by Tina Reber
“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.”
As much as I hated to admit it, both of them were right. “So now what do I do?”
“Let Marie run the pub,” Pete suggested. “She’d be perfect for managing the entire operation.”
“No,” Marie said adamantly. “Sorry, but Taryn knows my heart isn’t into it anymore. I have a new career on the horizon.”
I knew Pete was just being diplomatic. There was longing in that guy’s soft puppy dog eyes. “Pete, you’re running things now; how would you feel about making that permanent?”
Marie glanced at Pete, feeling him out. “This something you want to do for the next few years? Taryn wouldn’t have to deal with it then.”
Pete nodded confidently. “Yes. I’d love to. Tammy’s business just keeps growing. She’s making more money than I did working construction. And if we go ahead with serving food here with a lunch and dinner menu, this place will just become busier.”
I was still pissed about the security system. “All capital expenditures get approved by me first. Clear?”
“Even the ones you don’t pay for?” Pete questioned.
My eyes narrowed. “Who paid for the system, Pete?”
“I think I hear sirens.” He walked off toward the window.
I had this overwhelming desire to tackle him and force him to speak. “Peter?”
“Who do you think?” he asked with a knowing glance. “They made me shake on it—both of them.
And don’t even bother being pissed. You’ll have no argument once they find out what happened in here today. None.”
Damn it—Pete was right.
I zipped the back of Marie’s knee-length black dress, smoothing out the gorgeous satin, careful not to snag any of the soft tendrils that hung lose from her upswept hair. It had been almost three weeks since the pub incident, during which I used my newfound downtime to force a reconciliation between Tammy and Marie. Well, forced may be a bit of a stretch, but I most certainly had my say in the matter.
Their final argument started over mozzarella sticks. Really. I still don’t know the full extent of their ridiculous fight because neither of them was making much sense, but both of their voices were so damn loud, I could hear them all the way upstairs.
I ended my conference call with our architect and builder just to see what all of the ruckus was about.
I knew Marie was still pissed about Tammy’s friend hooking up with Gary and the fact that Tammy did nothing to stop it, but after Tammy and Pete had their big showdown two weeks ago, Gary and Amy were out of the wedding, leaving them with absolutely no bridal party and Tammy in full bride-to-be meltdown.
I’d had enough of the insanity.
I was also wise enough to know that they were at each other’s throats because deep down they wanted the hostility to be out and over with. And the longer it lingered, the longer it festered.
Bu
t after thirty minutes and a whole lot of crazy accusations, I managed to get the two of them to hug.
The day before Pete and Tammy’s wedding, Ryan and Mike flew back to Seaport. Come hell or high water, I was going to make sure my dear friend Pete married the woman who had captured his heart and that his woman would have a beautiful wedding to remember.
Marie and I stopped dead in our tracks in my living room when we took in the sights of Ryan and Mike dressed to the nines. Both were devastatingly handsome in their black tuxes and crimson neckties. They were standing near the front windows; the afternoon sun making them appear dreamlike.
“Oh my God,” Marie breathed out.
I knew exactly what she’d meant. All of that gorgeousness should be illegal because it was lethal.
“Mine,” I whispered, basking in the reality that Ryan was in fact, mine.
“I get the one on the left,” she muttered softly.
Marie and I had been given simple instructions: wear a black satin cocktail dress. But with Ryan in his Ralph Lauren tuxedo I felt grossly underdressed. Ryan sauntered around the couch, his eyes boring into mine. Something about seeing him dressed up always took my breath away.
Ryan, forever the gentleman, took my hand and raised it to his mouth for a kiss. “You look absolutely stunning.” He held me at arm’s length and then his brow furrowed. “Something’s missing.”
He looked over at Mike. “Is it me or is there something missing from this gorgeous picture?”
Mike inspected Marie from head to toe, even doing a walk-around. “Hmm. Yeah. Something’s off. Like it’s almost perfect but just not quite altogether—there.”
I had to laugh; both of them were examining us like pieces of art.
“Is it the hair?” Mike asked.
Ryan carefully touched one of the curls that touched my cheek. “No. I don’t think so,” he said reverently. “Your hair is perfect.”
I smiled. Marie and I had spent almost two hours at the hairdresser this morning getting dolled up.
Ryan was staring at my lips when he said, “What about the shoes, Mike?”
“Shoes?” Mike echoed. “Let me check.” He crouched down in front of Marie, lifting the hem of her dress to start his examination mid-thigh. I heard his lascivious groan from across the room. His fingers skated slowly down her thigh, pausing while he kissed her knee. I was watching him watching her. By the time he got down to her ankle, it had grown very warm in my living room. “Shoe’s good, Ryan.”
Yeah, their little game was working both of them into a lather.
I watched Ryan’s tongue slowly sweep across his bottom lip: wetting, inviting, taunting. Damn, I wanted to suck it into my mouth and end this teasing. He pulled me into his chest, drifting his nose near my neck. “God, you smell good.” He breathed into my ear. “Delicious.”
I felt his fingertips drift down my neck, following the square-cut neckline, causing my belly to flutter and tighten. He placed a small kiss at the bottom of my throat. “I’m thinking it’s the neck,” he whispered, grazing his teeth over my skin.
He rose up, slowly and deliberately. “Mike, check her neck.”
I grinned when he resumed his nuzzling. “You keep this up and you’ll have to make love to me instead of taking me to this wedding.”
I felt him smile. “Promise me you won’t turn crazy when we get married.”
I clutched his waist, feeling the liquid heat building low in my panties. “I promise.” He was so close; I could feel his erection. I caressed my hand over it. “Are you happy now? You have all of this and no time to play with it.”
