Текст книги "Love Unrehearsed"

Автор книги: Tina Reber

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Jill rested her hand on Joe’s thigh to comfort him, her hand trembling slightly.

My own hand started to tremble as well. In the dream, I know I’m alone with him and I can feel him touching my hair, talking to me as if he’s sorry. And then my father pounces, ready to kill him. Maybe my intimacy and fear-of-abandonment issues have atrocious origins?

I felt my chest tighten even more, fearing the answer to my next question. “Did you hurt me?”

Joe winced. “What? Oh, Lord, no. No.”

“Then why did my dad hit you? He beat the crap out of you until you bled. He was a levelheaded guy.

Why would he attack you so brutally?”

Joe was glowering at me, his breathing labored with his frustration. “Because I told you the truth! I told you about your real mom and I told you that I was your real dad and no matter what they did, they would never take you from my heart. You are my daughter. That’s why!”

Chapter 22

Fiasco

I could feel our plane descending on its approach to Providence. I’d been watching the arrival time on the screen, counting from one to sixty to help take my mind off the change in pressure squeezing my ears. I was all out of chewing gum, slightly in pain, and flat-out exhausted.

A huge part of me, though, felt relieved. Meeting Joe and his family, being able to reconcile that part of my life, was emotionally taxing but very necessary.

I departed Lake Tahoe hoping that my disrupted soul could finally find peace.

Joe had shown me a picture of Kelcie, and after the shock wore off at how much I really did look like my birth mother, he told me I could keep it. I squeezed my carry-on bag, hugging the picture that I’d placed inside my wallet. Kelcie Tremont was two months away from her eighteenth birthday when she died on that icy winter night.

The last thing she did before leaving this earth was tend to my needs, even though it was obvious from this meeting that Joe had been harboring the guilt since he was the one that suggested taking me out in the car. I held his hand for a long time while he and I had a private moment to talk about forgiveness.

Ryan reached over the armrest and patted my leg, rubbing his palm over my denim-clad thigh. I met his gaze, understanding his thoughtful look. Right after that, I had a revelation. Somewhere along the line, Ryan and I had developed the ability to say a hundred words to each other with just one look. I could read him just as easily as he could read me, and what he wanted to know right now was what I was dwelling on.

“I have to talk to Pete,” I answered. With all of the other revelations we’d been dealing with over the last three days, speaking with Pete had been put on hold.

Ryan nodded but I could tell he was concerned. I knew he had a lot to do; the third Seaside movie was scheduled to start filming in three weeks and he’d be on location in New Orleans for three and a half months. “We’ll talk to him together. I’ve got to tell you, Taryn, I’m not happy about Tammy having an attitude. You’ve allowed her to run her business out of that kitchen for pennies. Pete’s got an income now because of you, and I know you’ve been friends with him for a long time, but if she wants to keep playing bitchy bride, she can do it on someone else’s dime.”

My mouth popped open to speak, only to be shut by him continuing with his small rant.

“I’ve got no tolerance for nonsense anymore. And if planning a wedding makes a girl that crazy, we’re keeping ours small and simple.”

Is that so? “No opinionated aunts then, huh?”

He laughed. “Definitely not.”

I wanted to say “Pete’s my friend and I own the bar,” but that reminded me of how Thomas used to draw lines between what was mine and what was his, and that was not the way I wanted my relationship with Ryan to be. Ryan was entitled to give me his opinion and I knew he was protecting me the only way he knew how. After so many years of having his own experiences dealing with users and takers, he was leery of everyone.

By the time we landed and drove back to my apartment, I was wiped out and ready for bed. The last thing I needed to see were more boxes blocking my hallway.

“What the hell’s all this?” Ryan groaned.

Mike opened up one box while Ryan opened another. “Looks like more fan mail,” Mike muttered.

Ryan shoved the box flaps back together and grabbed his bags.

I didn’t need sharp hearing to pick up on Ryan telling Mike that he wanted to toss it all before I saw any more threat letters or hate mail. Surely with the volume sitting in boxes, there had to be a few unkind letters in the mix.

Ryan’s phone chimed. He’d been avoiding someone and I was pretty sure I knew who that was. “You can’t keep ignoring him.”

He tossed his suitcase on the bed. “Yes, I can.”

“He’s your manager.”

Ryan groaned. “He had no right doing what he did.”

“Then tell him that.”

“I’m still too mad not to fire him.”

I shrugged. “Then fire him.”

