Ryan pulled out the chair next to him, startling me. “I don’t think so. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of my fiancée, too. This affects her life just as much as it does mine.
I’ll decide what doesn’t require her involvement, not you. Got it?” Marla stared at him blankly.
“Got it?” he said with punctuated force.
Marla breathed out her unhappiness and righted herself in the chair. “Of course.”
Relieved, I took a seat and patted his thigh in private to thank him. He covered my diamond-clad hand with his own.
“Now then . . . we will inform all of the in-terviewers at the press junket today that questions about your personal life are off-limits. Someone will be present at all times to ensure that those questions are averted so as not to detract from the Reparation and future Seaside premieres. We’ll put the same stipulations on all of your appearances throughout the junket as well.” Ryan looked like someone had strapped him in the electric chair and stood by with a heartless hand itching to flip the switch. I could tell his thoughts were mulling over the best ways to escape. I rubbed my fingertips over his back, trying to ease his tension.
“You will have to handle yourself appropriately during your appearance on Jimmy Collins tonight and with Nigel Allen on Night Life tomorrow. You should know by now how to avoid those types of questions,” Marla said. “But just in case I’m wrong . . .” While she was on her soapbox, I picked up one of the tabloid magazine prints, eyeing the supposedly scandalous front cover.
“We’ll handle your discussion topics at the pre-interviews . . . ,” she continued to drone.
I tried to listen intently to her aggravating words, but my mind was suddenly very preoccupied, thinking of ways to choke the ever-loving shit out of her so she’d shut the hell up.
To me, the tabloid cover didn’t look bad at all, compared to some of the other reports that were previously printed about Ryan and me. Even the story byline wasn’t too hateful.
Eyewitnesses had reported that “Ryan sang a beautiful song while playing his guitar before professing his love for local business owner Taryn Mitchell.” What’s so scandalous about that?
It was times like these I wished some of those inhuman special powers portrayed on film could actually happen, like being able to cut off the flow of oxygen to her lungs with my mind, or hurling her across the room just by imagining it. Evil thoughts, I know, but this woman brought them out in me. Especially when she was smacking her lips together, lecturing my future husband on the proper behaviors of A-list celebrities and dic-tating the cryptic responses he should give today to avoid talking about our relationship in public.
Ryan and I both jumped slightly when there was another knock on our hotel door. I was thankful for any diversion that veered my mind off strangling the shit out of her.Through the peephole, I instantly recognized the young, long-haired blonde standing outside our room, having seen her glowing face and friendly smile the last two days when we had numerous chats over our computers. She had a large messenger bag slung over her shoulder and a thick manila envelope pressed to her chest.
“Hey. Come on in,” I said warmly through the opened door. With all the reprimanding that was happening in our room, I had forgotten that Trish, Marla’s assistant, was coming to help me get dressed properly for the premiere.
The second Trish stepped into the room it seemed like the air changed and it was easier to breathe in here.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
“You, too.” Trish bounced excitedly and hugged me like we were reunited college friends. “Even though I sort of feel like I know you already.” I noticed Trish’s eyes glance past me into the room where her boss sat, still lecturing Ryan. “How’s it going so far?”
I shrugged. What could I tell her? That I thought her boss was a royal bitch whom I wanted to toss off the roof of this hotel?
“Did she say anything about doing a press release on your engagement?”
she whispered.
“What is your problem? Why are you being like this?” Ryan asked Marla harshly, trying to keep his voice down.
I shook my head at Trish. “No. Not a word.”
Marla made her signature throaty scoff, the one that sounds like a cat starting to choke up a hairball. “You’re starting to fly on a whim while the rest of us are left to clean up the mess.”
“What mess?” Ryan asked. “I got engaged.
Big deal. I’m not the first actor to do this. I just don’t understand why you hate her so much.”