly for my doubts. Who cared where I was going or how different it was? Thomas would be there with me. Everything was going to be just fine.

Chapter Three

I stood in the kitchen of my flat, frowning at the vase in front of me. “I cannot get these flowers right.” I grabbed a peony and tossed it to the counter with a sigh.

“They look fine to me,” Thomas said, not even looking up from his newspaper. I threw the peony at him, and laughed when it bounced off his face. He finally looked up at me, scowling slightly. “That was mean. There’s no call for violence.”

“How can you be so calm? Aren’t you at all excited?”

“I’m exceedingly excited,” he said, his voice dry and flat. “In fact, I can hardly contain my excitement.”

“You haven’t seen Charlie in months! And they’ll be back in, like, minutes. This is a big deal, Thomas!”

He set the paper on the counter next to the mess of flower petals and stems. “I am excited to see him. I always miss Charlie when we don’t get to see each other for a while. But there’s no need to get so worked up. You’ve been cleaning and decorating for hours.”

“I want the flat to be tidy for him when he gets back.” I glanced around the loft. Maybe I
had
been obsessing a bit about getting things in order for him. But I wanted to thank him for letting me stay in his place, particularly since I was pretty sure the rent I was paying was far under market value. He was probably relieved Thomas and I were heading out to L.A. so he’d be able to get a proper renter.

“You’re a very sweet girl,” Thomas said, drawing my attention away from my appraisal of the flat. I looked over at him to see that he was smiling, his face softened. “Really, Lizzie. It’s very nice of you to go to so much effort for your friends.”