I shook my head. I actually thought the room was cold.
He wiped some moisture from his brow. “I’m freaking sweating.”
I was started to think that it was more than the temperature that was making him sweat. “Are you feeling sick?”
“A little. I sort of feel lightheaded, actually. Man it’s hot in here.” His breathing became labored and he was turning white.
Oh, no. Not now.
I did the first thing I could think of—I got him air.
Ryan was leaning on the wall absorbing the full blast of the air-conditioning vent when our family and friends convened in our suite.
Ellen peeked around one of our bedroom’s double doors. “What’s wrong with Ryan?”
I tried to prevent her from hovering by blocking her entry. “He’s feeling a little queasy,” I lied. “He’ll be all right. He just needs a minute.”
I had seen Ryan like this before and I knew exactly what was happening. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he was quietly freaking out. I was also wise enough to know what it was that brought it on.
“He’ll be down when he’s ready,” I said to David when he poked his nose around the door. I didn’t mean to get snippy with him, but Ryan didn’t need anyone snapping their fingers at him right now. It’s not like anxiety attacks have an exact timetable. I was glad when Mike took over and cleared everyone out of our suite.
I rubbed Ryan’s back and shoulders. The first time I’d seen him like this was when the street and sidewalks outside my pub were crowded with fans.
“You okay?”
Ryan’s head dipped, slowly swaying his assent; he was breathing heavily.
My heart ached for him, knowing his private suffering. “Mike will be by your side the entire time. You know he won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” he whispered, trying to measure his breathing. “But things are different now.”
“You’ve done this countless times before. You’re going to be just fine. Your fans adore you.”
“It’s not me that I’m worried about.” He shook out his hands. “You have no idea. No idea. You don’t know how easy it is for someone in the crowd to just stick out a knife or a needle or a . . . or a gun . . .
God, if something ever happened to you—”
I knew he was deep in the panic stage now. “Hey, come on. Just breathe with me.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and paced each breath—slowly in, slowly out—hoping that this would calm him like it did the last time. “No one is going to hurt us.”
He cinched his hands around my arms, almost too hard, and glared down at me. “We share the world with lunatics, Taryn. You’ve seen how far some of my fans are willing to go, so don’t tell me there is no threat! Angelica was just one of hundreds.” I gasped a little. I think he realized how hard he was gripping me. His hands eased slightly. “I want you to stick tight to the event security tonight. If they tell you to move or go you listen, okay? No questions. You follow their orders. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not kidding, Tar. You’ve never experienced this. It’s going to be a shock. You’ve never seen crowds like this. If shit goes down, security is going to block me from getting to you.” Something new, something frighteningly alarming, coated his expression. This was beyond panic. His possessive grasp tightened again. “They will be in my way and I won’t be able to protect you myself and Mike will be—”
I pressed into him tighter as my own body trembled. “Ryan, please. You’re sort of scaring me. I get it.”
He sighed heavily into my hair. “I’m going to demand extra security from now on. Make sure you’re well protected.”
“Honey, you need to calm down. You’re shaking. Didn’t you take your medicine today?”
He sat down in one of the chairs. “No. Can you get me one? Hopefully that will . . . will do the trick.”
I dug through his bag for his anxiety medicine. No one knew that the famous Ryan Christensen suffered from agoraphobia. Large crowds totally freaked him out. “You know you have to take these every day. You’re not supposed to skip.”
He finished the glass of water while I hoped we had enough time to let the medicine kick in. Usually, he was good within a half hour. A gentle knock on our door startled us both.
Mike was waiting. He had changed out of his casual attire from this morning and was looking downright sexy dressed up in a black suit, white shirt, and sharp cobalt-blue tie. I had appreciated his good looks before, but dressed to the nines, he was freaking gorgeous.
He looked at Ryan with brotherly reverence and understanding, truly concerned and full of caring. “Are you okay, man? Your team is pushing to leave but just tell me if you need more time. I’ll call downstairs and tell them to wait.”
Ryan was mostly pulled together but still agitated. His masked anxiety lay just below the surface, ready to flare at a moment’s notice. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.” He glared at Mike. “I want extra security on Taryn tonight. No less than two near her anytime she’s not with me. No slipups. You got me?”
Mike nodded and said, “It’s already done, Ry. We have four on standby at the venue for your family.”
The moment we stepped off the elevators, David swooped in on us. “Ryan, I need to talk to you a sec,”
he said with urgency, abruptly leading Ryan away by the shoulder. I held on to him as long as I could until our fingers unwillingly unlaced. He didn’t even bother to ask Ryan how he was doing.
Several black sedans were lined up to take us to the Reparation premiere. Marla hurried to speak to one of the drivers—a heavyset man with a beard. David’s hand was on Ryan’s back, guiding him into the first sedan in line. David glanced once in my direction, then gave what appeared to be a stealthy nod to Marla.
I presumed Ryan would come back to collect me once his side meeting with David was over. The burly driver blocked me as I tried to see what was taking so long.
“Excuse me. I’m supposed to be with—” I pointed in Ryan’s direction.
“Ma’am, you are in this car,” the driver informed.
