Page 8 of From LA to London, With Love

My phone started ringing. It was my assistant, Jenny.

“Hi, how are you settling in?” Jenny was still in LA, looking after Alfie while we got all the paperwork ready to fly him over.

Jenny was another doubtful Vanessa acquisition. She was friendly, vivacious, and a dog lover, but she didn’t have any qualifications making her suitable to be my PA. Vanessa had met Jenny at a party, they’d hit it off, and Vanessa, knowing I was looking for an assistant, offered her the job without consulting me. So far, Jenny had failed to do anything I’d asked her to do properly, except for those tasks relating to Alfie. Recent failures included forgetting which dry cleaners she’d left one of my Armani suits at—she’d rung about twenty before she tracked it down—and, before I went into hiding, reserving me a table at La Chouette in Paris, rather than the restaurant in LA of the same name. We didn’t realize the mistake until we were downtown, insisting we had a reservation. I had considered firing her, but despite her incompetence, I was fond of her and so was Alfie, and with all the other recent changes in our lives, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Good, thanks. Fully unpacked now. What’s up?”

Jenny cleared her throat nervously. “So, um, I called because…Vanessa called again. She really wants to talk to you about what happened and—”

Nausea flooded over me at the mention of Vanessa.

I cut her off. “Jenny, I’ve told you. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to even hear her name again, okay?”

“But—”

“Seriously, Jenny, please don’t mention her again. I’ve gotta go.” I hung up, trying to push the thoughts of Vanessa out of my head. God damnit, there was no way I could concentrate on my accent after that conversation. And now I was feeling guilty that I’d been short with Jenny as well. Being caught between me and Vanessa couldn’t be easy.

I stared out the front window, where birds were chirping in the trees. It felt like they were taunting me to go outside and enjoy the good weather.

Screw it. I grabbed my cap and sunglasses. Fresh air might clear my head. And maybe I’d run into Sophie, since it sounded like she lived nearby. My spirits lifted at the thought. If I ran into her, we could have a friendly, platonic chat. My dialect coach recommended I spend time with Brits to help my accent, so it would really just be more voice practice. If I ran into her, I wouldn’t even need to feel guilty about quitting my voice exercises to go for this walk. It would be just an accent-improving chat. Yes, purely platonic and educational.

Satisfied my motivations had nothing to do with my attraction toward her, I set off.

The warm breeze hit my face as I walked out of the house. I headed down the street in the direction Sophie had gone yesterday. I kept going until I almost reached the main street, which was bustling with pedestrians and cars. It felt too risky to be amongst so many people—I didn’t want to be recognized—so I turned back. I wandered up and down the relatively quiet side streets of Hampstead, keeping an eye out for Sophie and trying not to think about Vanessa. Or the photos.

The fact that Hampstead felt worlds away from LA helped keep my mind off my troubles. Instead of iconic LA palms, the old trees lining the streets were lush and leafy. And the place felt steeped in history. I passed houses with blue plaques noting famous, long-dead painters, poets, and writers who’d been former inhabitants and an ancient well with a stone engraving stating that it had been given to benefit the “poor of Hampstead” in 1698. Very different from my neighborhood back home, Hollywood Hills, where the “old” houses only dated back to the 1920’s, and more white, gleaming mega-mansions seemed to be popping up every day.

However, despite the welcome change of scene, I still hadn’t shaken off my fear of being spotted. Each time I saw a figure in the distance, I’d tense. After checking it wasn’t Sophie, I’d take a deep breath, duck my head, and pretend to look at my phone until I walked past the person, only relaxing once it became clear they hadn’t recognized me.

After over an hour of aimless wandering, I gave up and headed home. I’d avoided having my cover blown, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

When I reached my front gate, I looked both ways—yesterday’s collision had made me more cautious about checking what might be hurtling toward me—and saw a figure with a stroller walking up the hill.

I paused. Could that be Sophie?

As the figure came closer, my heart jumped. It was her, striding up the street. I loved the way she walked. Confident, brisk, with an energetic bounce.

She waved and greeted me with a big smile as she got closer. “Hello! I was actually coming to see you. I realized this morning that I’d stolen one of your towels. I must have thrown it under the pram when I was rushing out. Sorry about that.” Sophie bent under the stroller, her shiny brown hair falling like a curtain around her face. She retrieved the towel and handed it to me.

Damn. She was just as beautiful as I remembered. Intelligent brown eyes, brown skin and hair, long dark eyelashes, and a stunning smile.

“Thanks for that! No problem at all.” My palms suddenly felt clammy. My social skills were rusty after months of hiding, but I really didn’t want her to leave. I panicked and lied. “I was just heading out for a walk. I don’t suppose you’d like to come along as well?”

Shit. I really hoped she hadn’t seen me already walking up the street to my gate. I smiled at Elliot, who eyed me with deep suspicion. Did he remember I was responsible for his impromptu ice bath yesterday? Or did he have a special skill for detecting liars? Whatever it was, he’d clearly decided I was not to be trusted.

“Sure. We were heading to the Heath to enjoy the weather. I thought we might go up Parliament Hill. Are you happy to head that way? I can keep the towel in the pram for now.”

“Sounds good. It would be great to have a local show me around.” Relieved she hadn’t shrugged me off, my chest relaxed as we set off toward the Heath.

“After your tour of the house yesterday, it’s only fair that I return the favor.” Sophie turned to me, smiling.

God damn, she had a gorgeous smile. It was the eyes that really did me in. When she smiled, they crinkled and sparkled, sending a blast of warmth right to my chest and making it almost impossible for me not to smile back.

She continued, seemingly oblivious to the effect her smile had on me. “So, how was dinner? Is a career change still on the table?”

I chuckled. “It turned out surprisingly well. But I think I’ll keep cooking for relaxation. In my experience, turning hobbies into careers can make you lose your passion for them. I don’t want to ruin cooking.” As soon as I said that, I kicked myself. I hoped my comment wouldn’t pique Sophie’s interest in what my actual career was.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask. “Fair enough! I’m glad it turned out well. Chris: One, Uber Eats: Zero.” She paused for a moment. “So, how long have you been in London?”