Free Hollywood Secrets by Gemma Halliday Page A

marble. I resisted the urge to shoot photos. While they would have made Felix drool, I knew the reflective glare off the windows would give me away for sure.
    I tried the handle on the pair of French doors leading inside. It jiggled in my hand, but didn’t turn. Locked. Disappointing, but no big surprise.
    I tip-toed around the corner, looking for another way in.
    I passed what looked like a game room, housing a foosball table, two pinball machines, and framed comic book covers on the walls, and a granite and stainless-steel kitchen that would have made a gourmet chef weep with jealousy. Next to the kitchen sat another pair of French doors. They were tall, flanked by thick, burgundy curtains, leading into a sunny sitting room. Doing a slow over the shoulder for Julio or any armed bodyguards, I gingerly tried the door handle. What do you know? It turned easily in my hand. I pushed the door open and crept inside.
    I quietly shut the door behind me, sweeping the room for any signs of life.
    I wasn’t 100% sure what I was looking for here, but I knew if I got caught by a housekeeper or personal assistant, my mission ended there. Luckily, the room was still, an oversized sofa and chairs in deep rich woods my only companions. I silently took stock of the room, but it was as benign as they come. Tastefully decorated with the help of an overpriced designer but void of any real personal touches. Whatever secrets Trace’s home may have held, they clearly weren’t here.
    I silently glided across the white carpet, making footprints in its freshly vacuumed tracks, and peeked through the doorway. A large, marble-tiled hall greeted me, the massive wood front door visible to the right, the locked dining room to the left. I took a small step out into the open area, which I’m sure had some very fancy French name, and cringed as my sneakers squeaked on the polished floor.
    An ornate, iron staircase wound upward to my left while three doors stood directly across the hall from me – all closed. I walked across the floor, my footsteps echoing with each squeaky step. I tried the first, peeking my head in the door. A study. Furnished in more dark woods, a wall of tastefully displayed books, and an oriental rug in deep burgundy hues. Unoccupied. Perfect.
    I was just about to push into the room and start rummaging through the drawers of that huge desk when a voice stopped me in my tracks.
    “ Who the hell are you?”
    I froze. My heart suddenly leaping into my chest.
    While I might have been able to bluff a member of Trace’s household staff, I knew that voice. And I knew there was no chance of sweet talking my way out of this one.
    I slowly turned around…
    … to find myself face to face with Trace Brody.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    I blinked, my brain trying to process what my eyes were telling me.
    “ What the hell are you doing here?” I blurted out.
    Trace cocked his head to the side, a strand of hair slipping off his forehead in exactly the same way it had in his last movie, You’ve Got Email . Sexy.
    “ I could ask you the same thing,” he replied.
    I felt my cheeks redden. Right. I suppose I was the one trespassing.
    “ No, I meant… well… you’re gone. I mean, clearly you’re not gone because, duh, here you are. But you weren’t here. Last night. At the club. Okay, well, if you were at the club then you weren’t here, but you weren’t at the club either. Or the storage place. Or at the Starbucks or dry cleaners or anywhere! Which isn’t surprising, considering you were kidnapped!”
    I stopped to take a breath, painfully aware that I wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. As I may have mentioned, on a good day I’m not necessarily the most suave when it comes to talking to guys. But faced with a real live movie star, one I’d been basically stalking for the last six weeks, my tongue had suddenly turned to rubber, spewing out babble every which direction. I bit down on it. Hard. Willing myself to shut