Mike opened up one box while Ryan opened another. “Looks like more fan mail,” Mike muttered.
Ryan shoved the box flaps back together and grabbed his bags.
I didn’t need sharp hearing to pick up on Ryan telling Mike that he wanted to toss it all before I saw any more threat letters or hate mail. Surely with the volume sitting in boxes, there had to be a few unkind letters in the mix.
Ryan’s phone chimed. He’d been avoiding someone and I was pretty sure I knew who that was. “You can’t keep ignoring him.” He tossed his suitcase on the bed. “Yes, I can.”
“He’s your manager.”
Ryan groaned. “He had no right doing what he did.”
“Then tell him that.”
“I’m still too mad not to fire him.” I shrugged. “Then fire him.” He toed his sneakers off. “I can’t.”
“You’re ready to kick Tammy and her business out of the kitchen downstairs but your manager took it upon himself to order a prenuptial agreement and you don’t think that requires a bitch-slap?” His hands rested on his hips while he stared at me. “You want me to fire him.” I made a pile of dirty laundry, noticing the similarities between the task at hand and this conversation. “Is that a question or a statement?” I was hoping we weren’t headed for an impasse.
Ryan shrugged. “Both.”
Drat.
“He’s not my manager. I don’t have to deal with him as much as you do so it’s not my call to make.”
Ryan set his bag on the bed. “You don’t like him.”
I met his gaze. “Another question or a statement?”
“Statement.”
I resumed sorting laundry. “No, I don’t like him, but you already know this. He’s been underhanded too many times, which makes him untrustworthy in my book. He has a difference of opinion with you of how you should lead your life, what roles you should consider pursuing, and he’s made it blatantly clear that he views me as an intrusion. Then again, I know nothing about hiring a talent manager. I do know that you have to have a certain level of trust in the people you employ. So the question goes back to you. Do you trust him?” He took a deep breath, his shoulders falling in disappointment. I knew this had to be weighing heavily on his mind for awhile and I was glad he was finally addressing it. “I used to.”
Being diplomatic and not wanting his decision to be swayed by my opinion, I asked,
“And why don’t you anymore?”
“Len Bainbridge is my lawyer. David had no right speaking to him on my behalf about a prenuptial agreement, regardless of inquir-ies for photo exclusives.”
I couldn’t agree more. I was glad he drew that conclusion on his own.
The next day I faced another possible impasse.
“Your friend Amy posted about him being at your wedding on Twitter, Tammy.” I tried to be sympathetic and compassionate but direct and to the point as well. I knew she wasn’t the one who leaked the information, but she’d have to deal with the aftermath.
Big, brown eyes that just weren’t getting it gazed blankly back across the table at me.
“So?”
Either I wasn’t explaining myself properly or she was missing the point. I folded my fingers together, trying to keep calm. “So, what that means is on the day you two get married, there is a high probability that your church will be surrounded by a swarm of photographers, press, and fans. Most of the gossip sites have already posted that our wedding date has been leaked, Tammy. They don’t care if it’s your wedding or not. They see a tweet about Ryan and a confirmed wedding and the news channels explode with it.
CV magazine’s website even has a fake wedding invitation posted with the date.” Pete groaned and sat back in his chair, turning an angry glare on his fiancée. I hated seeing them like this, torn up about things they had no control over.
I could see the light dawning on her. It also became quite obvious to me that when Ryan and I did get married, keeping the date and the location secret would be the top priority.
“So now what?” Pete asked.
Ryan drew in an audible breath. “You know I want to be there for you, man, but the shit that surrounds me can get out of control.
Your wedding date was posted in one of the replies to the original Twitter post. It spread from there.”
Pete turned and glowered at Tammy. “You fucked up.”
Her face fell. So did my heart. “Pete, it’s not her fault.”
Tammy was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t do this!”
I clutched his arm, hoping to get his attention before this blew up, but it made no difference. His other fist hit the table. “No?
Then who did?”
Tammy appeared indignant, holding it in.
“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.” Ryan cautioned them both. “Listen.
What’s done is done. I’m just worried about your day being ruined because of this, that’s all. Taryn and I are huge media targets right now.”
Tammy swiped a tear away. “Ruined? Like how? Do I have to cancel everything now?” I could see the panic welling up in her.
“No, sweetie, you don’t. It’s your wedding day—it’s your day to shine. We just don’t want to do anything to detract from that.” Pete was obviously fuming. “Amy couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut, could she? I warned you about her, time and time again, and now look what she’s done. I do not want that bitch in our wedding.”
Tammy fell back and cowered in her chair.
“She’s my maid of honor, Pete. You wanted Gary as your best man.”
“Yeah, well I also didn’t know that he was nailing your friend behind Marie’s back. Not only is she a loud-mouthed whore, she’s also a home-wrecker. I don’t want you hanging around her anymore. She’s no longer welcome in my house.”
Tammy stood up abruptly; her chair scraped the floor. If looks could kill, he was a dead man. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“What? That your girlfriend is a whore or that’s she’s a home-wrecker?”
“Go to hell,” she growled.
Pete relaxed back into his chair. “Babe, sometimes I feel as though I’m already there.”
Tammy let out a frustrated groan, chucked her middle finger at Pete, then stormed out of the pub and back into the kitchen.
Ryan was scratching the back of his head, appearing just as dumbfounded about the last ten minutes as I was. “Dude, I’m sorry.