Free Hollywood Hills 1 by Nikki Steele

Chapter 1
     
     
    Most girls would give anything to work at a major film company – even as an assistant. It’s the closest many ever get to Hollywood.
    So why was I dreading it with every fiber of my being? And why was the need for a cigarette suddenly tearing through my soul? I hadn’t touched a cancer stick in almost two years now.
    The woman at the front desk, like so many women in LA, was tall and lean. She had hair that would make Goldilocks jealous—a stark contrast to my own mousy brown. I fiddled with my glasses as she surveyed my ID, then waved me down the hall. “Mr Williams is at the very end. You’ll have your own little office right beside his—I made sure the door was left open for you; you can’t miss it.”
    She seemed friendly. That was a good start, at least. Though it would make what I had to do harder in the long run . I turned, mind on other things, and immediately tripped over thin air.
    The receptionist cried out as I fell to my hands and knees, then hurried around the as I began frantically shoveling things back into my bag. “Nothing like being branded the company klutz on the first day,” I joked, laughing nervously. Oh god—people were turning to look at me . I was naturally clumsy, even more so when I had a reason to be nervous.
    Once I had straightened myself out, I walked carefully down the hall. I saw Mr. Williams’ office first. It was enormous—the size of my entire apartment, and well-furnished; as decadent as you might expect a billionaire movie maker’s office to be.
    Unfortunately, it was also empty. I checked the time on my phone. Perhaps my boss came in late on a Monday? I guessed you could, when you owned the studio. He must be some crusty, greasy old man whose lackeys did all the real work. Rich people were usually like that, as far as I could tell. It was the whole reason I was here.
    I moved onto my office. Compared to the previous room, this was like a janitorial closet—perhaps that was even how it had originally been conceived. It was crowded, and only contained a rolling chair and desk. At least the laptop looked new.
    There were instructions on a post-it note, stuck to the top of the machine. They included my username and password. So much for security , I thought. There was also a key taped to it; I assumed that was for the lock on the door.
    “Hey,” I heard, and whirled around with my hand covering the post-it. The man standing in the doorway was young; tall and gawky, all knees and elbows. Surely he wasn’t my boss?
    “You must be the new girl working for Mr. Williams,” the kid said with a smile.
    “I am,” I said. “Josie.”
    “I’m Christian,” he said, extending a hand. “Intern. Film school student. I sorta float around, handling things for whoever needs help.”
    “Nice to meet you,” I said with a smile.
    “I guess you have a lot to do, so I’ll leave you alone. But if you need anything, give me a ring. I have a desk in the copy room, extension 413.”
    I frowned as he walked away. Another nice person—this wasn’t looking good at all.
    I turned to my machine and booted it up, keeping an ear out for movement from Mr. Williams’ office. I’d been given a brief on my new employer the day I’d agreed to the job. He’d crashed onto the Hollywood scene with a string of blockbusters; in the 10 years previous, his films had netted over 20 billion dollars in the US alone.
    Most of that money, he’d retained. In his first movie—the one that nobody had thought would amount to anything, he’d negotiated a share of box office and merchandising instead of the usual wage.
    It must have seemed a good idea to someone high up. At least until the movie became a surprise hit. Overnight it had made him a multi-millionaire. He’d used the money to start his own production company, earning him billions of dollars more, and the hate of every executive that hadn’t gotten a piece of the action since.
    Then suddenly, a few years ago, he’d moved