Текст книги "Love Unrehearsed"

Автор книги: Tina Reber

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Chapter 4

Party

Once Ryan’s public appearance outside was over, we made our way into the plush theater for the screening of Reparation. Gone were the feelings of doubt, replaced by new confidence about my role as his fiancée.

I tried to concentrate on the film but it was difficult, knowing that Ryan was mostly watching my reactions instead of the screen. He had already seen the film during private screenings when he had to do voice-overs and I knew he didn’t like watching his own movies. He said it was the narcissistic aspect of it that bothered him.

Ryan whispered with disbelief into my ear. “Are you crying?”

“Shh.” I elbowed him gently and wiped the moisture from my cheek. I couldn’t help it; Ryan’s character had just saved a bullied teenage girl from committing suicide when she tried to hang herself in the school cafeteria. To say it was heart-wrenching was an understatement.

Ryan was overly concerned by my emotional reaction, laughing uncomfortably and nudging me as if to break the hold the film had on my attention. When I didn’t give in to his provoking, he looked past me and sighed when he saw that his mother was crying, too.

I took his hand in mine and brought it to my lips. I didn’t know how else to tell him how awestruck I was.

“Oh my God!” Marie breathed out, turning around to face us when the movie was over. Both she and Tammy were wiping their fingers under their eyes from the tear-jerker ending. The credits were rolling when I grabbed Ryan’s lapel to pull him in for a quick kiss. I nuzzled up against him, wiping my tears away, trying to regain my touch with reality after that emotional roller-coaster ride. My future husband was absolutely remarkable. I had never felt so much pride for a man before this moment.

Less than an hour later, we arrived at the hotel where my first lavish after-party was being held.

Before our car came to a complete stop, Ryan focused on me, whispering last-minute instructions.

“Stay with me, okay? Do not let go of my hand. And do not look at the paparazzi or say anything to them.

Just follow my lead.”

My pulse was thrumming at a dizzying pace. Paparazzi landed on our car from all sides, yelling, shouting, lighting up the nighttime sky with thousands of bright flashes. I anticipated that Mike would immediately open my door but instead he halted, yelling at the paparazzi to back up. Moving Ryan from place to place was a daunting task, to say the least. The three or four annoying paparazzi who hounded him while he was in Rhode Island with me were nothing compared to the fifty or more that swarmed us now. A few cameramen were shoving in closer, constricting around us like hungry vipers at feeding time, while brawny event security guards helped Mike move us along. I felt Ryan’s hand tense as he speed-walked us toward the entrance.

Ryan’s agent, Aaron Lyons, immediately collected us when we entered the lavish ballroom, giving me a warm hug and an adoring kiss on the cheek. Another welcomed relief. At least his agent wanted to be friendly and play nice.

Aaron knew exactly how to work a room full of Hollywood money and power, introducing us to everyone important and steering us away from those deemed unworthy of our precious time. Aaron treated me with kindness, continuously referring to me as “Ryan’s fiancée, the lovely Ms. Taryn Mitchell.”

We chatted with producers, studio executives, screenwriters, scriptwriters, cinematographers, sound editors, and every girlfriend, wife, husband, and partner who came with them. Business cards were flashed and I gladly took them when offered. This was high-profile networking—Hollywood-style. A far cry from the demands of owning a simple stand-alone business, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

I at least had enough business sense to know that regardless of the particular industry, business is business—and it comes with a predefined set of rules. Most of the time, the power to make you or break you depends on your ability to make a good first impression.

This was Ryan’s world and if I had any hopes of surviving in it, I had to start paying attention to how the game was played. So I started with the basics. Easy to do, since the majority of the room was male.

And at the core, men are easily swayed by good ol’ fashioned charm.

I laced in there another no-brainer that was as comfortable to me as breathing—the first rule of business. You want to know how something works, you follow the money. You find out how it’s made and who controls it. And then you speak the language.

