Absolutely Famous (Famous Series)

by Heather Leigh

  Claustrophobia was never a problem before, but I feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of people surrounding us as we move down the sidewalk to where Bruce is waiting with the Suburban. My hands start to tremble and Drew’s grip on me tightens. I see him check on me with a sideways glance.

  Flashbulbs pulse in my face, blinding me as we walk down the uneven brick walkway. My eyes can’t even adjust to the night because of the barrage of lights. Then the yelling starts.

  “Sydney! Are you feeling better?”

  “Andrew! Where were you when Sydney freaked out the other day?”

  “Sydney! Andrew! Are you moving to Vancouver?”

  “Sydney, how are your mom and dad? Is it true they’re getting back together?”

  “Andrew, are you and Sydney getting married in Vancouver?”

  “Andrew, aren’t you dating your costar, Kiera Radcliff?”

  To top it all off, the fans are merely squealing in delight to see us in person, making a loud caterwaul the backdrop to a million clicks and questions. They’re freaking out and it hits me that this is the first time Drew and I have been spotted together since the ill-fated premiere.

  No wonder they’re going batshit crazy.

  I’m annoyed by the last question about Kiera, shocked that someone would even ask it. They’ve never even been seen in public together except the one photo from that night at Verve.

  “C’mon, Sydney, walk faster.” Drew urges me on, noticing that I slowed down some. I can barely see or hear him. He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me along as I try not to stumble over the brick sidewalk in my stilettos.

  Just as we’re about to reach the big SUV, I see a hand snake in behind Evan to try and touch my naked back. Whoever it is must make contact with Drew’s arm instead of me because Drew flinches and pushes me into Evan’s arms, turning toward the offending party before I can even blink.

  “Put her in the car!” he shouts, his narrowed eyes searching out his prey.

  “Drew! Don’t!” I try to stop him but Evan is already lifting me into the back seat of the Suburban, planting himself in front of the open door to keep people out and keep me in while we wait on Drew.

  My poor, fragile boyfriend and his razor-thin temper has had enough and snapped. I peer around Evan and see Drew furiously trying to get his hands on a man in his mid-twenties, pointing at him and yelling as Steve wedges his large body between them the best he can. As bulky as Steve is, Drew certainly isn’t small. He’s taller and pretty ripped, and he’s downright pissed. Angry Drew is not someone to mess with, I’ve seen him before and he’s terrifying.

  Like right now.

  “Don’t evah fuckin’ touch her again or I’ll beat the piss outta you!” I hear him yelling over the clicking of the cameras.

  Crap, full Boston accent, Angry Drew has left and Very Angry Drew has made his appearance. Suddenly, the crowd falls quiet, no more questions are being asked, no more fans screaming. Everyone is trying to see what’s going on in the center of the undulating mass.

  “She’s a hot piece of ass, Forrester! You can’t just lock her up forever,” the fan replies, taunting Drew, believing there’s no way big celebrity Andrew Forrester would attack him on the street in front of all of these people. He’s so wrong. Drew’s favorite pastime is Muay Thai or Ju-Jitsu or something that involves fighting in a cage. I watched him spar a few times, he’s scary as hell.

  Drew acts like he’s going to walk away, letting Steve relax his hold on him. Then, faster than I thought possible, Drew spins and jumps at the man, shoving him against the brick wall of the building behind him and pinning his arm across his throat. The guy’s eyes bug out, partly in surprise and partly because Drew is pushing his elbow up against his windpipe.

  “She’s not a fuckin’ piece of ass, shithead. Come neah her again, you bettah be prepared to fuckin’ fight me,” he growls.

  Steve claps Drew on the shoulder and pulls him toward the car, murmuring something in his ear. He reluctantly releases the man and stalks away. The crowd parts willingly this time, no one wanting to be caught in the fury of Andrew Forrester.

  Holy fuck!

  Evan moves out of the way and Drew throws his body into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “Drew,” I start to say, putting my hand on his arm.

  He shrugs me off and stares out the window. “Not now, Syd.”

  Tears prick my eyes and I slide across the seat, putting as much distance between us as I can. He’s never shut me out before, this is bad. Really bad.

