Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
OTHER CONTEMPORARY NOVELS BY SAMANTHA TOWLE
Wardrobe Malfunction
Unsuitable
Sacking the Quarterback (BookShots Flames/James Patterson)
The Ending I Want
When I Was Yours
Trouble
REVVED SERIES
Revved
Revived
THE STORM SERIES
The Mighty Storm
Wethering the Storm
Taming the Storm
The Storm
PARANORMAL ROMANCES BY SAMANTHA TOWLE
The Bringer
THE ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES
First Bitten
Original Sin
Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Towle
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at www.samanthatowle.co.uk
Cover Designer: Najla Qamber Designs
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1548213923
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Ava
Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare cry, Ava Simms.
You’ve gotten through harder things than losing your job.
I’ve lost my job.
Shit. I’ve lost my job.
My boyfriend left me a month ago. I’m homeless as of tomorrow. And, now, I have no job.
Okay. I’m going to cry.
My lip wobbles, and tears start to run from my eyes.
With my heels clicking loudly across the tiled floor of the lobby, I speed walk out of the building, ignoring the receptionist’s curious eyes on me.
Pushing through the rotating door, I’m out of there. Head down, I rush around to the side of the building where my car is parked.
I climb in, shutting the door behind me, and toss my bag on the passenger seat. I jab my key in the ignition and turn the engine on.
I just want to go home.
But I don’t have a home anymore. Not after tomorrow.
And here comes the serious waterworks.
Tears are pouring down my cheeks. I swipe a hand over my eyes, not even caring that I’m probably smudging my makeup.
It’s not like I have anyone to impress anymore.
I slam the shift stick in reverse and hit the gas.
A second later, I go over a small speed bump.
I don’t remember speed bumps being down here.
My head whips around, and I see a body vaulting away from my car.
Oh, shit.
It wasn’t a speed bump.
It was a person.
I just hit a person with my car! Could this day get any worse?
Scrambling out of my car, quickly drying my eyes with my hands, I rush around to find a guy on his ass on the sidewalk, holding his right foot, cursing, and groaning in pain.
“Oh my God! I am so sorry! Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not fucking okay!” he barks. “You just ran over my foot!”
His voice sounds vaguely familiar, like I’ve heard it somewhere before.
I can’t see his face properly, as his head is down, just a head full of dark hair.
“I think it’s broken,” he groans. “Fuck, it hurts.”
I get to my knees beside him, tugging my skirt down to cover my thighs. I knew I should’ve gone with pants this morning.
“What can I do to help?”
“I think you’ve already done enough,” he snaps.
His head lifts, and he stares straight at me.
Oh, Jesus, fuck no.
I recognize those penetrating dark eyes and that brooding, gorgeous face.
Gabriel Evans.
Hollywood’s resident bad boy and my current celebrity crush. I’ve had a few celebrity crushes over the years, but I’m all about the Italian Stallion nowadays. Not that the press calls him that. I just do in my head because he’s part Italian, and I like to think he’s a stallion in the sack.
And he’s stunning to look at. He has a smoking body and that whole badass thing going on. I just love him.
“No,” he says.
“No?” I echo, puzzled.
“No, you can’t have my autograph, and you most definitely cannot take a selfie with me.”
“I wasn’t going to ask for your autograph.”
“Just a selfie then?”
“What? No!”
“You always blush when you’re lying, Speedy?”
Speedy?
“I’m not lying!” My hands automatically go to my cheeks. They’re on fire. That’s what I get for thinking about how hot he is.
“Sure you’re not.”
“I’m not! I swear! And people really do that? Ask you for a selfie after they’ve run you over? Because that’s a really shitty thing to do.”
“You’d be surprised what people would do for a picture with me. But I’ve never been run over before. This is my first time, so I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“I don’t want a selfie! Honestly! If I did, I would have asked for one when we met before. Six months ago.” When he blankly stares at me, I fill in, “We met at a club. My friend Charly Michaels is dati
ng Vaughn West. Vaughn introduced us.”
“I don’t remember.”
Oh. I can’t deny that I’m not disappointed. I always hoped that, if I did ever get lucky enough to see Gabriel again, he’d remember me.
But then, why would he? He meets tons of people all the time, and most of them are probably women.
