Текст книги "Love Unrehearsed"

Автор книги: Tina Reber

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

“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 nose, 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.”

“Then do your goddamned job and get me out of it.”

A few cars came screeching to a halt at the end of the road. Paparazzi sprinted from their open doors.

Ryan cursed under his breath. “Taryn, let’s go. Dad, take Mom back to the car—now,” he barked. I rushed toward the open car door with Ryan’s hand on the small of my back.

“Ryan,” Marla breathed out condescendingly.

“Go home, Marla,” he instructed as he held my door. “You don’t work for me anymore.”

Paparazzi swarmed our car on both sides, taking picture after picture. We both shielded our faces, blocking their intruding flashes as best as we could.

“Let’s go! Drive!” Ryan ordered. Paparazzi continued to run alongside our car as we slowly rolled away; they shouted out our names, hoping we’d actually look at them. My heart was racing frantically.

This was like a scene right out of a bad thriller movie with zombies and high-speed car chases. It was a relief when we were back out on the street.

With traffic, it took almost twenty minutes to drive back to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Ryan squeezed and kissed my hand as I tried to get him to calm down and focus, thanking him for loving me and apologizing in between. My poor man was spun up and in worse shape than I was and it was time for him to put his game face on. Our car was pulling up to the curb.

This is it. Go time. I have never been this nervous in all my life.

Ryan left out a long, laborious breath, locking his eyes on mine. “Remember what I said. Eyes and ears open. Ready?”

As soon as Ryan’s foot hit the sidewalk, fans started screaming. I froze from the shock of hearing the deafening volume coming from the crowd. Ryan waved quickly, fastened the button on his jacket, and then turned back to my open door to give me his hand.

Holy shit.

There are no words, no preparations that could ever be instructed, for what I was experiencing at that very moment.

Thousands of people, like a thrashing sea of undulating bodies, were screaming, packed in tightly behind the barricades that barely held them back. Many of them were waving posters, books, and pictures for Ryan to sign, shrieking at the top of their lungs to get his attention.

The words “frantic mob” and “oh my God, I’m going to die” quickly came to mind.

No wonder Ryan panicked earlier. Having so many people in such close proximity, shrieking for your attention, was ten steps beyond terrifying. I feared that at any moment the dam could give way, allowing the horde to breach our small plot of land and stampede us to death. I started to shake. My first survival instinct clicked in and I found myself desperately searching the rolling red carpet for all possible exits.

There were so many others inside the confines of the barriers, wandering, looking, it was confusing and overwhelming. Huge movie posters for Reparation were standing like statues, towering overhead.

A few people were speaking into Ryan’s ear already, instructing him where to go and leading him forward. Hand in hand, we took our first steps, forever protected by our faithful bodyguard, Mike Murphy.

Photographers lined the other barriers, pushing, flashing, and yelling for us. Not only did they have expensive cameras, but I noticed there were quite a few with laptops as well, beaming the first pictures of us instantly to their tabloid and press feeds.

Trish hurried to Ryan’s side. “I just received a call from Marla . . . she said I’m supposed to leave? I . . .

I don’t understand.” Her eyes toggled back and forth between Ryan’s face and questioning the cell she held in her hand.

“Marla and I are done,” Ryan informed her quickly.

“What? Um . . . I . . . ,” she stammered.

Ryan signed a few more autographs in between smiling, posing, and greeting his fans.

“You want a job?” he asked her privately, seizing my hand in his.

“Mr. Christensen, this way please,” some man in a suit instructed, ushering us to follow him.

“Trish, I need a publicist—now,” Ryan said, maintaining his focus amid all the chaos that surrounded us.

Trish’s mouth opened but no words followed. Much to my relief, it only took her several seconds to finally nod and switch to full-on business mode, handling Ryan’s appearance skillfully.

Ryan held me at his side, always within inches of him, even when he stopped to greet more adoring fans.

“Ryan, we have Access Hollywood and the ReelzChannel up first,” Trish informed. “Taryn, you stay back here. Focus on Ryan as he speaks because you will be on camera. I need extra security right here.”

She pulled Ryan along by the elbow to keep him moving.

I stood off to the side, proudly beaming at my fiancé as he gave brief interviews. His smile, charm, and humbled enthusiasm never faltered even when Trish guided him from microphone to microphone.

Time and time again each reporter asked when we were getting married, to which he happily and repeatedly replied, “I don’t know. We just got engaged. We haven’t discussed it yet.”

Just like that, with three simple sentences, our engagement became officially confirmed news.

After congratulating us on our pending nuptials, the Entertainment Tonight interviewer asked for my thoughts about the film. The intimidating microphone tilted in my direction and somehow my mouth turned into the Sahara and all of the saliva inconveniently disappeared from my mouth. I felt Ryan reassuringly squeeze my hand.