Ryan and I were in mid-conversation with his Reparation co-star and onscreen love interest, Jenna Rayford, and Jonathan Follweiler and his wife, Anna, when out of nowhere Marla approached and barged into our circle, wearing that fake smile she so insidiously presents to the rest of the unknowing world.

“Jonathan!” she said warmly, giving him an air kiss. “So good to see you again.”

Ryan took a swig of beer from the bottle in his hand and looked away, making that little sucking sound through his teeth that he always does when he’s irritated. I squeezed his hand gently and contemplated our exit strategy. It didn’t take me long to come up with one.

“I’d like to talk with Kelly and Cal before they leave,” I said privately in his ear, spotting them sitting at a table. “Come with me?”

Ryan didn’t hesitate. We politely excused ourselves.

“Oh Ryan?” Marla called out, hurrying behind us. “I was wondering if we might speak.”

Damn, we weren’t quick enough.

Ryan stopped and groaned. “What?” he said sharply. “What do you want?”

“Oh, come now. Surely you’re not still sour with me? What happened earlier is in the past. I know you didn’t mean to say those awful things and I want you to know that I forgive you.”

Ryan scoffed. “You really are a piece of work, Marla. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind to you for all these years. Just so there’s no confusion, I meant what I said earlier. You are no longer my publicist.”

I was proud of him for sticking to his guns.

Marla’s head wiggled on her neck as she collected herself. I could clearly, as if looking through a piece of glass, see her coat the tip of her next sentence with poison.

“Let me remind you—if you choose to sever our relationship, you sever your interactions with my entire organization as well.”

“Fine,” Ryan said, unruffled. “I’m sure you’ll send me a bill.”

Marla’s lips twitched. “Tricia,” she bellowed towards the bar where Trish was hiding, secretly observing. Marla impatiently snapped her fingers. God, I hated that. I wanted to snap her bony fingers like twigs.

“Tricia,” she said with a forced grin, “Mr. Christensen has foolishly decided to terminate his contract with Brown and Sullivan. I can’t help but feel as though you had something to do with this.”

Trish instantly appeared mortified and shook her head in denial.

“Well, in any case, it doesn’t much matter anymore. I gave you specific instructions earlier and you chose to defy them. I cannot have my employees thinking they can undermine my decisions.”

“Marla, I thought you would want me to—” Trish tried to explain.

Marla cut her off with a flutter of her hand. “As I said dear, it doesn’t matter. Your employment with

Brown and Sullivan is hereby terminated, effective immediately. You can contact HR to arrange picking up your personal things on Monday. Give me your security badge.” Marla held out her hand.

I felt the shock hit my chest and creep up my throat. The very last thing I wanted to happen was playing out in front of me. I wasn’t sure if Ryan was completely serious when he offered her a job.

“You’re firing me?” Trish asked. Shock and anguish made her lip quiver.

Marla smirked. “You are quick,” she said condescendingly. “Perhaps you won’t be so underhanded in your next job.”

Trish’s hand trembled as she dug in her clutch purse. I wanted to hug her and scream a few obscenities at Marla for being such a royal bitch. Man, she was cold.

Ryan rubbed his forehead. “Look, if you’re pissed-off at me—fine—but don’t take it out on her.”

Marla crossed her arms and planted a high-heel-clad foot. “I don’t see how any of this concerns you.”

She snapped her fingers for Trish to speed it up. “She disobeyed my orders.”

“And I overrode them!” Ryan stressed. “I asked her to stay.”

“And here I thought you could survive without my services,” Marla snidely returned, flitting her eyes.

Trish handed a card attached to a chain to Marla and sniffed back some tears.

My emotions swirled furiously. Anger, denial, hatred, and guilt raced through my thoughts, each trying to dominate. Ryan was speechless, searching for a good comeback that failed to surface.

I had to do something.

“Um, Ryan? I believe Trish is now a free agent,” I stated. “And she is more than qualified to handle your PR.” I gave him one of our private signals, darting my eyes at Marla briefly and scratching my chin, conveying the message that he should tell her to go to hell. His eyes brightened and he nodded.

