FOUND
LOS ANGELES LIGHTS
[A HOLLYWOOD BILLIONAIRE SHIFTER ROMANCE]
BOOK 1
AVARICE ROSE
OTHER BOOKS IN THE LOS ANGELES LIGHTS SERIES:
FOUND
THREATENED
BETRAYED
REVEALED
TURNED
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
Copyright © 2016 Avarice Rose
www.avaricerose.com
All rights reserved.
1.
The distance between the sun and my car was fairly great, but the heat was unbearably close. I turned the A/C to full blast as if it made a difference. Summer was upon us. Windshields surrounding me glinted in the glare of dusk as I tapped my freshly-manicured nails against the rose-gold Coach watch gifted to me earlier in the week. Another suitor attempting to catch my eye. Another shifter with pants bulging at the seams. I cringed at the memory. This city was full of ridiculous shifter men who were just begging to be validated beneath some fancy Egyptian cotton sheets, nestled firmly in a more expensive and smug part of LA. Ever since I moved here two years ago, I've regretted it. I just wanted a taste of fame, those fifteen minutes that were promised to me as a kid. Everyone gets one, right?
I was sorely mistaken to think my creative writing would get me anywhere around those disgusting pigs in the entertainment industry. The shifters ran pretty much everything, from night clubs to music labels. Anything that could be exploited for millions of dollars was under a monopoly of these chauvinistic and ravenous creatures. I wasn't without my desire for them of course, but their mating habits were simply archaic. For what reason did they need multiple mates? It certainly wasn't for reproductive purposes. Anytime I went to a bar, I could smell the hedonism polluting the air with false confidence, bravado, and billions of dollars in plastic fashion. Hollywood is gross.
As my car inched through traffic, I considered the new screenplay I was commissioned to write – another sci-fi thriller – and wondered how much I had sold out since I moved here. My original screenwriting ideas were so full of life, poking the patriarchy for every bit of discomfort they've caused generations of women. I had a zest for defiant and loud Feminism. I could make any man feel uncomfortable within moments of meeting him because I was unapologetic in my stance and word. But these Hollywood shiners were so cocky. Their ideas catered to the male gaze and were regurgitated versions of previously condoned sexist crap. My boss, Jeb, said my work threatened the structure of typical Hollywood movies because I wanted to make my female leads strong with supportive mixed gender characters surrounding her. What was so threatening about that? Our disagreement from earlier in the afternoon surfaced in my mind.
I could tell from the look on his face as I defended my writing style that I'd have to rewrite most of the screenplay, despite my pleas for it to be left alone.
“This is show business, baby.”
I had to stop and take a breath before I stabbed him with the heel of my Jimmy Choos.
“You know this is how we run things. You should really loosen up and enjoy the ride, Miss Skylar Jones.” I hated it when Jeb called me by my full name. It made me feel like a child.
“But Jeb, think about how much headway you could make by paving a path for a new trend in movies?” I was attempting to speak his language. “You could be a catalyst for a new movement. Think of all the money you could make by empowering women. You would appeal to an entirely new demographic!”
“This isn't up for debate, Sky. Pick up the editorial changes from my secretary. We'll see you Thursday.” His eyes sparkled the sort of gold that you might find in an African lion. I could tell he was showing off by making them glitter. Why were shifters so shifty?
I huffed, rolled my eyes, and stomped out of his office, snatching the markups from Ellen whose body language relayed a sort of remorse. She had been working here for the past eight years and had seen her fair share of inequality. She knew exactly what I was going through. Who knew how many writers they'd gone through before me? I was lucky to be here. I wouldn't be so lucky if I kept up this defiant attitude. Still, thinking of selling out made me feel sick to my stomach. Or maybe that was the toxic smog that seeped into my car as I sat in traffic. I sighed.
At least I could afford my favorite pair of heels. I gazed down at my sparkling red designer heels that winked up at me from the gas pedal and smiled to myself. I know it's vain of me to run out and purchase a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes with my first big paycheck, but they really did make me happy. I promised myself a lavish gift for my first accomplishment, and Jimmy Choos were on my bucket list. I wasn't exceptionally poor growing up, but designer clothing wasn't the first thing my parents were thinking about when we were shopping. A sharp honk from behind me jolted me out of my fantasy, and I focused my attention back on the road.
After another ten minutes lulled by, I made it to my little piece of comfort that had been my apartment for the past two years. I scurried up the stairs as quickly as my heels would allow and crashed through the door to be greeted by the scent of lavender and honey. I locked myself in and took to the kitchen where I bustled about preparing a chicken salad to munch on while relaxing in front of the TV. When I was finished, I sunk into the cushions of my bohemian couch and kicked off my heels, a motion which immediately caused a groan of relief. I tossed my head back to relish the moment. The motion alone made me miss having someone to intimately touch me right after coming home from work. I almost ached at the thought.
Being so busy in LA was like a plague for single women that kept us from wandering into the sea of normal, single men. It wasn't like I didn't have plenty of chances – my phone frequently blew up with requests for dinner or drinks – but it was the delivery that was so off-putting. Since the majority of the city was overwhelmed by shifters, I was going to have a hard time finding a regular guy to go on a date with. Associating predominantly with this particular race of humanoids wouldn't help either. What was a poor, single girl to do?
