Free Hollywood Hills 1 by Nikki Steele Page A

on to smaller projects. The blockbusters continued, but for those he was an executive producer; he didn’t direct them himself. Instead, he started focusing his energies on more personal documentaries— exposés on sex slavery, and child labor. His latest investigative piece looked at the Syrian refugee crises, and what the world could have done better. He seemed on a one man quest to save the world—or at least to make it just a little better.
    I could admire that, of course. But I wasn’t fooled by it. I knew all about hidden agendas; companies that said they were going to save the world and then did the opposite. He’d be no different, it was just a matter of how deep you dug.
    I touched a hand to my high-necked blouse, a style staple in my wardrobe. He’d be a complete jerk, but I couldn’t get angry. Anger always made a funny red rash pop out on my neck which the blouse never quite covered up.
    On cue, I heard a strident male voice float down the hall. It sounded friendly, but carried authority. I stood, smoothing down my clothes and shaking out my hair. This would be Mr. Williams. I took a deep breath. I really could use a cigarette.
    He was already in his office when I walked next door; I paused in the doorway when I saw him, taking him in.
    No—not crusty or greasy at all. And not old, either. He was my age, with blonde hair, slightly tanned skin and a short cropped beard just barely more than a five o’clock shadow. He was slimmer than I’d thought too, but toned—the way a jungle cat didn’t have to be wide to be powerful. I felt a shiver run though my body as a funny little tingle settled in the pit of my stomach.
    I knocked at the door, feeling more awkward than I had all day. He glanced up from beneath the brim of his ball cap. I sucked in a silent breath— he had the most amazing, ocean blue eyes.
    He broke into a smile. “You must be Josie!” He got up from his desk and extended a hand to shake mine, but then pulled it back—it was filthy. “Sorry. I helped a lady change a flat on the freeway earlier. I was hoping to be in early so I could show you around but, well…” He looked at me and shrugged.
    “Oh… that’s okay, Mr. Williams” I said. It was hard to say anything else—his eyes were mesmerizing, like if I’d dived forward, I might swim in them all day. I took a step toward him before I caught myself.
    My hands went to my neck. I also got red when I was embarrassed, or aroused . Any strong emotion, really.
    “Please, call me Archer,” he said. “Why don’t you come for a walk with me down the hall, so I can stop and wash my hands? I can take a few minutes to chat.”
    I walked beside him. He began to talk a mile a minute. “What I’ll really need your help with is handling the little time sucks. Know what I mean? The things you think will only take a few minutes but can end up wasting an afternoon.” I nodded; I knew all too well how that went.
    “So the basic things, like getting my coffee for me; you’re always welcome to get your own, my treat,” he said. “Picking up lunch; same deal as the coffee. Least I can do. You’ll figure out pretty fast who the people are that bug me the most often; I’ll give you a list if I get a chance to jot down the names. I just can’t spend all of my time answering their calls, so I’ll need you to be my last line of defense. Do you think you’ll be comfortable with that?”
    “I—I think so,” I mumbled.
    “You sure?” he laughed. “You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”
    Because I’m not , I wanted to say. None of this was right . But I didn’t tell him that. “I’m sort of shy, I guess,” I explained, opting for another truth. “But I do what needs to get done.”
    We reached a restroom, which I guessed was for visitors since it was unisex. He walked in and held the door open; I leaned against it, propping it open to avoid having people wonder why we’d just walked into a bathroom together.
    He scrubbed his