Auctioned to the A-Lister

by Holloway, Taylor

  Auctioned to the A-Lister

  Taylor Holloway

  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Cindy

  2. Thomas

  3. Cindy

  4. Cindy

  5. Tommy

  6. Tommy

  7. Cindy

  8. Cindy

  9. Cindy

  10. Tommy

  11. Cindy

  12. Tommy

  13. Tommy

  14. Cindy

  15. Cindy

  16. Cindy

  17. Tommy

  18. Cindy

  19. Tommy

  20. Cindy

  21. Tommy

  22. Cindy

  23. Tommy

  24. Cindy

  25. Tommy

  26. Tommy

  27. Cindy

  28. Tommy

  29. Tommy

  30. Cindy

  31. Tommy

  32. Cindy

  33. Tommy

  34. Cindy

  35. Tommy

  36. Cindy

  37. Tommy

  38. Cindy

  39. Cindy

  40. Tommy

  41. Cindy

  42. Cindy

  43. Tommy

  44. Tommy

  45. Cindy

  46. Cindy

  47. Tommy

  48. Cindy

  49. Cindy

  50. Tommy

  51. Cindy

  52. Cindy

  53. Tommy

  54. Cindy

  55. Tommy

  56. Cindy

  57. Tommy

  58. Cindy

  Tommy

  How to get your FREE extended epilogues!

  Also by Taylor Holloway

  I snuck into a charity ball and accidentally got myself auctioned off to Hollywood’s sexiest, most eligible bachelor. This is going to be VERY hard to explain to my evil stepmother.

  I escaped my monotonous life for one enchanted evening.

  I even danced with a prince. Tommy Prince, America’s most lusted-after movie star.

  He must have liked me because he decided to cut a one hundred thousand dollar check to the Humpback Whale Conservation Fund to take me out on a date.

  But it’s only a matter of time before this fantasy shatters.

  I’m not the typical Hollywood arm-candy.

  I’m an awkward, nerdy virgin working a dead-end job, while he’s the hottest actor in the world.

  His rugged good looks, alpha attitude, and dogged pursuit of me is making him impossible to resist.

  But my fame-hungry stepmother has her own plans for Tommy, namely my shallow, beauty queen stepsisters.

  When I’m safe in his strong arms I can imagine a happily ever after for us, but my life has been no fairy tale so far.

  I might have to give Tommy up to keep my crazy step-family from destroying us both…

  ‘Auctioned to the A-Lister’ is a sweet and sexy romcom featuring a brilliant, alpha Hollywood hero and a nerdy, plucky girl next door on a crazy road to happily ever after. It stands alone with no cheating, cliffhangers, or nonsense.

  1

  Cindy

  A year of working at my family’s dry-cleaning business in West Hollywood hadn’t taught me as much as college might have, but I’d picked up a few tricks. For instance, I’d learned that the best way to get vomit out of silk was to follow a three-step protocol. First, carefully scrape off as much crusty vomit as possible without damaging the fabric. Second, because vomit is a protein-based stain and thus mostly water-soluble, flush the entire area with warm water. Finally, create a dilute mixture of dish liquid and white vinegar for detergent to get the rest. It worked like a charm.

  I was right in the middle of step two on a particularly lovely royal blue evening gown, when my stepmother Marigold appeared out of nowhere at my elbow. I looked up warily to see her glaring back at me. I wondered what I’d done wrong now.

  “Cindy, get out front. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

  I blinked at her in surprise, elbow deep in disgusting water. It took me a few seconds to find my voice. I hadn’t spoken to anyone all day and my vocal cords felt a bit rusty.

  “They want to talk to me?” I squeaked. Nobody ever wanted to talk to me. I was the girl in the back with the nasty stains and the tears and the alterations. Unless I went out on a specialty cleaning trip, I hardly ever interacted with customers at all. Marigold said I was too awkward for customer service. Given how out of practice I was, she might be right.

  “Did I stutter?” Marigold crowed. She frowned deeply at me. “Go!” she ordered. Marigold and my father married when I was only ten, but I’d never called her mom. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen if I did. Even at twenty-three, I’d probably get backhanded.

  I shuffled out of the backroom, grateful for the temporary reprieve from vomit and becoming even more pleasantly surprised as I saw who was at the desk. It was Isabelle Schmidt, one of our clients I’d met a few months back.

  “Hi Isabelle!” I said, pulling off my elbow-length dish gloves to shake her hand. “Back again with more nasty werewolf suits already?”

  I’d done some delicate work on some of her props a few months back. She’d had a bunch of werewolf fur suits that had been “borrowed” and subjected to some kind of furry orgy. I’d made them look like new again for the film she was working on.

  “Not so far this morning,” she told me with a wink. “But who knows what the day will bring!”

