One Day at a Time by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online

than I would have as a banker, so he's forgiven me. You just have to wait a while, they'll get over it. Perhaps you should threaten to write a book about them, and expose all their secrets. Or sell embarrassing photographs you've taken of them. Blackmail might be a useful thing. And I don't see what's wrong with living at the beach. People pay fortunes for houses in Malibu, and they're considered quite respectable, even enviable. You don't sound like a very convincing black sheep to me.”
    “I do to them,” she assured him.
    “I can't tell if you're a hippie, in that thing.” He gestured toward her nightgown, and for the first time she realized how it was sticking to her and how much of her shape it revealed. “Perhaps you'd better take that off and change into your dog-walking clothes,” he suggested discreetly. “I'll find a mop and try to get this stuff off the floor.” He started opening closets and found one, as she turned toward him and smiled. He had a nice sense of humor, and he seemed almost shy as he looked at her. He didn't act like the movie stars she knew.
    “Do you want anything to eat?” she asked politely, and he laughed.
    “Presumably not anything that would require syrup. You seem to be fresh out. What was it, by the way?” he asked with interest.
    “Waffles,” she said from the doorway.
    “Sorry I missed them.”
    “There's a half a head of lettuce in the refrigerator,” she offered, and he laughed again.
    “I think I'll wait. I'll pick up some food later. I'll get you some more syrup.”
    “Thank you,” she said, as he poured water into a bucket, and then she scampered up the stairs, leaving sticky footprints all the way up to the bedroom. She was back a few minutes later, in jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and he had made himself some coffee and offered a cup to her, which she declined. “I only drink tea,” she explained.
    “I couldn't find any,” he said, looking tired as he sat at the kitchen table. He looked like he'd had a rough couple of days, and the bruise on his cheek seemed fresh.
    “We're out of everything. I'll pick up some stuff on my way home. I have to go to work, but I've only got two dogs to walk on Saturdays.”
    He looked fascinated, as though she had told him she was a snake charmer. “Have you ever been bitten?” he asked in awe.
    “Only once in three years, by a crazed teacup Chihuahua. The big dogs are always sweet.”
    “What's your name, by the way? Since your sister didn't introduce us. You know mine, but I don't know yours.”
    “My mother named us after her two favorite authors. Jane was named after Jane Austen. Mine is Colette, but no one calls me that. I'm Coco.” She held out a hand and he shook it, with a look of amusement. She was an enchanting girl.
    “Colette would actually suit you,” he said with a thoughtful expression.
    “I love your movies,” she said softly, feeling stupid as she said it. She had met hundreds of celebrities and famous people in her lifetime, many of them actors and important stars, but sitting across the table from him in her sister's kitchen, she felt awkward and shy, particularly since she watched his films so often and loved them so much. He was her favorite actor, and she had had a crush on him for years. She would have felt incredibly stupid if she'd admitted that to him. And now they were both staying in her sister's house. That wasn't the same thing. Now she had to treat him like a real person, instead of gawking at him on the screen.
    “Thank you for saying that, about my movies,” he said politely. “Some of them are awful, and some are all right. I never watch them myself. Too embarrassing. I always hate the way I look, and think I often sound ridiculous.”
    “That's the sign of a great actor,” she said with conviction. “My father said that. The ones who think they're wonderful never are. Sir Laurence Olivier didn't like his performances