I pushed all of my lonely thoughts out of my head and turned on the TV to be met with the usual daily LA News spill. Some big whoever was coming into town, and this new billionaire scandal was happening, and what's-that-family got into trouble with the law again – it never ended. I wondered if these people ever got tired of being so rich and popular. Didn't it ever get annoying? I mindlessly flipped through channels before settling on HBO for whatever movie they were airing.
As I began to get lost in the drone of the TV, my phone buzzed from my purse. I glanced over at the counter where my purse was located and decided to let it ring. I was off work now. No one should be bothering me. I continued to nibble on bits of chicken from my salad as my phone buzzed again, the persistent vibration posing a dangerous threat to my sanity. I conceded and rose from the couch to see who was calling.
Incoming Call: Maya
I smiled. Maya was a pest at times, but she was one of my closest friends. She had a vivacious personality that could capture anyone's attention, laughter that could serenade a man's soul, and a carefree attitude that could hold parties together for days. She once took me to a bonfire at the beach that was exclusively celebrity producers and actors who shifted skins between the shadows. Firelight danced across the sand in waves, nearly mimicking the echo of the ocean behind us. I could hear growls and the crack of bones within cl
ose proximity. It made me nauseous.
That's when I first met Zack Rider.
He emerged from the dark brush a ways away from the guests and gracefully pawed at the sand with his feet while buttoning his shirt, appearing too preoccupied to approach the rest of the party just yet. His eyes wandered over each face, occasionally pausing with a look of recognition before a drunken voice called for him from the other side of the fire. A smile crossed his lips as he jogged over to meet his admirers. As he moved, I watched his form stretch and compress beneath the white silk shirt, my mind completely captivated by his scruff, yet stylish appearance. He fit so seamlessly in the world of billionaire superstars and yet also retained a sense of wild abandonment. My skin began to grow hot before Maya broke me of my trance.
I swiped my finger across the screen and said, “Hey girl, what's up?”
“SKY!” I held the phone away from my ear as she shouted my name. When she was done, she asked, “How are you?”
“I'm fine. Are you off your meds? You sound more uppity than usual.”
“You're cute when you make jokes. Did you know that?” She teased. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I'm probably taking a hot bath and then going to bed with a bottle of Merlot. Why?”
Maya gagged on the other end of the phone.
“That sounds depressing. I think you need a night out.”
“No, Maya. I've had a really long day. Jeb pretty much rejected another one of my screenplays, I nearly tripped into traffic, and I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a fever.” I raised my hand to my forehead even though she couldn't see me do it. “Yeah, I feel warm.”
“Skylar Jones,” There's my damn name again. “You need to get out of the house. You spend all day writing and then hole up in that dark cave where nothing exciting happens.”
“Hey, I've got plenty of excitement here. There's mint chocolate chip ice cream in my freezer that's sitter there, dangerously unopened.”
Maya chuckled.
“Well, fine. You'll just miss the most spectacular after party ever in the history of Los Angeles.” She paused for dramatic effect, knowing that it would pique my interest enough for me to ask.
“Okay, I'm dying to know.” I droned sarcastically into the mic. “Which movie?”
“Only the latest and greatest creation of the sexiest and most debonair man in the country: ZACK RIDER!” Squeals erupted from the speaker which caused me to hold the phone away from my ear again.
“Maya, you're going to make my ear drum explode. Take a chill pill.” I gently rubbed my temple. I wasn't going to be able to get out of this one.
“Look, just come out for a bit with the girls. We'll take some shots, sip a few cosmos, and only dance to a few short songs.”
“You know these parties are full of groupies,” I pointed out. “And we'll be surrounded all night by little girls and boys trying way too hard.”
“You know we're much cooler than that. We actually know these people. They don't.”
“That doesn't make us better.”
“No, it gives us an advantage.”
“Maya!”
She giggled maniacally. I had to laugh along with her because she had a point. We were nothing like the shifter groupies who lined up night after night outside of celebrity clubs attempting to get a taste of the high life beyond the crimson doors. I've watched these celebrity followings pop up over the last couple of years and reach alarming levels of obsession. One girl had a shifter's name tattooed on her neck where she said he'd “forever suckle.” It was appalling what people did to attract attention. The shifters were no better. They devoured the adulation they received from groupies and fans. Any time bouncers allowed outsiders into their parties, they treated them like pets. It was absolutely disgusting to watch. I didn't want to go. It made me cringe to see people being used like that, but Maya was right. I've been trapped in my apartment every night for a week, and only left once to get dinner from the Chinese restaurant up the block.
“Fine. I'll go under one condition.” It was my turn to pause for dramatic effect.
Maya sighed and groaned, “Whaaat?”
“Don't try hooking me up with anybody again. The last one was embarrassing.”
“It's not my fault you can't socialize.”
“He was a total d-bag, Maya.”
“Yeah, you're right. He was. I'm sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Alright, the only hooking up I'll be doing for you will be with some flirty martinis. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“I'll see you at eight! Wear something sparkly. I want us all to match.”
“Maya, that's gross.”
“You know you like sparkles.”
“Yeah, I love sparkles.”
“Then, it's settled!”
And with that, we got off the phone.
This was going to be a long night.
2.