“Yes . . . yes she is,” Ryan confirmed.

“And you just so happen to be looking for new representation.” That’s right, honey. Tell her off. Marla could shove it deep where the sun doesn’t shine. We might not be able to save Trish completely, but I was going to make damn sure she at least walked away with her dignity.

“We’re done here, right?” he asked Marla, dismissing her as if she were no longer of importance.

It was extremely enjoyable to watch Marla’s face crumble in defeat. How I wished I could have videotaped it so we could watch it over and over again for laughs.

Ryan clutched my hand in his and glanced at his empty beer bottle. “What do you say, ladies—time to discuss Trish’s new salary over a few shots of tequila? That is if you want to work for me.”

Trish grinned from ear to ear. “Hell yeah!” she said enthusiastically.

“You can’t do that,” Marla said with failed authority.

Ryan smirked at her. “Watch me.”

After two hours of schmoozing with people I didn’t know, I felt awful for not paying any attention to my friends. I searched the room for them, only to notice that one of my friends was sitting at an empty table.

“Hey, why are you sitting here all by yourself?” I asked Pete. I sat down in the chair next to him.

Pete looked confused. “I’m not alone. Gary just went to the men’s room.”

“Oh. Where are the girls?” I looked around for Marie and Tammy.

Pete pointed to a far corner. “They’re over there yappin’. Gary is really pissed that Marie keeps touching that guy in the black shirt. You might want to say something to her before it gets ugly. He’s kind of drunk.”

I looked over and saw my two best friends laughing heartily with a group of people. I didn’t know who the guy was, but he had short-cropped brown hair and looked like a male model from this distance. I hadn’t been able to spend much time with my friends since we arrived, but I did notice Gary sitting at this table, scowling all night.

“I’ll take care of it—in a minute.” I craned my neck to get a better view. “That’s Marcia Gay Harden on Tammy’s left. She played the principal, remember?”

Pete nodded but I could tell that he really didn’t care. He wasn’t impressed by celebrities unless they were wearing football or baseball uniforms. He actually looked tired and ready for bed. I could relate.

“Where’s Ryan?”

I nodded in his general direction. “Over there. He’s talking to Edward Zwick.” Pete looked lost. “The director?”

“Ooh, he’s talking to the director,” Pete said in a teasing tone, like the simple fact that my fiancé was holding court with the who’s-who of Hollywood was no biggie. Pete’s face turned serious. “Are you sure you’re up for all of this?” His eyes bore into mine, trying to read me.

I chewed on my lip as I pondered his question. The room was so full of wealth and pretentiousness, we were both feeling out of place.

“I know what you’re trying to say, but all of this really isn’t Ryan, either. He’s uncomfortable with this, too, you know.”

Pete nodded, mostly agreeing with me.

“Besides, maybe all of this is who I’m supposed to be. I’ve just been going through the motions for so long now, running the bar out of—out of guilt.” I huffed. “If my dad were still alive, I’d probably be sitting behind some desk in Manhattan being completely miserable instead of being here.”

“Yeah,” Pete concurred. “Probably. Although you could have had your own fame, you know.”

A tiny “gah” sound squeaked out. “Yeah right.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Taryn. You know damn well I speak the truth. But instead of trying to model, you let those idiots in school make you feel unworthy.”

Memories of being singled out and bullied, enduring relentless taunting because I had bigger boobs than most and had a chubby boy for a best friend, weren’t things I wanted to think about right now. Even Marie and Melanie questioned why I stuck around with Pete so much back then. But none of their opinions mattered more than what Pete had mattered to me. He was the only person who came to my rescue when Emily Howard pushed me down on the playground on the first day of school, and for years he was the brother I’d never had.

By the time we reached high school, Pete slimmed down, grew taller, and joined the wrestling team, but one thing remained the same—he always had my back. He was and still is my best friend.

Pete waved a finger around. “Over two dozen heads turned when you walked over here. I’m surprised you didn’t trip over a few drooling tongues along the way. I was afraid I’d have to kick some ass to fend them off.”