  Isabelle laughed, placing a hand on her very pregnant belly. Had she been pregnant before? It must have been too early to tell. I also noted the addition of a huge, mega-sparkly diamond ring on her finger. In the last few months, Isabelle had clearly been very busy. I’d been busy too, I guess, but mostly with cleaning.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked. She wasn’t here to chat. Isabelle had an important job at a big Hollywood studio. As far as I could tell, she was in charge of an entire department. She was only a couple of years older than me, too. I was only a little bit jealous of her success.

  “I wanted to come by and thank you,” she told me. “The effects in Night Stalker were nominated for a Sci-Tech Oscar. I know it’s just an honorary category, and you won’t get credited or anything, but I wanted you to know that you helped make that happen and personally thank you.”

  Dang. An Oscar? I made a mental note to go see the movie, which was still in theaters. I didn’t get out often, but seeing the garments I worked on in a movie would be cool.

  My mouth dropped open and I shut it with a conscious effort. “Wow. I… I’m glad I could help. You’re very welcome.”

  Nobody ever thanks their dry cleaners. Especially not important Hollywood people like Isabelle. They hardly even acknowledge our humanity. My estimation of Isabelle, which had already been high, went up even higher.

  “Did you say you work on movies?” Marigold asked, drifting out from the back of the shop. She had a sixth sense for any opportunity, like a shark sensing blood from miles away. “Did I hear that right?” Her eyes were bright and eager. She was also using her ‘nice voice’ now instead of the one she usually used on customers. She was hardly ever any nicer to them than she was to me.

  Isabelle nodded politely, clearly suspicious of Marigold’s abrupt and total change in demeanor. “Yes. I do.” She was staring back at Marigold’s hungry expression with a somewhat nervous look on her face.

  “And Cindy helped you?” Marigold asked. She shot a look at me like I’d personally betrayed her. “I must have misread your ticket. We usually wouldn’t send Cindy out for important clients.”

  Isabelle frowned at my stepmother. “Huh? Cindy?! She did a great job.”

>   I didn’t say anything. It would have been nice to defend myself, but only until Isabelle left. Then I’d be alone again with Marigold, and I’d regret it. I stared at the ground.

  “Well, I’m glad she didn’t ruin anything,” Marigold said. “But I’d love to learn more about your business and how we can support it.”

  I winced. Marigold was going to make Isabelle hate us. She did this a lot. Anytime someone was nice to us or seemed like they might be somehow connected, Marigold creeped them out by coming on too strong. Then they ran away. Since we’d arrived in LA a year ago, I’d made exactly one friend. Connie. And if she didn’t have to work here with me, she’d probably run, too.

  “Well, I’m currently between productions right now,” Isabelle was saying diplomatically as I cringed internally. “But I’ve got your card if I need more help.”

  “Wait!” Marigold snapped. She got between pregnant Isabelle and the front door and crossed her arms across her chest. “Let me introduce my daughters to you first. They’re up and coming actresses.”

  Actresses? Hardly. They were pageant girls with delusions of grandeur. I kept my mouth shut.

  Isabelle shook her head. “Oh, I’m not actually—”

  “Just a moment!” Marigold insisted. “Stay right here.”

  Marigold ran off to go grab Quincy and Greenlee, my stepsisters. As soon as she got out of earshot, Isabelle and I locked eyes. I pointed at the door.

  “Go quick,” I told Isabelle. “She’ll keep you here forever if she thinks it’ll get my sisters famous.”

  Isabelle smiled. “Okay. Thanks again.” She fished something out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Look, if that’s your mom, you could probably use a night off. I’ve got this ticket to a Gala my father-in-law is throwing. I can’t go but you should. It would be fun, and you deserve it.”

  I accepted the ticket with a shaking hand. “Oh! That’s nice of you. Thanks, Isabelle.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and then she as gone. I exhaled in relief. I’d get yelled at now, but at least Isabelle wouldn’t be subjected to the full-on Marigold treatment.

  Isabelle was right, I did need some fun. I’d been thinking of going to see Night Stalker, but a gala sounded way more exciting. I needed something that wasn’t this shop and the constant derision of my immediate family. After I got the vomit out of that blue evening gown, I might just wear it out tonight.

  2

  Thomas

  The gorgeous girl in the blue silk dress almost spilled red wine on me. How’s that for a conversation starter? When I tapped her on the shoulder to slip past her, she spun too quickly, and the glass almost flew from her hand. I pressed my hand against hers to stop the forward momentum and it resulted in us nearly holding hands in the middle of the crowded party. She froze in surprise.

  “Oops!” she stuttered, staring at our joined hands and then up at my face. “Nice catch.”

  She certainly was.

  Petite but curvy…she was just my type. Although, on closer inspection, she might just be a teenager. Either way, I had to admit to myself that she was beautiful. Her face was heart-shaped with large eyes, high cheekbones, a small, full mouth, and long, graceful neck. Her hair was loose down her back in big, spiral ringlets that might even be natural. Her eyes were a soft hazel.