  The car pulls into the hotel’s underground parking less than ten minutes later. The elevator ride is just as silent as the car, only with all five of us squashed into one tiny metal box instead of a spacious SUV.

  Drew slams the door to the suite and stomps over to the bar, pouring a large glass of scotch for himself. He shrugs out of his jacket and slings back half of the dark amber liquid. Turning to stare at me intimidatingly, he downs the rest of the scotch and hurls the glass against the wall, shattering it into thousands of tiny crystals, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I recoil from him, tears flooding my eyes. He’s been angry before, but never at me. And that’s what this feels like, that he’s furious and it’s all my fault. Drew closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. I recognize his attempt to rein in his temper. He turns around and picks up the hotel phone.

  “Yes, room 2218. A bottle of 40 year old Glenfiddich Single Malt. Yes. And a bottle of ibuprofen please. ASAP, right.” He hangs up the phone and wordlessly disappears into the bedroom.

  I remove my painful stiletto sandals and walk into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of water from the refrigerator and twisting off the top. If Drew wants to be an angry asshole, I need to be sober to keep him from doing something stupid. Well, more stupid than he’s already done, like attack a man on the street and shatter a glass in a five star hotel.

  Hearing a quiet knock on the door, I step over to answer it, assuming the room service Drew ordered has arrived. Before I can twist the knob, Drew appears behind me and grabs my wrist, whipping me around to face him.

  “Are you crazy?” he asks with an astonished and irate look on his face, his nose just inches from mine.

  “What are you doing?” I wrench out of his grip, my cheeks wet with tears.

  “You cahnt open the Goddamn door by yourself, Sydney! Ya don’t know who the fuck is out theah!” he bellows. Angry Drew is still alive and well, and now he’s yelling at me.

  Outraged and humiliated, I take my bottle of water and march into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me and locking it. Immature? You bet. But I’m not too happy at being on the receiving end of his wrath when I didn’t do anything wrong.

  I hear a loud noise while I’m in the bedroom, and ignore it. I have no desire to see what he’s doing out there right now.

  I shimmy out of the troublesome red dress and kick it under the bed. Sliding my tiny white tank top over my head and yanking on a pair of white cotton boy shorts, I go into the en suite and scrub every last bit of makeup off of my face, determined to wash all traces of this evening down the drain. I brush my teeth too hard and pull my long, auburn hair into a giant messy bun on the top of my head.

  Looking in the mirror, I see a scared, young, twenty-four year old girl. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes swollen and red and I’m too thin. For once, I want regular twenty-four year-old problems, not all of this stressful bullshit that I have to deal with. I hang my head and sigh, knowing I have to face Drew at some point.

  I open the bedroom door and find him sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees with his head hanging between them. One hand holds his glass of scotch, filled to the top once again. The room service cart is next to the couch on Drew’s other side, his left hand sunk into the ice bucket. He looks sad, resigned, like he’s given up. My heart sinks; he hasn’t given up on us has he?

  “Drew?” I ask timidly from across the room.

  He slowly lifts
his head and sees me. Drew sets the scotch on the tray and drags his hand down his tired face. Opening his arm wide, he beckons me to sit on his lap. I scurry over and huddle into him, pulling up into a ball. Drew envelops me in a tight embrace, pressing me to his chest as I sob into his shirt.

  “What’s happening to us,” I whisper into Drew’s chest.

  “Too much scrutiny, too much anxiety, too much fear for your safety,” he answers quietly, kissing the top of my head.

  “What happened to you?” I glance at the ice bucket and lean back so I can look into his eyes.

  I see his beautiful face harden up; his loving green eyes turn to steel. “I punched the wall.” He nods toward the wall behind the couch and I see a fist sized hole there. Shit!

  “I can’t keep you safe. I worry about it all of the time. That skimpy dress didn’t help, Sydney. All of those men looking at you, I never know which one of them is the next psycho that will hurt you. Fuck!” He reaches over and takes another swig of the expensive scotch. The bottle is a third of the way gone already.