“I haven’t had an opportunity to see it yet. Tonight will be my first screening,” I answered with a smile, relieved that I didn’t sound like an idiot.

“And I’m just looking forward to seeing her reaction.” Ryan beamed proudly at me.

Fortunately that was the only question she asked before we had to move on to the next microphone.

As we walked the gauntlet of reporters, it became blatantly obvious why Ryan had freaked out earlier.

Stand, pose, smile, turn, look, interview, sign this—all accompanied by excited screams and shrieks from thousands of enamored fans.

Seeing Ryan interact with his fans was both fascinating and scary. I feared for his safety as one after another reached for him. A moment of reprieve couldn’t have come sooner. I was escorted by two hulking bodyguards over to Ryan’s family, where I waited while he conducted more interviews and posed for photographers. The VIP area, where I tried to look like I belonged while a few very well-known celebrities passed through, seemed to be a safe place. It was also the place where I was able to catch up with some other familiar faces, namely Cal Reynolds and his wife, Kelly Gael. I was so happy to see that they came out to support Ryan’s premiere.

While we were talking, a well-dressed woman with stick-straight, shoulder-length brown hair approached me. She looked to be in her forties, very fit, but true age was deceiving in L.A. As I took in the sight of her, I noticed that she had the most fetching smile and the rosiest cheeks I had ever seen.

“Excuse me. Hi! You must be Taryn?” she asked.

“Yes! Hello!” I returned her cheery greeting.

She held out her hand. “I’m Anna—Anna Garrett. I’m one of the film’s executive producers. A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes it is!” I said, glancing around. “And spectacular and amazing as well.”

“I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally meet you. Oh, I believe you’ve already met my husband?” she said in a very distinct British accent. One tiny tinge of panic crept up my throat as I hoped not to get falsely accused of anything. She tugged on a man’s suit coat and the moment he turned around I immediately recognized him. He was the only film director I knew personally.

“Oh, yes! Yes of course. Mr. Follweiler. It’s so nice to see you again!”

“Taryn my dear!” Jonathan Follweiler smiled, hugging me awkwardly. His rough gray beard pricked my cheek. “Oh, it’s good to see you, too! How have you been? Well, I hope?”

I nodded quickly.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he complimented, admiring me sincerely.

“You look quite dashing yourself, sir,” I replied. His sapphire hankie and necktie suited him well.

“‘Sir’? No, no, Taryn, please call me Jonathan. So how’s our boy doing these days?” he asked, craning his neck in Ryan’s direction.

“He’s great.” It was the most benign answer I could give, considering the earlier circumstances. “And he’s anxious to get back to work.” And away from this insanity.

“Good! So am I,” he admitted on the sly. “Are you coming to Vancouver with Ryan?”

“Yes. As soon as we come back from the European press junket,” I said.

Jonathan smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful news. Then you and Anna can keep each other company.”

I felt a hand touch my shoulder. It was Trish. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. Taryn, we’re ready for your photo op with Ryan,” she said.

“Right. No worries,” Anna said with a wink. “We can catch up later.”

“I look forward to seeing you at the after-party,” I said, reaching to give them both a hug goodbye. It was almost pure elation to finally feel accepted by some of the influential people in my new life—in our new life.

Ryan smiled and seemed relieved to see me again, but as soon as I was next to him, his brow furrowed and he appeared wary. “You ready for this?”

I gave him a reassuring smile and a quick nod. “I’m ready.”

Ryan led me by the hand to stand in front of a huge wall emblazoned with the Reparation movie logo.

He quickly stepped behind me, standing on my right side instead of my left.

“Okay,” I giggled nervously, confused as to why he repositioned himself.

Ryan placed his lips right next to my ear. “Put your hand on my chest.” He laughed lightly to make it look like we were sharing a private joke. “I want everyone to see your ring,” he said emphatically, gazing into my eyes with a certain tenderness that was mesmerizing. “It’s time to go big or go home. I want everyone to know you’re mine, Taryn.”

We smiled and posed while the press took our picture a million times. The photographers were yelling our names so often that I didn’t know which camera I was supposed to look at.

Ryan’s grin was infectious. “Did I tell you how exceptionally beautiful you look tonight?”

As I gazed up into his eyes, personal vanity was low on my emotion chart. Instead, I said what I truly felt. “I am so proud of you.”

My smile broadened as he rested his forehead on mine.

“I love you,” he whispered, his fingertips gently holding my raised chin. “Never doubt that.” And then, in front of hundreds of cameras—softly, adoringly—he kissed me.