“But nothing. You’re not quitting, so get that out of your head.”
Ryan came outside wearing a pair of shorts and a deep scowl. “Where’s that camera card at?”
I followed him in the house and handed it to him, wondering how much space was required. I mulled it over at the kitchen table before I decided to suck it up and be brave. I knew firsthand the humiliation that came with wearing handcuffs.
He was sitting at his desk in his old bedroom, glaring at his laptop. I noticed he plugged the card reader from our camera bag into the USB port.
“You okay?”
His eyes flashed up to me. “I was arrested for the first time in my fucking life. What do you think?”
“I know the feeling.”
He gave me an angered scowl. I could see a deep purple bruise starting to form under his left eye.
“Want to throw shoes?”
He let out a deep sigh, as if he was pushing all the bad out. His eyes closed for a moment. “No. Don’t want to throw shoes.” My next words came out on a whisper.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He huffed again and rubbed his forehead.
I took that as an unspoken yes so I turned for the door.
“Tar, wait . . .” He held out his hand.
“Come here.” I reached for his offering.
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding when he pulled me onto his lap. His arms cinched around my body and he buried his face in my neck. I drifted my fingers through his damp hair, pressing him tighter.
“I’m so tired of this, Tar. So freaking tired.
Can’t even have a day off without them following us.” He looked up into my eyes. “He came to my parents’ house. My parents.
That’s crossing the line.”
I touched the skin below the bruise on his cheek. “I agree.”
“People don’t realize . . . they don’t know how it is to feel stripped of your privacy. All they want are pictures of whoever I’m with or what personal shit I’m doing—as if they have a right to know that. And for what? To see that I’m just like anyone else? Christ, Tar. You got hit by a fucking car because of me.”
I held his face. “That was not your fault.
Don’t say that.”
He jerked away. “Yes, it was. That crazy girl was stalking you because of me. Huge boxes of fan mail showing up at your place?
Threat letters? What happened in Paris?
Nah, I’m not having that anymore. Uh-uh.” I could see him steel his resolve.
One of his arms released me so he could click the mouse. Rows upon rows of pictures dotted the screen. He let out a curse, rubbing his forehead. “He’s been tracking us since as soon as we landed here. Son of a bitch.”
“Oh my God. Are those from yesterday?”
“Yep. Bastard got shots of my entire family. There’s one with us when I was holding Sarah. Damn it!”
My eyes widened as he continued to page through hundreds more. I felt as if I’d swallowed a rock seeing close-ups of Ryan’s tongue on my breast in the pool. The idiot took so many pictures, it was almost like live action seeing shot after shot of Ryan and me in private, intimate moments. I wanted to puke.
“That’s it. No more. After the third Seaside is filmed, I’m done.”
Chapter 20
Rebound “He was arrested, Taryn. There’s nothing I can do. His mug shot is public record now,” Trish explained. I didn’t care. It had been four days since the incident; every tabloid and news outlet was circulating and publish-ing the picture of him bruised and tinged with blood and I wanted them to end.
I hid in the far corner of the bar office to make sure Ryan couldn’t accidentally overhear my conversation, even though the last time I saw him he was still in bed. That was at one o’clock. I was feeling like I was at the end of my rope. “I know. Ryan’s lawyer called. Even if they get the charge dropped the picture is still out there. He’s not taking this very well, Trish.”
She sighed. “I wanted to talk to him, see if he wants me to spin this, but he won’t take my calls. He’s not the first celebrity who’s had their mug shot posted. Either we counter with positive press or just let it naturally blow over, which it will.”
“Yeah well, right now the press is having a field day.” I was starting to pick up Ryan’s forehead-rubbing habit. “Ryan’s lawyer alerted us that the photographer has hired counsel. He’s attempting to sue us for a million.
Can you believe the bastard wants us to pay for the lost income he would have made selling pictures of us to the media?”