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up!”

Pete seemed amused. “I think that’s what I love the most about you, kid. You’re the most self-deprecating person I know, even though you have absolutely no reason to be.”

I winced. How absurd. “Everyone’s just curious to see who was able to capture Ryan’s attention, that’s all.”

“See? You can’t even take a compliment about not being able to take compliments. You’ve always been an enigma, Ms. Mitchell. A complete contradiction.”

I bristled with fake horror. “Did you just call me an enema?”

“Yep. You’re a total pain in my ass.”

I laughed at our banter. We had always had this easy friendship, even lasting while he was madly in love with Melanie, the sister of my ex, Thomas. Throughout the years I often pretended Pete and I were really brother and sister, separated by a tragic mix-up in the hospital. He was always there for me no matter what, watching over me like a brother should.

Something caught his eye. “Ryan is a good man . . . a real good man, Taryn. I’m glad everything worked out. You finally picked one that doesn’t trigger my urge to bash his head in.”

I smirked at his lording. “Thanks.” It warmed my heart to know that Pete and Ryan had a lot of respect for each other.

The niggling memory of just seven days ago, when I thought Ryan’s parents had come to move him out of the apartment, crept back into my thoughts. “I just wish one of you would have told me what was going on.”

Pete’s attention averted to his drink but it was time we had this talk. “I almost did. I came close to spilling the beans a few times. I couldn’t stand seeing you in so much pain. Just know . . . it killed me.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He swirled the ice in his glass, hesitating. “Truth? Because I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if Ryan would actually do it or not. I mean, he told us he was going to. Hell, he even asked us all for our blessing. But then you two were touch-and-go there for a few days and . . .”

He straightened up and looked me in the eyes. “If we would have told you he was going to propose and then he didn’t . . . God . . . I just couldn’t do that to you, Taryn.”

I rubbed my hand gently, briefly over his shoulder, trying to alleviate his obvious remorse. “I understand. I . . . I just feel like such an idiot, carrying on the way I did. Seeing him kiss Lauren in that restaurant and that freakin’ note . . . it was so convincing. I know I should have never doubted him, but standing there watching it, it was like reliving the Thomas nightmare all over again. Only this time, it hurt a million times worse.”

Pete’s lips curled into a familiar, sympathetic smile.

“I know what you’re going to say next,” I interjected, reading the rest of Pete’s expression. “I have to put that all behind me now and never allow myself to get that low again.”

“Yep,” he confirmed with a smirk. “But what you also have to keep in mind is that this time around, you’re with a guy who’s totally in love with you.”

I didn’t need to be an interpreter to catch Pete’s allusion. Despite his contrary actions and Pete’s opinion, Thomas did love me. He even said it to me out loud once. He just didn’t know how to show it all the time.

Pete glanced over in Ryan’s direction. “I mean, just look at him. He’s got all sorts of women hovering around him but he never acknowledges them—ever. He’s been like that since the first day he walked into your pub. Like you are the only woman on the planet. And the funny thing is, no matter where you are in the room, Ryan knows exactly where you are. He may be talking to somebody rich and famous but he’s always got one eye trained on you. That poor bastard. He’s such a goner.”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing.

“Speaking of goners . . . before I forget, Tammy has been bugging me. You know we still have a little problem with the wedding and who you’re going to be partnered with. I didn’t want to ask my cousin in case you wanted Ryan but . . . do you want me to ask Ryan?”

“Ask me what?”

My head jerked, surprised by his voice. Ryan reached out and gently caressed my cheek in his hand, silently mouthing “hi” to me. In that moment, everything else ceased to exist. His love for me was overwhelming and in that instant something new, something profoundly deep tied us even stronger. I felt it as sure as I felt my own heartbeat. I gathered his warm hand quickly and gave it a kiss.

“Oh hey,” Pete said, giving me the “see what I mean” lopsided look I know so well.

