by Alexa Aston
Hollywood Flirt
Hollywood Name Game Book 2
Alexa Aston
Copyright © 2020 Alexa Aston
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9798663681698
ISBN-10: 8663681698
Edited by: Scott Moreland
Cover design by: Wicked Smart Designs
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
EPILOGUE
About The Author
Hollywood Name Game
Books By This Author
PROLOGUE
Five years ago . . .
Sydney Brown gazed at herself in the mirror. The high neck ivory Victorian bridal gown was the complete opposite of the white satin slip dress she’d been married in when she was seventeen. That slinky gown with a low plunging neckline had fit her spur-of-the-moment Vegas wedding to Craig Thompson in a 24/7 wedding chapel a block off the strip. Craig was all about spontaneity and living in the moment.
He’d also been twenty-five years older than Sydney—and an actor friend of her director father.
A part of her still missed Craig. He’d been the fun guy hanging around the house when she was growing up. The one who’d tried to help her cope with the death of her mother from breast cancer. The one she called to get her out of scrapes when she hit her rebellious teenage years. Sydney wondered if their marriage would have lasted—or for how long—if Craig had lived. A drunk driver crashing into their sports car four months after their quickie wedding kept the answer from her. She’d put Craig in the ground and never looked back.
She studied her reflection, wondering if her first husband would have recognized her if he caught a glimpse of her now. Craig had insisted on no prenup so Sydney was set for life. That’s what marrying a Hollywood legend who invested wisely did. The paparazzi proved relentless, though, and her reputation as The Wild Child only added fuel to the fire.
So, she’d disappeared.
Sydney chopped off her long, signature auburn locks and dyed her hair a mousy brown. She started wearing brown-colored contacts to hide her luminous green eyes and donned ginormous glasses that covered most of her face. Her only makeup was a light lip gloss, worn because her lips had a tendency to crack if not protected. Baggy jeans and oversized sweaters hid her figure. She even petitioned to have her name legally changed, though she couldn’t part with Sydney. Her mother had chosen her daughter’s name and it was the only link to the beautiful woman who’d died far too soon. Sydney willingly gave up her famous last name of Revere and escaped Hollywood, choosing Brown as her new surname. A name as bland and drab as her new hair.
She didn’t regret her choices. They enabled her to attend college anonymously in the Midwest and live a fairly mundane life. She didn’t date or make friends. Instead, she soaked up everything her professors offered, especially in her writing and literature courses.
Still, she wanted to get as far away from Sydney Revere as she could. Today was another step toward becoming a normal, obscure person. Marrying Wakefield Warren Marshall IV, from an old east coast family, would take her a world away from her Hollywood roots. They’d met the first day of Yale Law School. Both had jobs waiting for them at prestigious New York firms once they said their I dos. Sydney would settle into life as a tax attorney, while Wake would work in the real estate arm of his new law firm. She and Wake planned to have two children and she’d make sure they were christened with traditional names. Their kids would attend good schools. They would never give their parents a moment of trouble—as she had.
Wake was perfect in every way, from his stodgy name and background to his boyish good looks and intelligence.
The only thing lacking was love. For the second time, Sydney was marrying a man she didn’t love. Despite formerly being known as The Wild Child, Wake was only the second man she’d ever slept with. So much for Hollywood’s gossip rags.
She closed her eyes, trying to draw from the inner reserve of strength that she always depended upon. “I can do this,” she told herself. “In a few minutes, I’ll be Mrs. Wakefield Warren Marshall IV. I will be a typical, average, married woman with an everyday job. I will come out of my hermit’s cave and make friends. I will never be the subject of a tabloid TV story. I’ll never set foot in Hollywood ever again.” She prayed her little pep talk would see her through the candlelight ceremony.
Sydney exhaled a long breath and opened her eyes. The stranger she’d become eight years ago stared back at her. She hated to admit it but she looked unsure. Frightened. And unhappy. Sydney practiced her smile until she thought she could pass for happy. She would defy anyone who didn’t believe that she was ecstatic as she married Wake.
A soft rap at the door startled her. Sydney sucked in a quick breath. She steeled herself as Patricia Marshall breezed into the room. Sydney shivered and told herself she only imagined the room’s temperature dropped ten degrees with the Ice Queen’s entrance.