He moaned. “That’s a present for later. I’m going to do you slowly tonight.”
Just as I started drifting off into that blissful image, I heard Marie squeal. She held a flat box.
“I have one for you, too.” Ryan slipped a hand into the back of his trousers and pulled out a thin, flat box with the iconic HW logo embossed on the lid.
My breath caught when I removed the felt covering. “Oh my God, Ryan! This is absolutely beautiful.” I touched the diamond wreath necklace, noticing the small R in white gold, dangling next to the clasp.
Marie’s wreath necklace was just as stunning, though it was a different design. And sure enough, dangling from the clasp of hers was an M.
“Did we just get collared?” Marie teased, touching the diamond necklace.
Ryan smirked. “Something like that.”
“You’ve got a problem being owned?” Mike asked her.
“By you?”
Mike took Marie’s hips into his strong hands, drawing her in. “Yeah. By me. You good with that?”
Her smile was priceless. “Oh, yeah. I’m real good with that.”
I heard a horn honking.
“I believe our ride is here,” Ryan said.
Just as I had expected, my alley was inundated with a swarm of paparazzi, caging in our black stretch limo. Despite what people might think about the luxury of riding in a stretch limo, they were actually a pain to crawl around in—especially with heels and a dress.
“Damn,” Ryan breathed out. “I thought we’d thrown them off with that posted appearance at Chateau Marmont. So much for that.”
Mike was the last one in. “Yep, didn’t work. I figured as much. Plan B is still in place.”
I entwined my hand with Ryan’s. “Plan B?”
He nodded. “We hired event security. That will keep them out of the church and out of the reception.”
“Does Pete know this?”
Ryan kissed my hand. “I called him a couple of days ago. It’s all arranged. Just remember how this goes. We need to keep ours completely exclusive and private.”
“Maldives,” Mike murmured.
Ryan gave him a nod in agreement.
The outside of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church was surrounded by a small mob. My heart sank. Our worst fears were coming true. Ryan squeezed my hand.
Mike held the door open for us. Marie was the second person out, blocking the photographers’ prying cameras.
Ryan and I had made it a few feet toward the church steps when he paused and turned us around. As if we were at any other public appearance, Ryan and I posed for the press. We turned, smiled, and gave them what they all so desperately wanted. Except that Ryan did not give out any autographs.
He tried to speak over the frenzy. “We are here to celebrate the wedding of dear friends. I hope you give them the courtesy of your respect and privacy today. Thank you.”
Inside the church, I had a private moment with Pete, which caused a few tears of happiness to fall from my eyes. We’d been through hell and back, enduring the ugly side of life together.
Marie walked down the aisle first. I could see she only had eyes for Mike, who didn’t know Pete from Adam, but who had willingly stepped up to be a groomsman to make this day special for them.
I took a step through the threshold, imagining making this walk on my day.
I saw Ryan draw in a quick breath; his smile was breathtaking, standing tall and proud near the altar, watching every step I took with nothing but love in his eyes.
I wanted to marry him now more than anything.
Chapter 24
Face-off
In the five months following Pete and Tammy’s wedding, we’d been to California, Portugal, England, Louisiana, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and back to England while Ryan was filming the third Seaside.
Ryan’s planning and scheming had paid off. While he spent twelve-or even fourteen-hour days filming, I was happy and content spending time with my best friend. I had long ago come to know that Mike’s salary was paid mostly by the studios since personal security was written into Ryan’s contracts and it was part of his appearance rider and now that rider also included a security team. Marie had often joke with me that I was paying her to be my friend.
Marie and I kept ourselves very busy, planning on everything from home décor for the enormous house that was waiting for the spring thaw to be bui
lt to naming the production company Ryan and I wanted to start. Spending time hanging out with the cast and crew of Seaside also made the days blur and blend into one hell of a good time. I had taken over managing Ryan’s affairs, working like a personal assistant on most days. I didn’t mind; our hectic schedule and active social calendar kept me out of trouble.
I even found a new friend in Ryan’s lawyer, Len Bainbridge, when he helped me clear up the nearly $1
million estate that the sweet Jimmy Pop left behind. The Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles was very grateful when Ryan and I presented them with a check in Jimmy Pop’s memory.
That was a wonderful day.
Everything was going tremendously well at Mitchell’s Pub, too. Pete had hired several new staff members to support the growing demand for Tammy’s gourmet dishes that she was whipping up in the kitchen. Maggie, the elderly lady who owned the bakery opposite my pub—the one that Ryan had escaped through the first day that we met—was looking to retire and sell her store as well. Tammy had hired several people and was hoping to run the catering out of the bakery. So we were working on that plan.
Marie joked that I could run a multimillion-dollar corporation from my cell phone and laptop. I was starting to agree with her.
But now we were in Manhattan, getting ready to kick off the first day of press tours for the premiere of Ryan’s film Thousand Miles. We’d landed in New York yesterday and everything was going rather smoothly until we arrived for his press interviews and I spotted “them.” Suddenly my hands were sweaty, my senses were on high alert, it was hard to swallow, and I wished I was wielding a baseball bat—or better yet, Marie’s fancy black gun.
Ryan noticed them about twenty seconds after I did. His eyes narrowed as he assessed them, cursed, then he frowned down at me. I had no doubt that he’d drag me back to our hotel and force me to stay there if he had his choice.
I wrapped my hand into his, entwining our fingers into an unbreakable bond. “No way. We do this together.”
He was furious. “Figures Kyle would be here with her. I really want to hit him.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the doorway where they were standing. “Yeah? You take him. I’ve got her.”
