“Come on.” Ellen pulled me along by the arm, hailing the stylist with her other hand.
“We have to get you focused because we’re running short on time.”
I tried to put Marla’s condescending tirade out of my mind and enjoy the rest of the day, but the moment I saw her following Ryan when he came into the dressing room backstage at
The Jimmy Collins Show my overwhelming hatred for the woman came rushing back. And despite Ryan’s outward appearance, I knew that just below the surface he was still somewhat forlorn.
I tried to be cheery enough for the both of us; after all, I was excited just being backstage like this, and it helped a lot that his father and Pete were here to lift his spirits.
The men were talking about the Stanley Cup playoffs, joking that they were going to relocate their dinner plates by the first television they found in the restaurant tonight. I was thankful that Ryan’s brother kept his sarcastic, hurtful comments to himself this time.
Ryan had enough on his mind; he didn’t need to be pushed over the edge tonight.
Marla was hovering around Ryan. She acted like he was her property, and she was on the defensive, blocking anyone who attempted to come close to him. She rudely interrupted the conversation he was trying to have with his family and I felt my anger flare.
It was even more infuriating when she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. How petty and childish.
Sadness swirled back in me as she schooled him on the appropriate responses he should give during the interview to deflect any surprise questions Jimmy Collins might spring on him. Marla’s black heart didn’t change colors.
I stewed privately, twisting the diamonds on my finger to keep my hands busy while I paced behind the large black leather couch.
Ryan’s mother looked at me with concern in her eyes. “Taryn, would you like to sit?” Ellen asked, patting the space next to her on the couch. “Please. Come.”
I shook my head slightly, watching my fiancé intently. “That’s okay, Mom,” I said softly. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” Trish slipped into the room through the closed door. Her eyes darted around, quickly assessing the tension in the room. I hoped she could read my body language to see how upset I was. We all heard Marla clearly when she told Ryan to “try not to screw this up.” My fingers clenched into the back of the couch to keep from lunging at her. Ellen let out a maternal tsk and an audible huff, glaring eye daggers at Marla.
Trish quickly intervened. “Marla, excuse me. An assistant just told me that the stage director is looking for you.”
“Now?” Marla questioned. She looked at her watch and collected her bag. “Stay with him,” she ordered.
Ryan was sitting in the swivel chair, rubbing his forehead.
Trish appeared conflicted as she sidled up to his chair. “Ryan? Can we talk for a minute?”
Ryan followed her to the back corner of the room.
“So, are you ready? Are you all right with the format?”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Trish, just tell him,” I pleaded, gazing nervously back at the door. I knew we only had ten minutes, if that, to get Ryan prepped.
“Tell me what?” Ryan asked, confused.
Trish cleared her throat. “You know Collins is going to ask about the proposal regardless.”
Ryan sighed. “I know. He wants the exclusive.”
“I was just wondering . . . if Marla wasn’t advising you, how would you handle it?” Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?” Trish took a deep breath. “I think the advice Marla gave you might be a mistake.” Ryan looked at me, questioning why we were doing this to him right before he was due to walk out onstage.
“It’s your personal business, Ryan, but look at it this way—if you deny that you’re engaged, now that there are pictures and videos, your credibility is going to be worth-less. ” Trish reflexively glanced over her shoulder again to make sure Marla was still nowhere to be seen.
“When Collins brings it up, I think you should admit to it. Don’t embellish the story with personal information; just be honest and somewhat open. Your fans are going to cling to you if you expose your sensitive, romantic side,” she continued.
“I’m worried about the extra media attention on Taryn,” Ryan said, looking worried and guilty at the same time.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said adamantly.
Ryan shot me a look, wordlessly telling me that it was impossible for him to do that.
“If you don’t fess up to it now, the media is going to keep pursuing the story and it’s going to get worse. Hiding it will only sensa-tionalize it and Collins already knows that Taryn is in the building.”