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Marla and David, his “handlers,” hovered dutifully behind Ryan while he played his part. I wanted so badly to run across the street and drag him away from all of that insanity. He was a person, but he was treated like public property. Everyone wanted a piece of him and I doubted there were enough pieces of him left to go around.
After almost ten minutes, Ryan was finally escorted back across the street by his security team. He was immediately ushered to a carpeted area where the press was waiting.
Ryan wasn’t alone on the carpet; several of his cast mates were also giving interviews. Ben and Cal both tapped Ryan in the arm when he passed by. I stood off to the side while Ryan posed and spoke to reporters; he appeared to be in his uncomfortable business mode again. I didn’t know whether to be proud or concerned for him.
“You look gorgeous!” Kelly whispered in my ear. I turned around to see her standing behind me.
“Oh, Kelly!” I hugged her, relieved that I wasn’t standing alone anymore. “You look fabulous too!”
Suzanne’s limo pulled up to the curb and she was immediately escorted to the carpet where Ryan and the guys were standing. She didn’t hesitate stepping over to Ryan’s side.
“I’ll see you inside.” Kelly patted my arm as Cal whisked her away. I watched as they both posed as a couple for the paparazzi.
I stood there by myself again, placed off to the side and out of the way by one of Ryan’s handlers. They had me hiding inconspicuously next to some topiary in the dark, where I could feel like an idiot privately in my three thousand-dollar outfit. I definitely felt out of place.
“Good evening, Taryn,” David greeted me in the shadows.
I was momentarily stunned by his sudden friendliness. He was a lot more standoffish towards me yesterday. His wandering eyes glanced over my body and his creepy demeanor sent a twinge of revulsion through me.
“Good evening, David,” I said politely, even though his eyes were stuck at viewing my cleavage.
“So… you’re the one giving Ryan bad career advice,” David surmised, laughing every so slightly. “I was wondering who was filling his head with nonsense. Now I know.”
I glared at him; his moment of niceties was blatantly over.
“Well, we obviously have a difference of opinion of what’s considered bad career advice, David.”
“You could say that again!” he said arrogantly. “And you certainly are imposing your opinions freely on him.”
Great, another confrontation. Apparently he was still bitter that I infringed on his territory.
“He and I talked about the scripts, that’s all. Ryan is a grown man. He makes his own career decisions,” I retorted. I was watching Ryan from a distance while he spoke to a reporter.
“He used to make his own decisions, but that doesn't seem to be the case lately,” David stated curtly. “Oh, by the way, that was a real risky move you made at dinner the other night - speaking to Follweiler like that! Perhaps you should consider leaving the career management activities to those of us whose job it is to do so. Okay, sweetheart? Your job is to just look pretty on his arm.”
What nerve this jerk had! I didn't know if I wanted to slap him in the face or knee him in the crotch. Instead, words flew out of my mouth.
“You know, David, you are so far away from having a clue that I’m surprised there’s even air for you to breath there. You did nothing to prep Ryan for that meeting and then you left him hang out to dry when Jonathan asked him about seeing his film!
“The way I see it, I kept that meeting going and saved Ryan from being embarrassed and humiliated. So instead of bashing me, perhaps you should consider thanking me.”
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Ryan was walking towards us.
“We can go in now, Honey. I’m done out here.” Ryan took me by the waist.
“David, I’ve made my final decision. No aliens,” Ryan said firmly. “I’ve read both scripts and I agree with Taryn. She’s got great instincts and she feels Isletin is going to be a hit and a high point in my career. I agree with her. You’re my manager. I want you to push Aaron for the sleeper.”
“Ryan! There’s no money there!” David defended. “You’re making a huge mistake!”
“Then that’s my problem. By next fall I’ll have over fifty million in the bank. Maybe I’ll get involved in producing the film, or I can retire and grow grapes, but it will be my decision. Please, just do what I ask.”
“Ryan!” David tried to stop him. “You’re going to take advice from your bartender girlfriend?”