He toed his sneakers off. “I can’t.”

“You’re ready to kick Tammy and her business out of the kitchen downstairs but your manager took it upon himself to order a prenuptial agreement and you don’t think that requires a bitch-slap?”

His hands rested on his hips while he stared at me. “You want me to fire him.”

I made a pile of dirty laundry, noticing the similarities between the task at hand and this conversation.

“Is that a question or a statement?” I was hoping we weren’t headed for an impasse.

Ryan shrugged. “Both.”

Drat.

“He’s not my manager. I don’t have to deal with him as much as you do so it’s not my call to make.”

Ryan set his bag on the bed. “You don’t like him.”

I met his gaze. “Another question or a statement?”

“Statement.”

I resumed sorting laundry. “No, I don’t like him, but you already know this. He’s been underhanded too many times, which makes him untrustworthy in my book. He has a difference of opinion with you of how you should lead your life, what roles you should consider pursuing, and he’s made it blatantly clear that he views me as an intrusion. Then again, I know nothing about hiring a talent manager. I do know that you have to have a certain level of trust in the people you employ. So the question goes back to you.

Do you trust him?”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders falling in disappointment. I knew this had to be weighing heavily on his mind for awhile and I was glad he was finally addressing it. “I used to.”

Being diplomatic and not wanting his decision to be swayed by my opinion, I asked, “And why don’t you anymore?”

“Len Bainbridge is my lawyer. David had no right speaking to him on my behalf about a prenuptial agreement, regardless of inquiries for photo exclusives.”

I couldn’t agree more. I was glad he drew that conclusion on his own.

The next day I faced another possible impasse.

“Your friend Amy posted about him being at your wedding on Twitter, Tammy.” I tried to be sympathetic and compassionate but direct and to the point as well. I knew she wasn’t the one who leaked the information, but she’d have to deal with the aftermath.

Big, brown eyes that just weren’t getting it gazed blankly back across the table at me. “So?”

Either I wasn’t explaining myself properly or she was missing the point. I folded my fingers together, trying to keep calm. “So, what that means is on the day you two get married, there is a high probability that your church will be surrounded by a swarm of photographers, press, and fans. Most of the gossip sites have already posted that our wedding date has been leaked, Tammy. They don’t care if it’s your wedding or not. They see a tweet about Ryan and a confirmed wedding and the news channels explode with it. CV magazine’s website even has a fake wedding invitation posted with the date.”

Pete groaned and sat back in his chair, turning an angry glare on his fiancée. I hated seeing them like this, torn up about things they had no control over.

I could see the light dawning on her. It also became quite obvious to me that when Ryan and I did get married, keeping the date and the location secret would be the top priority.

“So now what?” Pete asked.

Ryan drew in an audible breath. “You know I want to be there for you, man, but the shit that surrounds me can get out of control. Your wedding date was posted in one of the replies to the original Twitter post.

It spread from there.”

Pete turned and glowered at Tammy. “You fucked up.”

Her face fell. So did my heart. “Pete, it’s not her fault.”

Tammy was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t do this!”

I clutched his arm, hoping to get his attention before this blew up, but it made no difference. His other fist hit the table. “No? Then who did?”

Tammy appeared indignant, holding it in. “I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.”

Ryan cautioned them both. “Listen. What’s done is done. I’m just worried about your day being ruined because of this, that’s all. Taryn and I are huge media targets right now.”

Tammy swiped a tear away. “Ruined? Like how? Do I have to cancel everything now?”

I could see the panic welling up in her. “No, sweetie, you don’t. It’s your wedding day—it’s your day to shine. We just don’t want to do anything to detract from that.”

Pete was obviously fuming. “Amy couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut, could she? I warned you about her, time and time again, and now look what she’s done. I do not want that bitch in our wedding.”

Tammy fell back and cowered in her chair. “She’s my maid of honor, Pete. You wanted Gary as your best man.”

“Yeah, well I also didn’t know that he was nailing your friend behind Marie’s back. Not only is she a loud-mouthed whore, she’s also a home-wrecker. I don’t want you hanging around her anymore. She’s no longer welcome in my house.”

Tammy stood up abruptly; her chair scraped the floor. If looks could kill, he was a dead man. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What? That your girlfriend is a whore or that’s she’s a home-wrecker?”

“Go to hell,” she growled.

Pete relaxed back into his chair. “Babe, sometimes I feel as though I’m already there.”