  I was attending this event on behalf of my father, its sponsor. He was a huge supporter of the Humpback whale conservation fund, but not so much of a supporter that he actually attended these. I got stuck with being the public face, although I had at least weaseled out of emcee duties. I expected to be bored out of my mind and to spend the whole night sulking in the back of the ballroom. I was suddenly the opposite of bored.

  “That was close,” she said, looking back at the wine. “Three parts hydrogen peroxide, one-part dishwashing liquid,” she mumbled.

  “Huh?” We were still holding hands. I seemed to be struggling to think clearly.

  “The magic formula for removing red wine stains,” she told me, blushing but resolute. “Three parts hydrogen peroxide, one-part dishwashing liquid. Soak and rinse.”

  “Is it?” I was certainly no expert. “Good to know.”

  Her blush deepened and she nodded. She was adorable—innocent and eager. Not at all like most of the sly, jaded, streetwise socialites that usually attended these events.

  “Are you old enough to be drinking that?” I asked her, recovering my wits.

  I was a bit suspicious of the pretty young woman in front of me. The last thing I needed was to be chasing jailbait tonight, even if she had just left me speechless and caught in her orbit.

  She pouted at me and pulled her hand away. Her lips were very red. “Is that why you tapped me on the shoulder? To ask my age? Isn’t that the bartender’s job?”

  I’d been looking for an exit and ran into her purely by chance, but since I was here, and she was so dang pretty…

  I smiled back at her. “I came to ask you to dance,” I fibbed smoothly, “but I just want to make sure I won’t end up getting punched by your father for trying.”

  An expression flashed over her features too fast to interpret, but it vanished into a polite smile. Her teeth were white and even. “Hmm. I see. I’m twenty-three, thank you very much. And you? More like fifty?”

  I smirked at her. I’d needed a beard for my last role and decided I liked it. At least until my agent told me it had to go, I was rocking the facial hair and it probably made me look older. But no. Not that old. Not fifty. I was being teased.

  “Thirty-three,” I told her. “Is that too old for a dance with you?”

  She shrugged her delicate shoulders and looked me up and down. “I’ll take my chances.” She accepted my offered hand and let me lead her to the dance floor. “I’m Cindy by the way. And yes, I know who you are.”

  She sounded as nonplussed as any society girl, and I appreciated the lack of starstruck stuttering, but of course she did. Everyone did. Everyone knew exactly who I was, no matter where I went. It was a blessing and a curse. Mostly, and increasingly, a curse.

  I’m Tommy Prince. At that moment, Hollywood’s highest paid actor. I’d successfully dethroned George Clooney this year after being on his heels for a while. It had been a thrill to finally reach my goal, but now there was nowhere to go but down. And honestly? I was bored. I’d been incredibly bored with almost everything for the past three years.

  But not at the moment. I put one hand on her waist and held her other hand in mine, feeling vaguely surreal. She was an excellent dancer, graceful and light on her feet. My body remembered how to dance, even if my brain was two steps behind. I was dancing. It had been a long time since I’d done that.

  The orchestra was playing “Some Enchanted Evening” from South Pacific. My brother used to use that as his audition song, and I hated it. I was feeling it tonight though. Probably because Derek wasn’t here crooning.

  …Some enchanted evening you may see a stranger. You may see a stranger across a crowded room…

  Cindy followed my lead on the dance floor and waited for me to speak. When I didn’t, she did, looking up at me curiously. Her voice was soft.

  “Now I can tell my sisters that I danced with Tommy Prince,” Cindy said, staring at me as we moved together. She laughed and it jolted me out of my stupor. “Not that they’ll ever believe me.”

  “Why wouldn’t they believe you?” I asked. I assumed socialites like Cindy here met all kinds of people at events like this. I’d seen Angelina Jolie earlier. I was hardly the only A-lister in attendance.

  …And somehow you know. You know even then. That somewhere you’ll see her again and again…

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “This whole night has turned out very differently than I expected,” she said. “That’s all.”

  I knew how she felt. I felt like I’d been woken from a deep sleep.

  “What were you expecting?” This was fairly standard as far as Hollywood charity events went, at least in my experience. Except for the p
resent company. Naturally.

  She smiled a mysterious little smile. “Not this. I certainly didn’t expect to spill my drink on a Hollywood A-lister.”

  “You didn’t,” I reminded her. “But if you had, it sounds like you could have taken care of it.”

  She smiled another little smile at me. Her hazel eyes were bright but guarded.

  “Where are you from?” I asked. Not LA. That might as well be tattooed on her forehead. Her accent was midwestern. I put my metaphorical money on Missouri.

  “Me? Oh. Wisconsin. Altoona, Wisconsin.”

  Altoona, Wisconsin? I searched my memory banks for things I knew about Altoona, Wisconsin. I came up totally blank. Geography was a strong subject for me, but I’d never heard of Cindy’s hometown.

  “It’s okay,” she told me, correctly interpreting my expression. “Really. Nobody’s ever heard of it. Its biggest claim to fame is being the second-largest Altoona in the US.”

  “There’s another Altoona?” I shook my head at the thought.