Sydney had done everything imaginable to win over Wake’s mother but nothing had worked. She finally realized a year into their relationship that any woman Wake brought home would never be good enough for Patricia’s little boy. The pair was almost joined at the hip. Sydney thought it was a little creepy. Wakefield Number III had died in a boating accident ten years ago, soon after the government had brought fraud charges against him regarding an investment scam. Her curiosity led her to search online regarding the allegations. From everything she’d read, her gut told her the so-called accident had been an actual suicide, hushed up by authorities. Ever since then, mother and son were tighter than sardines crammed into a can. She supposed that’s what bluebloods did—rally the troops and then close ranks upon the death of a loved one. Not like her father, who’d made a hobby of remarrying every few years after her mother’s death.
“Hello, Patricia,” Sydney said easily, though every time she spent time around this woman her insides felt jumbled and off-balance.
“Must you wear those glasses?”
Sydney was used to hiding behind the oversized frames, even though they contained no prescription. They’d become a part of her. Though she would love to walk down the aisle without them, a small part of her feared someone would figure out who she was—and then Wake would reject her in front of everyone. He was even more traditional than his mother. To find out he stood at the altar with som
eone with Sydney’s past reputation would cause him to turn a cold shoulder and slip from the chapel without a further word. No running and screaming for a Marshall. That would be undignified. He’d simply slither away and leave her exposed to the world.
She was Hollywood royalty, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Her father was one of the most famous directors on the planet. Her mother had been a talented Oscar winner and named People’s Most Beautiful Woman. It didn’t matter. Sydney cut ties with Monty Revere years ago and her mother was long dead. In her heart, she should believe she was good enough for Wake but insecurity nagged at her, chipping away whatever self-confidence she had.
Though she might not equal Wake in good looks, she had brains. No one became Yale’s Law Review Editor and graduated at the top of the class unless they flexed serious intellectual muscle. She knew that was the biggest turn-on for Wake, who’d come in two-hundredths of a grade point behind her. They’d duked it out until the very last paper was due in their final class. Already engaged, Sydney had wondered if Wake would still marry her if she outshone him but he’d told her he was proud of her. He also seemed to appreciate her height, which intimidated most men, but Wake was six inches taller than her at six-four, another plus for him.
If only she could love him.
Turning to the Ice Queen, she said, “Yes, Patricia. I’m blind as a bat. I wouldn’t be able to see the aisle—much less walk down it—without my glasses.”
The woman frowned. “At least take them off for the pictures afterward. Glasses can reflect and make for incredibly bad photographs. We wouldn’t want to mar Wake’s day.” She sighed. “It’s almost time.” Patricia leaned over and gently touched her cheek to Sydney’s.
The gesture moved her because Patricia had never shown Sydney any kind of affection during the last three years. She remained distant through all the wedding planning, though she’d insisted that the couple do premarital counseling and sign a prenuptial agreement.
Before Sydney could express her gratitude and hope that today would mark a new beginning in their relationship, Patricia warned, “You better make my son happy, Sydney. He deserves your undivided attention. That means catering to his every whim. See that you place his career above your own. If you don’t, I’ll make sure he gets rid of you.”
So much for thinking she might have found a new mother. At least Patricia never changed. She put Wake first and foremost. Always. Sydney understood it. She accepted it.
“Wake has made me very happy, Patricia. You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
Actually, Wake was often selfish and didn’t do much for Sydney. Still, he would never think about doing anything scandalous and that’s what she told herself she needed. Today would forever close the door on her past. She would step through a new one that led to her future.
Even if Sydney wasn’t remotely attracted to her groom.
CHAPTER 1
Now . . .
Sydney brushed her teeth with one hand as she scrolled through her phone with the other. A deposition at eleven. Lunch with a new client at one. Two meetings this afternoon, one with her boss. Her day stacked up as it usually did.
Then it hit her.
The sameness of every day made her want to scream. One blended into the next and blurred until she didn’t know what day it was. Or month. Or season. She didn’t take vacations. She didn’t have friends.
She worked. Period. That was her life.
And she was tired of it. Tired of trying to be dull Sydney Brown. She’d done it for the last dozen years. Attempted to be perfect. Stuck to a routine. Was an average, tax-paying American who kept her head down and flew under the radar and would never be caught dead on the news—or the front page of The National Enquirer.
Sydney set her phone down. She spit the toothpaste into the sink.
“I want to be me again. Sydney Revere.”
Saying it felt right.
She carefully applied her favorite shade of lip gloss and took a deep breath. She’d pretended for years but the time for pretending was over. She wanted to go home. To California.
To Hollywood.
She missed her dad. She missed the terrific weather. She missed driving a car. She missed writing.
Sydney had always scribbled in notebooks. Her mother had told her she would be a novelist or screenwriter someday. They would go to the park, her mother wearing dark glasses, a wig, and a scarf to hide her identity. They’d sit on a bench and make up stories about the people that passed by. Sydney still did it. Waiting to give the barista her order, she’d pick out people standing in line and give them names and back stories. She’d even let her mind wander in meetings, creating stories for the people that passed in the hallway.
