CAMERON ENDERS seems to have it all: a brand new condo in a city she loves, a top executive position at an international entertainment firm, an insane amount of money, and a gorgeous boyfriend. But when Cami catches the boyfriend in the act with another woman, it triggers all the anguish from years of neglect by her parents, and she realizes she never learned how to love or be loved. Cami flees to the remote tropical island of Tarah, but she can't avoid facing her problems any longer when she meets the man of her fantasies...
TRISTAN MICHAELS, one of Hollywood's hottest new stars, has come to Tarah to ride out a storm. His girlfriend of five years has been caught on camera cheating, and she's determined to make Tristan stop the story from breaking.
But Tristan's done cleaning up her messes. He needs to escape all things Hollywood for a while--and especially the firm that represents him--until the whole thing blows over. What he doesn't count on is meeting an irresistibly beautiful woman, a woman who just so happens to be the CEO of the firm he's trying to avoid.
Can Tristan and Cami help each other learn to trust and love again, or will their histories of betrayal tear them apart?
Review: This book wasn't exactly the story and characters I expected, but I am ok with that. Cami is a very interesting lady "wink wink" and is not at all like you would of pegged her to be as she certainly holds her own. While Tristan's one of those guys who has a heart of gold but still holds onto those wild impulses. I thought it was great how these character's added oomph to the story by being more modern in a potentially idealistic fairy tail type story. Not to mention there are some swoon worthy parts that border on...well I'll let you go read it. The only part I disliked about the book was Tristan's ex-girlfriend, I just wanted to be like ditch the wench already, I do not enjoy those crazy girls in fiction or real life.
I am not sure if despair is really in my vocabulary anymore. There is something strange about being locked away in a hotel, thousands of miles away from everything I have come to know. My life has been on the fast track for the last five years, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.
But out here, surrounded by water, in a hotel that holds everything anyone could possibly imagine, I feel free. My BlackBerry is off, my laptop is stowed, and the weather here is utterly amazing. I cannot even begin to describe how liberating this is, and for the first time, I'm questioning whether or not my life is worth all this madness.
Don't get me wrong; I love what I do. But even the love of acting and the money are small compensation for the madness I am required to endure.
I've realized that I left Hollywood so fast that I forgot to pack toiletries, so I've ventured into the little mall inside the hotel. It's early in the day, so fortunately for me there are hardly any other patrons floating around.
As I stroll through the mall I notice a petite beauty with black hair – several packages in her hands – walking out of the Shoe Shoppe that I just left not moments before. Her skin is pale, translucent even. Her beauty is soft, sophisticated, and natural. She's not wearing much makeup, but her lips are full with a beautiful pink tint.
I slowly follow her from a distance as she strides purposefully into Versace. "Well, that's definitely something you don't see everyday," I mutter to myself.
"What do you mean by that?" Tyson says.
"Someone like her, carrying her own bags and walking into Versace." I chuckle and he joins in.
It has been my experience, with woman especially, that shopping is something that is either done in pairs or with the help of a some poor sap hired solely for the purpose of being a servant. If you sit still long enough along Rodeo Drive in California, you will see the wealthy women walking with poles up their asses and at least one sorry sucker following her with her bags. This little lady strides into Versace, confident, calm, and collected, and minus the stick up her ass.
"Do we know who she is?" I ask.
"Not completely. She looks familiar but not in a way that I can place her. She is definitely not Hollywood."
I watch as the Versace matron stops her from putting her bags on the floor. She quickly picks up the girl’s bags and bustles off to find the concierge.
My eyes float back to the black-haired beauty. She is standing there talking with the sales lady, and she must be ready to try something on because she takes off the light jacket she is wearing. The tank top she has on underneath is a deep purple, and as soon as she turns to hand her jacket to the sales lady, I see it: the blue, purple, and silvery heart and stars on her shoulder.
"It can't be," I mutter. My knees are growing weak, and then I realize I'm actually shaking as she continues turning around until her back is to me. And there, staring back at me, are the purple fairy wings from LAX.
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