Well, he’ll definitely never forget me now.
Way to get your movie star crush’s attention, Ava. Run over him with your car.
“Well, no worries.” I smile. “My name is Ava—”
“You could be called Candy and strip off all your clothes right now, and I wouldn’t give a fuck. Right now, I just need you to help me get my shoe off because my foot is hurting like hell!”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? I remember when my brother broke his foot when we were kids. He pulled his sneaker off straightaway, and he was in agony. He couldn’t walk. My dad had to carry him to the car and take him to the hospital. He cried all the way there. The doctor said his sneaker held his foot together, and if he’d left it on until he got to the hospital, he wouldn’t have been in as much pain. He broke four bones in his foot. Had to have surgery. He was in a cast for months.”
“That’s a cheery story. Did you break your brother’s foot as well?”
“No! Of course I didn’t. He broke it after falling out of our tree house.”
“I don’t give two shits how your brother broke his foot! Did you not hear me say, my foot is fucking hurting? I don’t think it can get any worse! Now, will you just take my goddamn shoe off?”
“Okay. Jesus. You’re so damn testy.”
His response is a growl.
I untie the laces on his shoe and very gently start to ease his shoe off.
“Ah, fuck! That hurts!”
“I told you this wasn’t a good idea. Do you want me to stop?”
“No, just keep going.”
“Should I do it like a Band-Aid?”
“What?”
“Should I just rip it off like a Band-Aid?”
“No! Just take my shoe off like a normal fucking person takes a shoe off. No ripping off anything.”
“I didn’t mean that I’d literally rip it off. I just meant, quick, like a Band-Aid. God, you’re prickly, and you do curse an awful lot.”
His dark brows come together in an unfriendly frown. “You just ran over my fucking foot, and you’re complaining that I’m prickly and I curse too fucking much? How about this, Speedy? I’ll get in my car and run over your foot, and then we’ll see how that goes for you.”
“Jeez, I was only saying,” I mutter. “And please stop calling me Speedy.”
His lips tighten, his brows rising.
“Okay. We can discuss the use of nicknames later. Let’s just get this shoe off, and we can assess the damage on your foot. One…two…three.”
I give it a good tug, and the shoe is off. All the while, Gabriel yet again curses like a sailor.
“Motherfucking cunt of a son of a bitch!” he yells.
“Does it hurt more?”
He pauses, giving me a dark look. “What the hell do you think?”
“Well, I told you—”
“Don’t you fucking dare say I told you so.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I so was. I press my lips together. A beat later, I ask, “Do you want me to take your sock off as well?”
“No, I can do it.”
I sit back on my haunches and watch while he carefully peels off his sock.
“Ah, fuck,” he groans.
“Ooh, that does not look good at all.” I move in close, looking at his foot, which is a spectacular shade of blue. “It shouldn’t be that color and not this quickly. I definitely think it’s broken.” I glance up at his face.
God, he’s pretty.
“No shit, Sherlock,” he mutters.
And he’s an ass.
I stare back at his foot. “I don’t think that bone should be sticking up like that.” I point at it with my finger.
He bats my hand away. “Don’t touch it!”
“I wasn’t going to touch it! I’m not stupid.”
“You sure about that?”
“Hey!” I lean back, affronted. “That’s not nice! I know I ran over you with my car, but it was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I’ve never run over anyone with my car before. I have crashed into another car before, but I’d call it more of a bump, and it was the other driver’s fault, not mine. He’d pulled out in front of me. And there was this one time when I clipped this dude’s side mirror, and he was pissed, but if he’d parked his car better and not left it sticking out in the road, then I wouldn’t have hit it. It’s not my fault there are incompetent drivers out there.”
Gabriel is gaping at me.
“What?” I ask, a little self-conscious.
“Do you actually hear yourself when you’re talking?”
“Of course I do.” I frown. “I’m not deaf.”
“Good. Because, for a moment there, I was wondering if you were actually aware of the crap that comes out of your mouth.”
Ugh. Asshole.
He starts to get to his feet—well, foot. I stand and offer him a hand because I’m a nice person, unlike him, but he ignores my offer, choosing to struggle instead.
So, I watch as he gets up, balancing on one foot, his hand resting on the roof of my car for support.