Tammy let out a frustrated groan, chucked her middle finger at Pete, then stormed out of the pub and back into the kitchen.

Ryan was scratching the back of his head, appearing just as dumbfounded about the last ten minutes as I was. “Dude, I’m sorry. We never meant to cause problems for you.”

Pete waved his hand, casting that off, and then rubbed his face. “It’s not your problem, Ryan. This wedding is creating so much stress, she’s driving me crazy.” He glanced back and forth and then held his gaze on me. “I didn’t know Gary was messing with that girl. I swear. Amy was over at our place one time when Gary came over. They sort of hit it off right away, but I didn’t think anything of it. I just thought

they were being friendly. I told Tammy to tell Amy to back off because Gary was married but apparently that message never made it through.”

I believed him. Through all these years, Pete had never lied to me. He told me everything straight up, whether good news or bad.

“What are we going to do?” I asked him.

Pete shrugged. “I just banned my best man’s date, Marie and Tammy aren’t speaking, the paparazzi are going to hound you if you show up, and I just pissed off my bride. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

Four days later, Ryan caught a flight out to L.A. to start rehearsals for the third Seaside film while I stayed in Rhode Island. Pete had an appointment at the physical therapist, so Marie and I were back behind the bar together, mixing drinks and tapping beer, just like old times.

I saw Tammy walk out of the kitchen, her eyes totally focused on the paper in her hand. “Taryn, I have the first draft of the lunch menu.” She stopped abruptly when she almost plowed into Marie.

Like two magnets repelling each other, I watched as they quickly sidestepped, avoiding even the smallest of acknowledgments. Marie turned her back, swiftly moving to the opposite end of the bar.

Tammy’s lips curled down into a frown.

She still held the paper in her hand, but her attention was focused on Marie’s cold rejection. I couldn’t say I blamed Marie; after all, betraying a friend is enough to get you permanently kicked out of the sisterhood. But for the sake of my own sanity, I had to remain neutral, even though I knew my relationship with Tammy was forever altered as well.

“Is she ever going to talk to me?” I could see the hurt, the longing for reconciliation, in Tammy’s expression.

I wiped my hands off on my bar rag and tucked it back into my pocket before reaching for Tammy’s printout. “I don’t know. I suppose you’ll have to work on earning her forgiveness if you want to be on speaking terms again.”

I felt my cell vibrate in my front pocket. I hated answering numbers that I didn’t recognize but I decided to answer anyway. “Hello?”

A deep, husky male voice responded. “Yes, good afternoon. May I speak to a Miss Taryn Mitchell, please?”

Reporter? Stalker? Crazed fan? Hacker? My mind ran through the possibilities. “Who’s calling?”

“My name is Todd Brandwell. I’m calling from the chief medical examiner’s office in New York City and I’m trying to reach a next of kin by the name of Taryn Mitchell. Your number was listed as a contact.”

Dread sank heavy into my gut. “Next of kin? I’m sorry, you say I’m listed?”

“Yes, if you’re Taryn Mitchell.”

My throat constricted and panic swept through me. I started mentally listing the current locations of everyone that mattered in order of importance, beginning with Ryan. He was in L.A. He called me when he’d landed and I had just received a naughty text from him not more than twenty minutes ago. Other possible names started to scroll. “I am. What’s this about?”

“Miss Mitchell, I’m sorry to inform you that James Pantelanio passed away last night. If you could write down our office number—”

Suddenly I was able to breathe again, not recognizing the name. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“James Pantelanio,” he repeated, enunciating slowly. The Los Angeles address he recited wasn’t familiar, either.

“I’m afraid I don’t know him. I wish I could help.”

“He had another emergency number, which is registered to a Mitchell’s Pub. I’ve tried to contact that number as well but I am only receiving an answering service.”

My heart lodged back up in my throat. This person had both of my numbers listed. The lengths some stalkers go to—“Mr. Pantelanio is a seventy-two-year-old male, approximately five foot, seven inches, one hundred and forty pounds, dark peppered-hair.”

None of these descriptions—

“He was a heavy smoker. We believe he was also employed as a photographer, but we cannot seem to locate any employment—”

“Wait. You said ‘James,’ correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My heart sank. Could it be? “I think I do know him. Can you please send me a photo?”

Ten minutes later I was looking at the driver’s license of the man who had once saved my life, who’d dropped to his knees in the slush and snow, and had given me CPR after I’d been hit by a car. I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring, knowing that the sweet Italian celebrity photographer known to all as Jimmy Pop was dead.

