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LOS ANGELES
LIGHTS

[A HOLLYWOOD BILLIONAIRE
SHIFTER ROMANCE]

BOOK 1

AVARICE ROSE

OTHER BOOKS IN THE LOS
ANGELES LIGHTS SERIES:

FOUND

THREATENED

BETRAYED

REVEALED

TURNED

This is
a
 
work of
fiction
. Names, characters, businesses,
places,
events,
and incidents are either the products of the
author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.

No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or
in
any means – by electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior
written permission.

Copyright © 2016 Avarice
Rose

www.avaricerose.com

All rights
reserved.

The distance between the sun
and my car was
fairly
great
, but the
heat was unbearably close. I turned the A/C to full blast as if it
made a difference. Summer was upon us. Windshields surrounding me
glinted in the glare of dusk as I tapped my freshly-manicured nails
against the rose-gold Coach watch gifted to me earlier in the week.
Another suitor attempting to catch my eye. Another shifter with
pants bulging at the seams. I cringed at the memory. This city was
full of ridiculous shifter men who were just begging to be
validated beneath some fancy Egyptian cotton sheets, nestled firmly
in a more expensive and smug part of LA. Ever since I moved here
two years ago, I've regretted it. I just wanted a taste of fame,
those fifteen minutes that were promised to me as a kid. Everyone
gets one, right?

I was sorely mistaken to
think my creative writing would get me anywhere around those
disgusting pigs in the entertainment industry. The shifters ran
pretty much everything, from night clubs to music labels. Anything
that could be exploited for millions of dollars was under a
monopoly of these chauvinistic and ravenous creatures. I wasn't
without my desire for them of course, but their mating habits were
simply archaic. For what reason did they need multiple mates? It
certainly wasn't for reproductive purposes.
Anytime
I went to a bar, I
could smell the hedonism polluting the air with false confidence,
bravado, and billions of dollars in plastic fashion. Hollywood is
gross.

As my car inched through
traffic, I considered the new screenplay I was commissioned to
write – another sci-fi thriller – and wondered how much
I
had sold out
since I moved here. My original screenwriting ideas were so full of
life, poking the patriarchy for every bit of discomfort they've
caused generations of women. I had a zest for defiant and loud
Feminism. I could make any man feel uncomfortable within moments of
meeting
him
because I was unapologetic in my stance and word. But these
Hollywood shiners were so cocky. Their ideas catered to the male
gaze and were regurgitated versions of previously condoned sexist
crap. My boss, Jeb, said my work threatened the structure of
typical Hollywood movies because I wanted to make my female
leads
strong
with supportive mixed gender characters surrounding her. What
was so threatening about that? Our disagreement from earlier in the
afternoon surfaced in my mind.

I could tell from the look on his
face as I defended my writing style that I'd have to rewrite most
of the screenplay, despite my pleas for it to be left
alone.

“
This is show business,
baby.”

I had to stop and take a breath
before I stabbed him with the heel of my Jimmy Choos.

“
You know this is how we run
things. You should really loosen up and enjoy the ride, Miss Skylar
Jones.” I hated it when Jeb called me by my full name. It made me
feel like a child.

“
But Jeb, think about how much
headway you could make by paving a path for a new trend in movies?”
I was attempting to speak his language. “You could be a catalyst
for a new movement. Think of all the money you could make by
empowering women. You would appeal to an entirely new
demographic!”

“
This isn't up for debate, Sky.
Pick up the editorial changes from my secretary. We'll see you
Thursday.” His eyes sparkled the sort of gold that you might find
in an African lion. I could tell he was showing off by making them
glitter. Why were shifters so shifty?

I huffed, rolled my eyes,
and stomped out of his office, snatching the
markups
from Ellen whose
body language relayed a sort of remorse. She had been working here
for the past eight years and had seen her fair share of inequality.
She knew exactly what I was going through. Who knew how many
writers they'd gone through before me? I was lucky to be here. I
wouldn't be so lucky if I kept up this defiant attitude. Still,
thinking of selling out made me feel sick to my stomach. Or maybe
that was the toxic smog that seeped into my car as I sat in
traffic. I sighed.

At least I could afford my
favorite pair of heels. I gazed down at my sparkling red designer
heels that winked up at me from the gas
pedal
and smiled to myself. I know
it's vain of me to run out and purchase a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes
with my first big paycheck, but they really did make me happy. I
promised myself a lavish gift for my first accomplishment, and
Jimmy Choos were on my bucket list. I wasn't exceptionally poor
growing up, but designer clothing wasn't the first thing my parents
were thinking about when we were shopping. A sharp
honk
from behind me
jolted me out of my
fantasy,
and I focused my attention
back on the road.

