Olivia Harrington looked at the standard room she had booked at the Chatsfield and sighed. She'd seen bigger closets.
Tired, she kicked off the high heels she'd worn during her long overnight flight from Los Angeles, dropped her suitcase, and sat down on the narrow bed. All she had to do was lift her leg and kick the door shut. The room felt like a prison cell, and she didn't want to think about having to spend the whole week there.
He hadn't expected to be offered the presidential suite; it wasn't that important, but he had hoped a standard room in the best hotel in the city would be better. It didn't even have a bathroom, and the window faced a concrete wall he could touch with his fingers.
Plus, it seemed like no one had cleaned the room after the last guest left. There were crumbs on the carpet, and the bedspread was wrinkled and stained.
Sighing again, he leaned forward and opened the door of the small refrigerator under an even smaller television. He needed something to drink.
But he saw that the fridge was almost empty. There was only a bottle of water and an open, bitten chocolate bar. He couldn't believe it. His day was going from bad to worse.
She'd had trouble with canceled flights and, in the end, had managed to get a seat in economy class, but she'd had to sit next to a baby who hadn't stopped crying for a minute. She'd dressed up for the trip, knowing there would be paparazzi at the airport, and her feet were aching after spending more than thirteen hours in high heels. To make matters worse, she hadn't been able to sleep.
That horrible room was the last straw for her patience. Outraged, she got out of bed, put her

She put on some shoes and put on some lipstick. She wasn't a diva, but she didn't think she had to accept a room like that. The place was tiny, and she wouldn't be able to dress up for the premieres and parties that were happening that day. Besides, she knew why she'd been given the worst room in the hotel, and she wasn't going to accept it.
Because she was a Harrington. Her sister Isabelle had rejected Spencer Chatsfield's offer to buy her shares; she wasn't about to let the Chatsfields take over the family business. She was sure Spencer would be delighted knowing they'd given that hovel to a Harrington.
She regretted booking the Chatsfield. With the tensions between the two families at the time, she might have known it wasn't the best hotel for her, but she knew the biggest stars and best directors stayed there during the Berlinale, and she'd wanted to stay there too. After all, there was too much at stake at that festival; she'd worked so hard and for so long not to take advantage of her first big opportunity. She knew how these things worked and how important it was to be in the right place at the right time, rub shoulders with important people, and make contacts. It was something she had to do; she was willing to do anything to advance her film career and prove she'd made the right decision by leaving everything behind to become an actress. She believed it was the best way to honor her mother's memory and make her proud.
Besides, Isabelle was the one who hated the Chatsfields; she'd never been as involved in the family business as her sister. But even so, she wasn't going to let anyone laugh at her. She left the room to speak to the man who had decided to put her in that little room.
The elegant hotel lobby was filled with actors and journalists, talking or hurrying through it on their way to their rooms. He was fascinated by the glamour of that hotel. He had to admit it was breathtaking.
He recognized several people and made his way through them, quickly greeting them, blowing kisses in the air or...