  “What I wear doesn’t make someone attack me, Drew. They’re either crazy or they’re not.” I shimmy off of his lap and sit next to him on the couch. I hope he’s not blaming me for someone trying to touch me. His reaction to it was downright disturbing and way out of line.

  “No, but it certainly encourages a lot more negative attention, doesn’t it? It would be nice if you actually helped me keep you safe!” His voice rises in an accusatory tone.

  “I have three huge bodyguards, Drew! I can’t even go out anywhere while you’re working! I’ve done everything reasonable that you’ve asked. I’m not changing what I wear, it’s ridiculous!” I shout back.

  He shoots back the last of the scotch in his glass and thumps it down loudly on the coffee table, putting a big gouge in the polished wood. “It’s ridiculous to keep grimy losahs from pawing all over your fuckin’ body? Am I supposed to stand theah and watch, Sydney? That guy was aimin’ for the exposed skin above your ass! If you were wearin’ somethin’ else, he wouldn’t have bothahd!” Drew roars, standing up to face me, dripping ice water from his bruised hand all over the floor.

  I jump off of the couch and get in his face, well, as close as I can get being seven inches shorter than him. “You can’t know that! Stop being irrational!” I shout back. “I go with you to the studio every day, I only go out when you’re with me, we have three scary-ass bodyguards.What else can I do? Tell me!” I feel hot tears coursing down my cheek and I angrily wipe them away.

  “That’s the problem, Sydney! I have no fuckin’ clue how to stop all this bullshit!” he yells as he sits down heavily and drops his hand back into the icy water.

  The pieces click into place. Drew has no way to control all of this crap that’s swirling around us and it’s making him lose it. He was helpless to stop the attack on me at his own movie premiere, and he knows he can’t stop anyone determined enough to attack again. He’s scared and doesn’t want to admit it.

  I squirm my way back onto his lap and wrap my arms around him, pressing tiny kisses up and down his neck. I inhale the scent of him and feel like I’m home. “Drew, I love you,” I whisper in his ear, continuing to kiss his neck while I wait for a response.

  After what seems like an eternity, he hugs me to him and speaks. “I love you too, Syd.”

  Is this how we’re going to be?

  Chapter 8

  Back on the set the next day, I settle into my chair to watch today’s filming. I’ve gotten to know a few of the crew members fairly well over the last few weeks, and am chatting with one of the costume designers about our design school experiences when I feel someone staring at me. I glance up and see Kiera standing a few feet away, a conniving look on her face, as she waits for me to acknowledge her. I turn away and continue talking until my companion notices Kiera and becomes uncomfortable.

  “Ummm, I’ll catch you later, Sydney,” she says, eyeballing Kiera nervously as she gets up and hurries away.

  “Sure thing, Melissa.” Now I’m more than irritated with Kiera and her ridiculous attempts to piss me off. After last night, I don’t have the patience for her crap today.

  I let out a loud breath and turn to Kiera, pasting my giant fake smile back on my face. “Can I help you with something, Kiera?” I ask in a sickly sweet voice.

  She grins like the Chesire Cat. “Are you going to be here tomorrow, Sydney? You know that we’re filming our hot love scene, don’t you?”

  This chick is never going to stop, is she?

  I smile back and decide to give this bitch a verbal slap. “I haven’t decided yet, Kiera. I may have to be here to inspire Drew. You know, so he can pretend you’re me, just to make his performance convincing enough.” She blanches and her mouth falls open.

  That’s right, bitch!

  Kiera composes herself and rethinks her approach. “You know, the studio execs want Drew and I to pretend to be a couple so we can create more buzz around the film.” She lazily twirls her finger around a lock of her perfect blonde hair. “I figure tomorrow will be good practice for us, in fact, I’m sure it will be so convincing that we’ll become a real couple. That’s what the studio wants anyway.”

  I stand up and go toe to toe with this irritating woman. “Fat chance, Kiera. He’ll never want you, he can’t stand you. He would never cave to the studio pressuring him to be with you.”