After another ten minutes
lulled by, I made it to my little piece of comfort that had been my
apartment for the past two years. I scurried up the stairs as
quickly as my heels would allow and crashed through the door to be
greeted by the scent of lavender and honey. I locked myself in and
took to the kitchen where I bustled about preparing a chicken salad
to munch on while relaxing in front of the TV. When I was finished,
I sunk into the cushions of my bohemian couch and kicked off my
heels, a motion which immediately caused a groan of relief. I
tossed my head back to relish the moment. The
motion
alone made me miss
having someone to intimately touch me right after coming home from
work. I almost ached at the thought.

Being so busy in LA was like
a plague for single women that kept us from wandering into the sea
of
normal
, single men. It wasn't like I didn't have plenty of chances
– my phone frequently blew up with requests for dinner or drinks –
but it was the delivery that was so off-putting. Since the majority
of the city was overwhelmed by shifters, I was going to have a hard
time finding a regular guy to go on a date with. Associating
predominantly with this particular race of humanoids wouldn't help
either. What was a poor, single girl to do?

I pushed all of my
lonely
thoughts
out of my head and turned on the TV to be met with the usual daily
LA
News
spill. Some big
whoever
was coming into town, and this new billionaire
scandal was happening, and
what's-that-family
got into trouble
with the law again – it never ended. I wondered if these people
ever got tired of being so rich and
popular
. Didn't it ever get annoying? I
mindlessly flipped through channels before settling on HBO for
whatever movie they were airing.

As I began to get lost in the
drone of the TV, my phone buzzed from my purse. I glanced over at
the counter where my purse was located and decided to let it ring.
I was off work now. No one should be bothering me. I continued to
nibble on bits of chicken from my salad as my phone buzzed again,
the persistent vibration posing a dangerous threat to my sanity. I
conceded and rose from the couch to see who was calling.

Incoming Call: Maya

I smiled. Maya was a pest at
times, but she was one of my closest friends. She had a vivacious
personality that could capture anyone's attention, laughter that
could serenade a man's soul, and a carefree attitude that could
hold parties together for days. She once took me to a bonfire at
the beach that was exclusively celebrity producers and actors who
shifted skins between the shadows. Firelight danced across the sand
in waves, nearly mimicking the echo of the ocean behind us. I could
hear growls and the crack of bones within close proximity. It made
me nauseous.

That's when I first met Zack
Rider.

He emerged from the dark
brush
a ways
away from the guests and gracefully pawed at the sand with
his feet while buttoning his shirt, appearing too preoccupied to
approach the rest of the party just yet. His eyes wandered over
each face,
occasionally
pausing
with a look of
recognition
before a drunken
voice called for him from the other side of the fire. A smile
crossed his lips as he jogged over to meet his admirers. As he
moved, I watched his form stretch and compress beneath the white
silk shirt, my mind completely captivated by his scruff, yet
stylish appearance. He fit so seamlessly in the world of
billionaire superstars and yet also retained a sense of wild
abandonment. My skin began to grow hot before Maya broke me of my
trance.

I swiped my finger across the
screen and said, “Hey girl, what's up?”

“
SKY!” I held the phone away from
my ear as she shouted my name. When she was done, she asked, “How
are you?”

“
I'm fine. Are you off your meds?
You sound more uppity than usual.”

“
You're cute when you make jokes.
Did you know that?” She teased. “What are you doing
tonight?”

“
I'm probably taking a hot bath and
then going to bed with a bottle of Merlot. Why?”

Maya gagged on the other end of
the phone.

“
That sounds depressing. I think
you need a night out.”

“
No, Maya. I've had a really long
day. Jeb pretty much rejected another one of my screenplays, I
nearly tripped into traffic, and I'm pretty sure I'm coming down
with a fever.” I raised my hand to my forehead even though she
couldn't see me do it. “Yeah, I feel warm.”

“
Skylar Jones,” There's my damn
name again. “You need to get out of the house. You spend all day
writing and then hole up in that dark cave where nothing exciting
happens.”

“
Hey, I've got plenty of excitement
here. There's mint chocolate chip ice cream in my freezer that's
sitter there, dangerously unopened.”

Maya chuckled.

“
Well, fine. You'll just miss the
most spectacular after party ever in the history of Los Angeles.”
She paused for dramatic effect, knowing that it would pique my
interest enough for me to ask.

“
Okay, I'm dying to know.” I droned
sarcastically into the mic. “Which movie?”

“
Only the latest and greatest
creation of the sexiest and most debonair man in the country: ZACK
RIDER!” Squeals erupted from the speaker which caused me to hold
the phone away from my ear again.

“
Maya, you're going to make my ear
drum explode. Take a chill pill.” I gently rubbed my temple. I
wasn't going to be able to get out of this one.

“
Look, just come out for a bit with
the girls. We'll take some shots, sip a few cosmos, and only dance
to a few short songs.”

“
You know these parties are full of
groupies,” I pointed out. “And we'll be surrounded all night by
little girls and boys trying way too hard.”

“
You know we're
much cooler than that. We actually
know
these people. They
don't.”