“But I’m his—”
“This way, please.” He ushered me to the open car door.
Ellen appeared just as confused as I was. “Taryn, aren’t you supposed to be with Ryan?”
Janelle moved her feet to make room for me.
I didn’t know if I wanted to argue or yell for Ryan; instead I took the instruction at face value, collected my dress, and slid next to her on the car seat. It also appeared that I had no choice in the matter; not only was I physically blocked from getting to him, but Ryan’s car was already rolling away from the curb without me.
This was not what I had expected, to be arriving at my fiancé’s premiere in a different car, especially since he had just had a panic attack. I stared out the window, secretly hoping that Ryan was bothered by this arrangement, praying that he was at least thinking about it. But what if he wasn’t? I had just assumed that I would ride in the same car. I racked my brain trying to remember if we talked about the arrangements or not, feeling like I should know these things.
Maybe he’s required to be by himself when we arrive? After all, he is the celebrity, not me. But his mom said . . .
I thought about calling him but I figured I would be with him if I was supposed to be with him. Ryan would have seen to it.
But . . . he didn’t.
I felt myself morphing from perplexed to upset, rapidly.
Is this a glimpse at our future? At my future? Keep the bartender wife life separate from the glamorous movie star life? That thought brought out my anger again. Taryn, the dirty little secret.
I started to hear Marla’s voice in my head, advising Ryan that maybe it would be better if Taryn stayed home from now on. Her slimy forked tongue whispering into his ear that I’d probably be bored or he wouldn’t have time to tend to his duties and to me at the same time. Would Ryan agree with her?
I huffed
to myself, disgusted now that a team of stylists was hired to primp me like some poseur wannabe. I wondered how long I would be deemed bad for his public image.
I wished the driver had placed me in the other car with Marie and Tammy. Marie would have surely, in no uncertain terms, explained to me her interpretation of how things work in Hollywood while Pete would undoubtedly try to convince me that Ryan didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.
Regardless, this scenario might be excusable once but this shit was so not happening a second time.
Not now while I have this enormous diamond ring on my hand. I don’t care what my future husband does for a living. The wife I intend to be would be by his side, not tucked away like an afterthought. I started to rehearse my “why I’m so pissed off” speech in my head when my cell phone rang.
“Tar, why are you with my parents?”
I swallowed my anger and sighed. “Because I was told to get in this car, Ryan. I just assumed you didn’t want me with you.”
Ryan cursed and told me to hang tight, whatever that meant.
I could see the packed crowd lined up behind metal barricades as our car started to slow, but instead of stopping at the theater our car kept driving down Hollywood Boulevard. We continued on for several blocks, eventually turning onto a narrow road between two buildings.
Bill and Ellen nervously looked out all of the windows when our car came to a stop. Our driver got out and quickly hustled to open my door.
I watched David climb out of Ryan’s car, pausing to adjust his wristwatch. Ryan didn’t wait for Mike to get his door. He hurried over to me.
“Tar, I’m sorry. Come with me, baby.” Ryan led me by the hand.
Marla scurried in her designer heels from her car. “Would someone please tell me what we are doing here?” she asked frantically. “We have a tight time schedule. You have to be on the carpet in five minutes. We don’t have time for deviations.”
Ryan stepped in front of me and turned on her. “If you—ever—pull a stunt like this on me again . . . ,”
he growled loudly.
Marla, of course, played up her confusion, pressing her hand to her chest. “What do you mean ‘stunt’?
What are you talking about, Ryan? No, No! I need everyone to get back in their cars—right now!” she ordered, clapping her hands several times to get their attention. Pete narrowed his eyes on me, wondering like the rest of them what was going on.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Ryan accused.
“No, I’m afraid that I don’t.”
“Don’t give me that shit!” he yelled. “You and David . . . I’ll fucking cut you both loose if you ever do something like this again.”
“Hey, wait,” David quickly interjected. “I told you I didn’t have anything to do with car arrangements.”
Ryan glared at him.
I scoffed internally at David’s comment. He was such a lying scumbag.
“Ryan, please. I don’t understand,” Marla interrupted. “Why you are so upset?”
Between the eyelash fluttering and her fake surprised tone, it was obvious that she was attempting to cover up her lies, too.
Ryan locked his teeth. He was seething. “I told you I was only going to wait until premiere night, but that was it. We discussed this today, Marla! So, explain to me why the fuck my fiancée was placed in a different car.”
Marla’s eyes shot over to me. I, too, was waiting for her explanation, relieved by the fact that he wasn’t just mad about it—he was furious.
“Is this why you are so angry? How ridiculous,” she muttered. “Ryan, this isn’t your first premiere. You know what’s involved when we arrive. Come on now. Let’s all get back into our cars. You don’t want to be late.” She attempted to reach for Ryan’s arm but he jerked it away.
“I’m not going anywhere until I get an answer,” Ryan said defiantly.
She sighed, apparently bothered by his insolence. “I don’t know what kind of answer you are looking for. This is about promoting your public persona and your film, not about parading your personal life. You know the chaos that ensues from your arrival. You simply cannot attend to her and your fans at the same time,” she continued. “It’s impossible.”