Ryan straddled the chair next to me, pressing his body close to mine. My mind quickly veered to thinking about how much I’d like to just snuggle up in his arms and end this tiring day. I was starting to feel like Pete looked—exhausted. Ryan softly kissed the exposed skin on my shoulder and oh so seductively drifted the tip of his nose on my neck. Freaking tease.

Pete cleared his throat. “Ryan, I was wondering how you’d feel about being Taryn’s partner in our wedding. I’d be honored if you were one of my groomsmen.”

Ryan perked up a bit. “Really? Wow. Sure, I guess. Um . . . wait. I don’t know,” he said. That’s when he parked his forehead on my shoulder.

“I thought you were clear for the first weekend of September?” I reached for my phone to check his calendar, swearing that I had blocked it off, but other thoughts quickly dawned on me.

“I am, I think,” he muttered. “That’s not it. Pete, I’m honored that you asked but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You know I tend to cause a stir wherever I go. I don’t want to ruin your wedding day.

That’s your day.”

I set my evening bag back down on the table and sighed, imagining the pandemonium that would ensue from Ryan and me being seen in a church together. This morning’s tabloid gossip reported that Ryan proposed because I’m supposedly pregnant. “Yeah, he’s right. You don’t want the paparazzi at your wedding.”

“Ah, screw them. I want you there,” Pete retorted emphatically, poking the white tablecloth with his finger to emphasize his point.

The more I considered it, the more I envisioned Tammy’s wedding being ruined by party crashers and hundreds of photographers all vying for a clear shot of Ryan in a tux. “No. It’s not a good idea,” I said remorsefully. “Just ask your cousin.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “Um, I don’t recall saying no,” he corrected me. “Can I get back to you on that, Pete?”

I didn’t understand why Ryan would need time to think about it. After the big deal that was made out of our proposal photos, I could only imagine the crap that would be printed from us being seen walking in and out of a church.

What’s going to happen when Ryan and I get married? My mind filled with visions of helicopters flying overhead, security everywhere wearing hidden communication earpieces like the damn Secret Service—checking to make sure that the poor caterers weren’t paparazzi spies.

Just as my mind started to drift further into those ghastly images, my slightly inebriated fiancé bit his teeth gently but firmly into the nape of my neck.

A heated tickle shivered through me as he whispered “dance with me” into my ear.

Ryan led me by the hand, weaving us through the bodies that slowly swayed on the dance floor. The tacky mirror ball that twirled over the center of the floor cast sparkles of twinkling light through the darkness, swirling me further into this amazingly enchanted evening.

I caressed the nape of his neck as he wrapped me securely in his arms, resting his cheek on my temple.

It was nice to share a moment of peace in this very stressful day.

Ryan gently smiled. “Are you having fun?”

I beamed back at him and nodded. “Yes. Very much so. Thank you for yet another amazing night.”

His deep voice lowered. “Thank you for sharing it with me. You really impressed me tonight, schmoozing with Universal’s moneymen like that. You really know your shit about finances.”

I shrugged. “I know enough to be dangerous. I just want to learn as much as I can about this business, that’s all.”

“Learn? By the look on Jeff Westfield’s face when you started telling him all that shit about P/E ratios and ways he can diversify his whatever, I’d say you were the teacher, sweetheart.”

Doubtful. Although I was trying to impress, I didn’t want to be thought of as nothing more than arm candy with boobs.

“You don’t think? He just offered you a job. At Universal.”

“A comment like ‘if you’re ever in L.A. and need anything, come see me’ hardly constitutes a job offer, Ryan. He was just being nice.”

Ryan didn’t agree. “For someone who can read people well, you’re way off on this one.”

“I can read you,” I said smugly.

“Oh yeah? Can you tell what I’m thinking now?” That smirk of his contained many innuendos.

Our mutual smiles led to a kiss—one that was almost impolite considering we were among several hundred people. His lips parted and his tongue reached for mine and I couldn’t help but drink him in. The tastes of whiskey and beer blended with champagne and chocolate, creating a flavor that was all our own.