Chapter 23

Wedding and Ashes

“He’s in a small, mahogany box. It’s actually quite lovely.”

Ryan sighed. He wasn’t overly thrilled about me going to New York to claim the remains of a deceased celebrity photographer, especially one who’d been chasing him for the last three years, but I was the only one who had come forth to even say they knew the guy so I’d felt obligated. But Marie had gone with me on the two-day trip, which made Ryan relax. “And what are you going to do with it?”

“I’m thinking about putting Jimmy Pop on the top shelf between Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker.”

That got him to laugh. “Perfect place for him.”

I leaned against the back bar. “I thought so. I figured he can keep an eye on the place. I have three of his Nikon cameras, too. The coroner gave me everything that was on his person. I even have three copies of his death certificate. Why would he list me as his ‘in case of emergency person,’ Ryan? It makes no sense. We barely knew each other.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t have anyone he could trust?”

I drifted my finger over the pewter cross that adorned the lid, feeling the anguish looming in my chest that you feel when people you care about die. It resembled the cross that was given to me before they closed my father’s casket. I drew in a deep breath. “Maybe. But why me?”

“He knew you were smart and savvy; I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a small fortune with your name on it.”

I groaned. Not another estate to deal with.

“He probably figured you’d do good things with his money, Tar. He didn’t have any children or family; who else could he leave it to?” I heard someone speaking to Ryan in the background. “Listen, hon, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

Marie carried our little stepstool behind the bar. “I heard you say you wanted to put Jimmy Pop up there. We can move the Patrón and Cabo Wabo over and then you’ll have room.”

She handed down a bottle just as another flower delivery was being made. Mike had sent flowers to Marie only two days ago; I wondered if he was kissing up for a specific reason.

This batch of flowers, however, was less than impressive. It looked like the kind you buy at the grocery store.

The deliveryman was tall and young, maybe mid-thirties, but with severely thinning brown hair that did that eight-strand greased comb-over on the bald head thing. He wore tinted glasses that were too large for his face. He might have had those same glasses since they were popular in the eighties. What was even creepier was that he was completely focused on me.

I was glad there was a thick bar separating us. “Can I help you?”

He was nervous; I could see his jitters physically shaking him. “I have flowers a . . . a delivery, Tah . . .” He seemed slightly confused as his eyes locked on mine. “For you.”

Marie came down off the ladder, immediately putting him under her scrutiny. We had just opened the bar for business and there were no customers.

I nodded at the bouquet. “Thank you. You can leave them at the end of the bar there, okay?”

The deliveryman didn’t move, just continued to oddly stare at me with a deer-caught-in-headlights look.

Marie’s gaze was guarded as she scanned him with trepidation. “What flower shop do you work for?

There is never a store name on the ones you deliver.”

He took a step backward, appearing ready to flee, as she took a step forward, reaching her hand in the two-and-a-half-inch gap between the top of the new front-load cooler and the underside of the bar.

“I, um . . . they’re for Ms. Mitchell. I’m . . . I just wanted to give her . . . flowers.”

I watched Marie out of the corner of my eye, hesitant to take my eyes off the stranger.

Marie’s hand obviously found what she was looking for; her hand started to withdraw.

He was wearing a short-sleeved, blue button-down shirt and what looked like uniform pants, but nothing about what he wore indicated he was a deliveryman. “They’re just flowers,” he continued to explain. “Women like men who bring them flowers. It’s customary. It’s part of the whole wooing process.”

Marie’s questioning glare was agitating him. I wanted him to drop off his stupid flowers and leave. He was creeping me out. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.” I tried to smile, hoping that would be enough to let him know I was appreciative. “But, sorry, I can’t accept them. I’m engaged and not—”

“Taryn,” Marie snapped in a hushed whisper.

“I’ve been trying different ones,” he continued to mutter, talking to the flowers this time.

What?

“I know you hate daisies and carnations. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson with those. They always end up in the Dumpster in the alley. You tend to keep the roses longer—like a week until they wilt. I check to see which ones you don’t like all the time. Do you press them in books?”

Press them? He’d lost me. I’d never seen any roses or any other flowers for that matter. “Pardon?”