He’s so tall. Six-four, according to his website. I’m only five-three. He’s a whole foot taller than me. Even with my heels on, I still have to crane my neck to look up at him.
His face is pinched in pain.
“We need to get you to a hospital. I think Presbyterian is closest.”
He lets out a hard laugh. “No, thanks.”
“Why? What’s wrong with Presbyterian?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Presbyterian. It’s you that’s the problem. No fucking way am I getting in a car with you.”
“Hey now! There’s no need for that. Seriously, Gabriel, you’re close to hurting my feelings.”
“Am I? Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He slaps his hand on his chest. “Because I would hate to hurt your feelings after you so kindly ran me over with your fucking golf cart of a car and broke my fucking foot!”
“It was an accident! And my car is not a golf cart!”
“It was not an accident! You didn’t see me because you were too busy bawling your eyes out to notice I was even there!”
Shit. He saw me crying.
I feel so embarrassed. It stains my cheeks.
“What happened? Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?” he prods sardonically.
“No,” I bite. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Anymore. “And, not that it’s any of your business, but I was just fired.”
“Did you run over your boss as well?”
Ugh. Asshole.
The urge to stamp on his good foot with my stiletto, taking that one out of action as well, is strong. But I won’t do it because I’m a better person than he is. He is so off the top of my celebrity crush list.
“You are not a nice person, Gabriel Evans.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“And you’re a danger to people everywhere. I should call up the DMV and have them take your license away because whoever gave it to you must’ve been fucking high.”
“Mr. Anders was not high! He was a nice old man! God! Why don’t you just skip the DMV and call the police to report me for dangerous driving? I’m sure they’d happily take my license away from me!”
Ah, hell. Why did I say that?
From the smirk he’s now wearing, I’m guessing he didn’t think of calling the police.
I am so going to jail.
I swallow down.
“As nice a thought as that is, you wouldn’t last five minutes in jail, Speedy. Call this me being nice, as I’m keeping your pretty ass out of jail by not calling the cops.”
Is it sad that I’m stuck on the fact that he called me pretty? Well, he called my ass pretty, bu
t whatever.
God, I seriously need a slap across the face.
“You’re welcome,” he snips.
Then, he pushes off my car and starts to hop. I kid you not; he’s hopping away.
“You forgot your shoe and sock,” I call out to him, spotting them on the sidewalk.
“You can keep them as souvenirs,” he calls back as he hops toward a fancy-looking silver Audi parked a little further down on the other side of the road.
I bend down and pick up his sock and shoe.
I told him that he wasn’t a nice person, but there must be a little nice in him. He could’ve called the cops. He probably should have, but he didn’t. And I didn’t even thank him.
Sock and shoe in hand, I start to walk over to Gabriel, who’s just made it to his car and opened the driver’s door.
By the time I reach him, he’s inside, and the engine is on.
I rap on the window. He turns his head and stares at me.
“I brought you your sock and shoe.” I hold them up for him to see.
He rolls his window down, and he takes them from me without a word, tossing them on the passenger seat.
I awkwardly stand there, biting on my lip and twisting my hands together. “I should have said thank you. For you not calling the cops. I do appreciate it. And I am sorry about running over your foot. Really, I am. And I would totally understand if you changed your mind and wanted to call the cops. So, I can give you my cell phone number in case you need to—”
“Are you hitting on me right now? Because I’ve gotta say, that’s just straight up inappropriate if you are. You broke my foot, and now, you’re trying to get in my pants. Bad form, Speedy.”
“What? No!” I step back in shock, my hands going to my face. “I-I was just-just—” I splutter, shaking my head. “I am not trying to get in your pants! I was trying to be a good person! I can’t believe you think I was hitting on you!”
“Weren’t you?”
“No!”
“Well then”—he scratches his chin—“I don’t know whether to be relieved or offended.” He looks me up and down. “I’ll go with relieved.”
“Ugh! God, you’re a…”
“What am I?” he goads.
Be the bigger person, Ava. Do not take the bait. It’s clear that he loves an argument. Don’t give him what he wants.
I take a few deep breaths in and out and then change tack. “Are you sure you can manage driving?”
Breaking Hollywood Page 1