“God, the things I want to do to you right now,” he breathed out on my lips. “What do you say we get out of here? I need to lay you down on a bed.”

“Oh really?” I teased, somewhat breathless.

“Uh huh.” Ryan nodded devilishly. His eyes narrowed on me. “What, aren’t you in the mood?”

“No, no, I am. Absolutely,” I quickly replied. “But . . .”

“But what?”

“I’m just curious. So what is it exactly that you want to do to me? It’s just . . . I want to know what’s in store for me before I agree to leave this wonderful party.”

Ryan smirked, his hand resting on the small of my back, guiding our hips. “I thought we’d play it by ear. See what pops up when we get there. But I can definitely tell you that I have something huge that I want to give ya.”

I made a face at him, biting my lip thinking about it. “Er . . . I don’t know. I was hoping for more details than that. I think you’ll have to come up with a better script.”

He folded our hands to his chest and swayed us to the beat.

“How about we play ‘bad cop–hooker’? I’d like to see you restrained.”

With full intent to tease, I sneered at his suggestion. “I’ve seen that movie already. Maybe you should hire a scriptwriter. I think I met a few of those tonight. Let me go find one . . .”

Ryan pulled me back to his chest roughly, never releasing his hold on my hand.

“I thought that this might be a co, co, llab . . . collab-bora-tive effort. Shit.”

“Great . . . sloppy five-minute drunken sex,” I whined, messing with him further.

Ryan gave me a playful leer and tightened his grip on my body. “Believe me, woman, I’m far from drunk. I’m going to take my good ol’ time with you,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. “Use the sheets to tie your little smart ass to the bed. Punish you for doubting me. See how long you can ride my tongue before you scream.”

His erotic words tugged on that sweet spot deep within my core. I could definitely go for one of his tongue lashings.

I ran a hand over his hard chest, down his flat stomach, imagining my fingernails turning into claws, effortlessly shredding the white dress shirt that separated me from his skin. I whispered into his ear, “I’m betting that you pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow.”

He took the back of my neck in a possessive grasp as he raked his top teeth over his lip. “That’s a bet you’re sure to lose, my love, because I am definitely, definitely up for the challenge.”

I squeezed my fingers into his buttocks, coaxing his hips to grind in a bit harder as if he were already naked and between my legs. I didn’t care that we were in a room full of people.

The music swirled and the lights danced around us, sending my blood into hyperdrive. Ryan’s finger drifted, seductively snaking down my neck, over the hollow of my throat, down to the crest of my cleavage. I envisioned his tongue snaking the same path.

He sighed, almost saddened, resigned. “The hardest part is knowing that underneath this incredibly sexy dress is a totally hot lace bustier and sheer panties that you put on when you thought I wasn’t looking. But I have to confess . . . I was so looking.”

I nudged him lightly. “That was supposed to be a surprise!”

All playfulness was gone, replaced by determination and hunger. His lips came down on mine, taking ownership of my mouth, of my senses. One touch of his tongue was all I needed to open and let him in.

“Don’t be mad,” he murmured, reminding me that he still possessed total control of my body. “I’m an actor, remember? I can play surprised.”

My mind drifted, picturing his long, hard body holding me fast to the bed. He wants to pretend to be surprised? I’ll give him surprised.

“You’re obviously not a very good Peeping Tom, since you failed to mention that I’m wearing your favorite item.”

He glanced down at the floor. “The stilettos?”

I shook my head.

As if I’d just told him Santa Claus was truly real, his eyes opened wide, all glistening and hopeful. His hand flew to my thigh, seeking confirmation. A deep, feral groan rolled up this throat when he found the top band of my nylons.

I bit his earlobe tenderly. “I’d much rather you played evil doctor with me.”

That was apparently all he could take.

“I am going to fuck you in those shoes. That and the nylons. When we get back to the room, they stay on.” Ryan grabbed my hand and quickly led us through the crowd. There was no stopping him. He was a man on a mission.