“The ones you keep?” His mouth turned up into a quirky smile. “The red ones? There were a dozen but only ten were thrown away. I counted them. It upset me at first that you’d just toss them away, but then I realized that it was the flowers you didn’t like. I know you can’t keep them all, even though I hoped you would. If you put them in wax paper they keep longer. I’ll only get you roses from now on.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”

“They remind me of your lips—soft and red. You kept the red ones the longest.”

Marie waved her hand low and urgently at me. “I’ll handle this, Taryn,” she growled out, never taking her eyes off the guy.

He frowned at Marie, glaring at her. “Don’t speak to her like that,” the weirdo reprimanded.

“Listen carefully, sir. Do not deliver any more flowers to Ms. Mitchell. You are no longer welcome in this establishment. Do not attempt to contact her in any way. Please take your flowers and leave—immediately. I will contact the police if you refuse to leave or if you attempt to return. Do you understand?”

He looked wounded; his lips were moving but no words came out, which alarmed me even more.

Adrenaline was pumping through my blood. I started mentally assessing escape routes and defense maneuvers—the pub telephone was behind me to dial 911, but that would be too obvious and not stealthy enough. My cell was in my pocket, but I’d have to unlock the screen first. The security panel for the upstairs hallway was too far away. Our trusty baseball bat was in the corner but I’d have to step around Marie and the small stepladder to reach it.

“Do you see the cameras up there in the corner?” Marie pointed.

Cameras? When the hell did we get cameras? We’d talked about them but that was just talk as the system was expensive. Someone is going to get their ass chewed out for failing to inform me that I now have a surveillance system installed inside my pub.

My unwelcomed suitor gazed up at them, appearing just as puzzled as I was.

Marie was assured and composed. “Now the security company has your picture.”

This definitely pissed him off. He paid no attention to Marie. He was mad at me. “All I wanted was to finally take you on a date and you make me feel like some, some common criminal? Who do you think you are? You think you’re better than me? I’ll have you know that I have my master’s degree in chemical engineering! Perhaps you would have found that out prior to wanting to call the cops on me, hmm?”

Marie cautioned him with a new, soothing voice. “Sir, calm down.”

“No! I will not calm down! After all of the money I’ve spent to get you to like me? You women are all the same. You flaunt your bodies, enticing men to be attracted to you, and then what do you do? You cut them off at the knees as if they were helpless soldiers wandering the desert, just begging for a sip of water.”

Soldiers in the desert? My God, this guy is beyond cuckoo and now he’s becoming enraged.

I suddenly noticed what Marie slid out from the top of the cooler—a very intimidating black handgun that she seemed to have no problem holding.

Dear God . . . cameras? Guns? What’s this place turning into? A Twilight War Zone? Surely Mike will be beamed into the middle of the room in Doctor Who’s Tardis ship at any moment.

“Sir, I’m asking you for the last time to leave the premises or else I will call the local authorities.”

Marie’s voice left no room for debate.

Completely dejected, the guy huffed, scowled at both of us, called me a heartless bitch, and then scared the hell out of me when he whipped the flower bouquet at us.

It all happened so quickly, I didn’t react fast enough. The flowers caught my arm and then ricocheted off the back bar countertop.

My heart rate went into overdrive. This guy was completely mental. While distracted by tangles of baby’s breath and palm fronds, I noticed that Marie had taken a shooter’s stance, her badass black gun pointing right at him.

“Freeze!” she shouted. “Taryn, call nine-one-one, now!” Her command didn’t seem to matter to him; one view of her gun and he was taking wide backward steps toward the door.

Pete walking into the pub from the kitchen, whistling and completely oblivious to the standoff. He stuttered to a halt. “What the?”

While we were distracted by Pete, the crazed guy seized the opportunity to run.

Pete stood gaping in shock at both of us while Marie lowered her weapon. “Jesus! What the hell did I just walk into?” He rushed over and locked the front door.

Marie fiddled with the gun before placing it back inside a black holster. She snapped the holder thing on it and pushed it back into its hiding spot in the gap above the cooler. I knew she was aware of me watching her, but she was doing a fine job of ignoring me.

I felt almost out of breath. “You have a gun behind my bar?”

She gave me a casual glance and then shrugged. My blood heated up another notch. Like hell it was no big deal! “I had it hidden.”

I leaned onto the bar for stability. “Whose gun is it?”

Her face was stoic but she was breathing just as heavily from the incident as I was. “Mine.”

“Since when the hell do you own a gun?”

Marie grabbed a beer glass and filled it halfway with water. “I got it after I graduated from the course.

It’s a Glock nine-millimeter. Want to see it?”