“Oh, so now I have no say in the matter? Is that how this works now?”
“Well, what you want and what’s best for your career can be two different things, Ryan. That’s why you have us. To guide you.”
I felt Ryan’s hand squeeze mine tighter as he glared at her. “I know what you’re trying to do and I’m telling you this shit stops now.”
“Ryan, you’re overreacting,” Marla chided.
Ryan glared at her. “Overreacting?”
“Son, what’s going on?” Bill asked, stepping into the middle of it.
“Nothing, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” Ryan said curtly, waving his father off.
“Yes. Overreacting. You have a duty to the studio and the producers and dragging her down the carpet is not the best time for a debut. The press will want to interview her, Ryan. And what is she going to say?”
God, this woman really irked me. “I think I can handle myself.”
Marla blinked at my momentary interruption and then proceeded to ramble again. “She hasn’t been through any media training. She won’t know how to respond to questions properly. We can’t risk making mistakes now. You do your interviews and then appropriate arrangements for photo opportunities will be m—”
“No!” Ryan said with utter finality. “I am not hiding this anymore. She arrives with me—tonight. End of discussion.”
I felt like the child that should have stayed home with the babysitter.
Marla huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you would just listen to me for one minute. This is her first premiere. Let her get the feel for it and then maybe next time . . .”
I had just about all I could take seeing Ryan under such stress. I had to shove my own wants and needs to the side. “Ryan, it’s all right. I’ll ride with your parents and I’ll stay out of the way and I won’t speak to anyone. No photographs, no interviews, nothing. I promise. Just . . . let’s go. You won’t be late because of me.”
“No!” Ryan growled again. He didn’t budge when I tugged his hand. “Hang on, honey. This is bullshit.
Cal and Kelly arrived together when we did the L.A. Seaside premiere, and here I am in a goddamned alleyway having an argument about wanting to arrive at my premiere with my fiancée.”
“Ryan, calm down, buddy.” David tried to smooth it over. “If you want her in the car—”
“Your public image is my responsibility, Ryan. Mine!” Marla said. “You’ve barely dated this girl, foolishly got her pregnant once already, and now you’re engaged? Do you have any idea what kind of reckless image that sends? And how long do you suppose this one will last until it winds up being a court battle? One misstep, one misquote—that’s all it takes to ruin things for you. We’ve had countless discussions about dating, asset protection protocol, and keeping your private life low-key and off the press’s radar so the focus stays on your new career, but that doesn’t seem to register with you. I’ve been trying to protect your professional image.” Marla huffed. “If you, for once, would just do what you’re told to do instead of running off like a lovesick teenager, life would be so much easier.”
My stomach twisted and roiled and I wanted to throw up. The impulse to sprint down the alley and head for the airport came on right after that. My worst fears of being deemed bad for him were just confirmed. I felt like I was shattering inside. How can our love for each other possibly survive through all these constant bombardments, accusations, and heartaches?
Ryan eyed her with contempt. “What? Is that what you think of me? Oh ho,” he grumbled. “We are so done.”
“Calm down, Ryan,” David said again, patting him on the shoulder to coax him away.
Ryan rolled his shoulder away with force. I could see the rage coat his face, pulling his lips, his nos
e, into a snarl. For a moment I worried that he was going to take a swing at David.
“No! Fuck that. I’ve had enough!” he shouted. “I’m done listening to you, Marla. Taryn is upset. I’m stressed-out. The press is making me out to be an asshole for not saying anything about the engagement —all because I’ve been listening to you and your bullshit. From now on, we do this my way. And I’m only dealing with Trish. At least I know she cares about what I want. I should have listened to her advice instead of following yours.”
Shit. I couldn’t help but squeeze my eyes from Ryan’s gaffe.
Marla couldn’t hide her surprise, masking it quickly when she became fixated on her own manicure.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Ryan rubbed his forehead before turning back to address her. “Okay, then I’ll tell you what . . . let me make life easier for you, Marla. I’ll get another publicist. It’s as simple as that.”
“Don’t threaten, Ryan. It’s so unbecoming. You are losing focus on what your job is.”
Ryan scoffed. “That’s it. We’re done.” He started to walk away, towing me by the hand, but then stopped abruptly and turned one last time, squaring his shoulders. “Marla . . . you’re fired.”
I gasped from the surprise. So did Marla.
“Ryan, don’t be like this,” she continued, trotting behind us as Ryan picked up our pace. “David?” she called out, looking for help.
“Ryan, you don’t want to do that. Not in the middle of a press tour,” David rebuked. “Come on, pal.
You need to relax. Come with me. Let’s take a walk and cool down. Nobody’s getting fired.”
Ryan pushed David’s hand away. Mike immediately stepped in, making a hole between Ryan and his manager.
“I don’t believe this! Who calls the shots around here—me or you? Or am I just your pawn? I meant what I said. She’s fired. And you . . .” Ryan pointed at David’s face. “Shit changes—now—or you’re next.
You’re on my payroll, remember? You work for me. Don’t you ever forget that.”
David was treading lightly. “You’re under contract with her firm, Ryan.”