Why had she denied for so long who she was?
“I’m done,” she declared to the image in the mirror.
She went to her closet and pulled out a suitcase and placed it on her bed. She packed her favorite pair of jeans. Her Yale hoodie. A few shirts. Some clean underwear and bras. Black pants. Two pairs of shoes. An extra purse. She’d leave the rest behind. What she didn’t have, she could buy. The last thing she slipped in was a three-ring binder with all her legal documents. She’d be needing those in order to become Sydney Revere again.
Sydney brought the suitcase into her living room and stared at where she’d lived for the last eighteen months. Though she could have afforded to buy anything she wanted, she’d rented this apartment and the furnishings that came with it. She only bought e-books so she wouldn’t be leaving any treasured hardbacks behind. She hadn’t taken any pictures with her when she left home as a teenager. She had no pictures from her drive-through Vegas wedding to Craig.
She’d burned the pictures from her second wedding.
Bastard.
Sydney pushed thoughts of her second husband aside. She no longer dignified him with a name. The lying, cheating creep didn’t deserve one.
She had on her good navy suit and Manolos that she wouldn’t dare leave behind. She always wore the same watch and the diamond stud earrings that were her mother’s. No other jewelry to scoop up. In a way, it was sad she had so little to take with her but it made it easier to leave the physical and emotional baggage behind. She’d wasted her entire twenties. No, not wasted. She’d gotten her degrees. Been gainfully employed. Now that thirty loomed on the horizon, she wouldn’t lie to herself any longer.
She was Sydney Revere. And she liked her.
Her keys sat next to her purse. She’d leave them on the table. She wouldn’t need them anymore. She slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped her phone in the side pocket, then rolled her suitcase out the door and down the hall to the elevator. She had it to herself. Sydney swore she was going to give up living a solitary life. Alone could be good. It was good for her after her divorce. She was young, though, and had plenty of living to do. With others. Sydney 2.0 was done. She was going back to Original Sydney. That Sydney liked being around people.
She made straight for the super’s apartment and rang the bell. When Stu answered, she said, “I’m leaving Boston. My keys are on the table. You can have anything in the apartment that I’ve left—clothes, bedding, kitchen stuff. What you don’t want, give away. I’ll send you a check for two months’ rent since I didn’t give you any notice. Thanks, Stu. You always took good care of me.”
Before the dumbfounded super uttered a word, Sydney turned and wheeled her suitcase out of the building. Right on time, her car service pulled up. One of the perks of her job. Her usual driver got out.
“Going on a trip, Miss Brown?”
“Yes, Rick. Something came up unexpectedly. Out of the blue.”
He loaded the suitcase into the trunk and helped her into the car before climbing back into the driver’s seat.
“Straight to the airport?”
“No. I need to stop by work first. Can you wait and take me to the airport?”
“Sure. I was free this morning until your lunch appointment. Gu
ess that’s canceled now.”
Sydney grinned. “It will be.”
As Rick pulled away from the curb, she took out her phone and booked a flight to LA. She’d wait to cancel her meetings until she got to the office. She didn’t want the cat getting out of the bag too early.
Seven minutes later, they pulled up at her office on Summer Street.
“Give me about half an hour, and then we’ll head straight to Logan.”
“You’re the boss.”
Sydney walked through the doors to her office building for the last time. Strangely, she felt nothing. That told her that she was doing the right thing. She took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor and swiped her security badge to gain admittance to the law firm. She waved at the receptionist who was on the phone and headed back to her office. Her assistant, Brenda, met her, handing over a cup of coffee.
“Thanks.”
“You’ve got—”
“Come into my office, Brenda.” Sydney went inside and looked around. It could’ve been anyone’s office. A few pictures from fundraisers adorned the walls, along with plaques of awards she’d won. Her briefcase sat atop her desk. She’d worked so late last night that it hadn’t been worth toting it home. She set down her coffee and opened the briefcase, clearing out all the files. She left her favorite fountain pen and a yellow legal tablet inside, along with her laptop. She’d use those on the plane. To start her first . . . whatever.
Sydney tapped the folders on the desk so they formed a neat stack and then handed them to her assistant. “You’re in charge of these and canceling whatever’s on my calendar.”
“For . . . today?”
“For good.”
Brenda’s jaw dropped. “You’re quitting?”
Sydney nodded. “I am. As of today. Actually, as soon as go in and tell Simon.”
Brenda’s eyes widened. “He’s going to shit bricks, Sydney.”