People holding guns kill people. My answer was quick. “No.”

“I should take you to the range and teach you to fire it. It’s so much fun!”

“Marie, why the hell do you have a gun?”

She shrugged. “Mike bought it for me. It was my graduation gift. He’s worried that Gary might try to shoot me so he wants me to be prepared to shoot first. I can’t believe that crazy guy coming in here like that. He scared the crap out of me.”

Yeah, that was a load of lies. Gary was no longer contesting the divorce and was too busy fooling around with that Amy woman to even bother. As long as Marie didn’t try to take more of Gary’s money, she wasn’t even a blip on his radar anymore.

“Just so you know, I’ve applied for a permit to carry a concealed weapon, so whenever we travel locally, I’ll most likely be armed. Stop looking at me as if I’ve grown another head.”

Pete was standing in the middle of the pub, glaring at both of us. “You care to tell me what the fuck that was that I just walked into?”

I waved him off. My best friend drawing weapons on people to protect me was more important. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Pete, call the police. It’s protocol. All threats need to be reported.” Marie took a sip of water, averting her eyes from me. “Tar, the way this works is that you are supposed to go about your day without worrying about security. It’s my job now to worry about it, and it’s also my job to be as transparent as possible and not allow you to be worried about your safety. Bodyguards should be visible but invisible.

Understand?”

“I thought that you were just going with me to public appearances and stuff? I didn’t realize you were taking this so seriously.” The thought of my best friend actually putting her life on the line to protect me suddenly became very real and very frightening. It was almost too much to bear.

Her eyes opened wider. “Of course I’m taking this seriously. Very seriously!”

Guilt swept over me, pressing hard on my chest. Somewhere in my mind I’d thought that we were just saying she was my bodyguard as an excuse to allow her to travel with Ryan and me—like it was a cover story or something. After seeing her pull a gun on someone, the reality of the situation became clear. I rushed right over and threw my arms around her. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you.”

Marie patted my back. “I love you, too, Tar. We have a lot to learn about stalkers and how to handle them, but I promise to keep you informed from now on, okay?”

I nodded, hugging her neck.

Pete cleared his throat and showed us his cell phone. “Cops are on their way.”

My eyes sought out the cameras up in the corner. There was also a small, dark dome directly above the cash register. “Someone care to tell me when they got installed?” I asked. “Since no one thought it important to tell me.”

“Oh, shit,” Pete groaned. “I forgot to tell you. They were installed yesterday while you were in New York fetching the paparazzi guy’s ashes. It’s a good thing, though. We got that guy on camera.”

Marie pulled her hair off her shoulders. “I made him look directly at it, so we should have a pretty clear shot of his face. God, I hope I’m not in trouble for drawing my weapon. Mike will have my ass for that.”

That might not be such a bad thing?

“You know what I mean,” she groaned at me. “Taryn, I hate to say it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be down in the bar anymore.”

“What?” Am I being kicked out of my own bar now?

“I agree,” Pete said solemnly.

“You’re too accessible to them,” Marie continued. “That wasn’t the first time that particular weirdo came in here. He’s been trying to deliver flowers to you for several weeks. Besides, this is a public place.

There is nothing to prevent anyone from just waltzing through the front doors and posing a threat. I’m afraid that the only option we have is to remove you. Like it or not, you’re a celebrity—a public figure.

Your status has put you in a precarious position.”

My body went rigid. This was my pub and now I was being told not to enter it? “I’m not famous.”

“Oh yes you are!” Marie countered. “Even People has published several articles on you. I know you don’t believe it, but this is the way it is.”

I disagreed. “But plenty of celebrities own businesses—restaurants and stuff. I’m no different.”

Marie laughed lightly. “Yeah, they do. But you can’t walk into one of Robert De Niro’s restaurants and chat him up while he makes you a cheeseburger.”

I felt indescribably hopeless about being told I was no longer welcome in my own pub. And then a split second later, I felt pissed, too. All of this because of some misguided idiot and his stupid flowers.

Pete wrapped his arm over my shoulders. “I know it’s hard to stomach, kiddo, but Marie’s right. You’re a public figure now.”

“That guy just admitted going through your trash, Taryn! For what? To see that we threw his flowers away? That’s messed up. You saw how angry he got. I’d hate to imagine how things could have turned out if one of us wasn’t in here with you. You think Ryan’s paranoid? He has every damn right to be. There are a lot of sick fucks walking this earth.”