The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox

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      ‘You want to meet him, don’t you?’

      A rush of nerves. ‘Of course.’

      They turned on to Sunset and Chloe’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow,’ she said. She knew she sounded green but she couldn’t help it. It was just as it had been in her dreams. Better.

      The Boulevard was wide and lined with majestic palms. Overhead the cloudless blue sky, bold as a lick of paint, bathed everything in golden light. Billboards, cafés and shop fronts rocketed past as Brock cut through the traffic at startling speed. The people were so … perfect. The women had flawless California tans and sported barely-there cut-off denims and bikini tops; every bloke she clapped eyes on looked like a model, or an actor.

      The car pulled into a side road opposite the agency, a low-lying glass building with a white portico.

      ‘ Voila, Brock said, killing the ignition. ‘Leave your bags in the trunk–we’ll hit Malibu after, I’ll show you the villa.’

      Chloe couldn’t wait for that. What would the apartment be like? Would she have a pool? A gym? Oh, it was too exciting for words! She was so looking forward to hooking up with Nate and telling him everything–he’d been out here a week already and she missed him like crazy.

      A guy with a metal bolt through his eyebrow greeted them at Reception with a bored ‘Hey’.

      Brock nodded a hello but didn’t introduce Chloe. ‘Temp,’ he said by way of explanation once they were in the lift.

      LA Scout was unbelievably smart–much grander than the London branch. They got out at the top floor and Brock led her into a massive office that boasted stunning views of Hollywood. It always happened that things in real life just weren’t as good as they’d been in the imagination, but this was different. This was amazing.

      ‘Do you want a drink?’ asked Brock, grinning as she took in her new surroundings.

      ‘Sure, have you—?’

      ‘Well, well, well,’ came a booming voice from behind. ‘There she is.’

      Chloe turned, startled. Sam Lucas himself was standing in the doorway, wearing a dark blazer suit, a raspberry handkerchief blooming from his top pocket. He was shorter than she’d expected.

      Brock looked just as alarmed. He extended his hand and stepped forward. ‘Sam, hello. We were expecting to come to you, if you’d called—’

      ‘I was passing,’ he said crisply, keeping his eyes fixed on Chloe. ‘Fiona told me you’d be stopping by–I hope you don’t mind, I couldn’t wait to see her.’ A crocodile smile split his face.

      ‘Hello, Mr Lucas,’ she said graciously.

      ‘She’s perfect,’ he announced, as though Chloe were a rare antique he’d had shipped over from foreign parts. He approached and kissed her on both cheeks. She misjudged the second one and to her intense mortification their lips brushed clumsily together.

      Chloe flushed tomato-red. If he’d had any doubt that an upcoming starlet would drop her knickers for him in a second, it was long gone.

       Great, now he thinks I fancy him.

      Brock was conducting a brisk telephone conversation then moments later another woman entered the room. Sharply dressed and very beautiful, she introduced herself as Fiona Catalan, head of LA Scout.

      ‘Let’s get to business, shall we?’ she said, gesturing for them all to sit down.

      God, this was happening fast, and not at all in the way Chloe had expected. But she was determined to remain unflustered and do whatever it was she needed to. She remembered her father’s advice, the glisten in his eye when she’d told him she was leaving.

      ‘Be good, darling,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll always be here for you.’

      It was what she had needed to hear–she didn’t want her dad to feel that she was abandoning him. Her fears were irrational, of course, but they were there all the same.

      Brock pulled out some paperwork and removed the cap from a pen with a proficient flourish. Chloe was amazed at the transformation from party-boy-slash-hazardous-motorist to über–professional-but, then, he was sitting next to Fiona. She was impressed. She was a little less impressed by Sam Lucas’s insistence on calling her Sophie–her character’s name–throughout the meeting. Fiona and Brock corrected him several times, but after that they just let him get on with it.

      There was a silence. Chloe’s mobile sprang to life and she fumbled in her bag, hot-faced, to switch it off.

      Sam sat back and a smile played across his lips. He watched his muse for a long time before passing her several sheets of paper.

      ‘Read this,’ he instructed. ‘Dazzle me.’

      It was her scene. Sam–or some unfortunate lackey–had scrawled messy red circles round her lines, which actually made them harder to spot, not easier. But Chloe had gone through them enough times in her bedroom back at home. She took a deep breath. She could do this.

      Chloe read tentatively at first, but as the character took shape and she warmed to the role, a quiet, controlled passion entered her voice and breathed life into the words. There wasn’t much material there, but from what there was she squeezed every last drop. She loved the feeling of assuming a character, a different girl in a foreign time and a distant country.

      When she finished nobody spoke. Then Sam Lucas said simply, ‘It’s yours.’

      She looked up at the director and in his eyes was barely concealed desire. The scene had rendered her bare and now Sam Lucas’s gaze was prowling across her young body like a wolf’s. She felt a shudder race up her spine.

      ‘We’ve got ourselves a deal, then,’ Fiona said. It wasn’t a question.

      Still Sam didn’t take his eyes off Chloe. ‘Damn right you’ve got yourself a deal,’ he said, rubbing his hands on his trousers. ‘She’s the one.’

24

      Round the corner on Santa Monica, The Hides were deep in session at the Blue Water recording studios. Nate had arrived in LA the previous week armed with enough material for five albums and, with the mutual focus that a new project brought, everything was coming together. The band was in sync and it felt good.

      When Nate got a thumbs-up from the control room he called a band meeting and they all went outside for a cigarette.

      ‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ he said, flicking the top off a can of Pepsi.

      Spencer, their lead guitarist, offered fags around. ‘Yeah? Let’s hear it.’

      ‘I want to change the name of the band.’

      ‘What?’ Chris spluttered, a Marlboro hanging limply from his mouth. ‘Why?’

      ‘Let me finish,’ Nate told his drummer. God, he was burning up in this leather jacket–but СКАЧАТЬ