  “Just like you and Adam, right Sydney? All pretend? If you can step out with Adam for your boss, why wouldn’t he step out with me for his boss? It seems fair if you ask me,”

  She’s got me. I’m speechless. I did go on a fake date for my boss, feeling like I had no choice. Would Drew do that? My mind goes back to the first day here, when the director tried to tell me something about being shocked that Drew and I were a couple because the studio wanted something else, but Drew interrupted and hurried me out of the room. Maybe he did say yes and doesn’t want me to know. Kiera’s annoying voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “Humph, nothing to say about that, Miss Perfect? I didn’t think so,” she drawls, a bright smile on her lips. Kiera turns on her heel and walks away, knowing she got the best of me.

  Shit.

  I sit back down and try to ignore what Kiera said, but I can’t. It’s eating away at me. Causing a pain in my stomach that radiates all the way to the tips of my fingers. I catch Drew looking at me with a quizzical look on his face. I smile and wave, trying not to let him see how upset I am, but if there’s one thing Drew is really good at, it’s reading my expressions. I see him stare over at me several more times that afternoon, each time he seems more concerned. I can’t let him worry about me anymore, but I need to know if he has a contractual obligation to be with Kiera for appearances to sell the movie. Kiera’s right, I was with Adam to sell the nightclub opening for the Warren Hotel management. What they’re asking Drew to do isn’t all that different.

  I rub my tired eyes and pull my laptop from my messenger bag. I need a distraction, and after last night’s showdown on the street, I’m sure there’s tons of stuff online to read. I check a few of the usual suspects and find I’m not wrong. There are videos, photos, blogs, articles. Drew’s outburst even made the front page of CNN.com. I read through them and all of them contain what happened with the handsy fan, and a few had snippets about our dinner at BlueSky Steakhouse but nothing more. I can’t believe Leah hasn’t called me.

  My hands shaking, I type in CelebCast and wait for the page to load. There are ten articles on the first page. Six of them are about me and Drew or Drew losing his temper with the fan. I read the byline on one and my mouth gapes open. I feel my heart stutter in my chest. This can’t be. I click the link and hold my breath as I read.

  Forrester and Tannen Have Post-Street Fight Blowup at Hotel

  Following sexy actor Andrew Forrester’s violent outburst on the streets of Vancouver last night, sources say that tensions between him and his girlfriend, daughter of Hollywood royalty Sydney Tannen, bubbled ov
er and caused a heated argument in their hotel room. Apparently, trouble has been brewing in paradise ever since the two went public at Forrester’s movie premiere in March where Tannen was attacked by a crazy fan from her past.

  An insider reports that the couple’s relationship is strained since Tannen’s recent panic attack, leading Forrester to hire more burly bodyguards to protect her while he’s filming. He refuses to let her leave the hotel alone, keeping her a virtual prisoner while he films. The fight with the fan allegedly spiraled into a spat over the revealing red Saint Laurent dress that Tannen wore to dinner last night.

  The controlling Forrester had warned Tannen not to wear it out even requesting that she change clothes before leaving for BlueSky because he didn’t want other men looking at her, insinuating that her dress encouraged a fan to try to touch her. A witness at the restaurant tells us that when Tannen got up to use the restroom, Forrester sent one of his huge bodyguards with her, and looked incredibly angry when other patrons stared at her as she walked by. Talk about jealous!

  Forrester was so upset during the argument at the hotel that he allegedly drank half a bottle of 40 year old scotch, shattered a glass and punched a hole in the wall of their suite.

  I guess we’ll have to wait and see if these two, the Hottie and the Hot-head will make up or break up!

  I can’t believe it. Someone is spying on us!

  Holy fuck!

  The report is, once again, eerily similar to what happened last night.

  The article makes Drew sound like a controlling asshat, and I sound like a manipulative bitch that’s trying to make him jealous. I don’t care about the insinuations, it’s the fact that someone clearly overheard a very private discussion that took place in our locked hotel room. The only detail they got wrong is how much scotch Drew drank.

  The only reason Drew hasn’t been told about this by a friend or employee is because anyone he knows who reads it would simply assume it to be another bullshit article just like the rest. His friends and family know not to ask him about stuff they read on gossip sites. He has no idea that I’ve been checking this website, and would be furious if he found out that someone was monitoring our conversations. I’m sure his manager and PR guy have already bitched him out about his street fight.