“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?”

“I believe it.”

“Ryan’s not himself anymore. This has pushed him into such a depression; I don’t know what to do. He’s even lost weight. He’s barely eating. All he wants to do is sleep or lie on the sofa. He’s becoming a recluse.”

“Let him have a few days to get it together.

His ego has taken a blow.”

I chewed on my fingernail. “This isn’t just about his ego. He says he’s retiring.”

“What?” Trish shrieked. “No. Bad idea.

Bad. That will kill his career. Comebacks in this business are hard to make. He’s at the top of his game right now. He pulls out and you can kiss his box-office draw goodbye.”

“Trish, the guy had over a thousand photos of us. The cops found soda bottles filled with pee in the neighbor’s yard. He’d been wearing this camo netting stuff to blend in with the damn tree! Who knows how long he’d been up there.”

“Oh, boy. I’ve heard of him. They call him

‘Fast Freddy.’ He freelances for one of the largest celebrity photo agencies in ll.A. He’s the idiot that almost got Bieber into an accident two weeks ago, chasing him down the Santa Monica Freeway for a shot. These guys know no boundaries.”

“They’re like jackals.” I looked at the calendar in my hand, wondering what I could do to get Ryan back into the swing of things.

“Why don’t you two go on vacation? Get out of there for a few days?”

“I’ve suggested it but he doesn’t want to deal with airports or any place that’s public. I told him that hiding is not the answer and that he should show the world he’s fine and doing his thing but it’s like talking to a brick wall. I’ve had reporters and press staked out in my pub since we got back. I have two guys working the door because we’ve been inundated with curious fans. It’s crazy. I need to get him away from here but he refuses to go.” Trish sighed. “I hate to even bring it up, but I heard about Marla’s latest stunt.” I took a deep breath, cringing from just hearing that woman’s name. “I don’t know how she thinks she could get away with overcharging us. I’d like to stick her lawsuit up her ass.”

Pete peered around the office door, waving his cell at me. “Tar, Ryan’s calling for you.”

I quickly ended my call with Trish and tucked my cell in my pocket. Ryan refused to set foot in the bar, saying that it caused too many problems for my business for him to be seen. His fans just didn’t know when to quit. It was getting to be assumed that if I was here then he was, too. There were spot-ters watching out for me now.

Ryan frowned at me when I came through the apartment door. “Why aren’t you answering your cell?”

“I was talking on it.”

“Oh. Who were you talking to?”

“I was dealing with something. Why?” Shoulders that used to stand tall and firm were hunched as if he’d been defeated. He hadn’t shaved in several days, nor had he done anything more than shower and run a hand through his hair. He had on a torn T-shirt and a pair of threadbare cotton shorts, looking more like a homeless person than a multimillionaire celebrity.

He rubbed his eye with his knuckle.

“Nothing. I woke up and didn’t know where you were, that’s all.”

I hated seeing him reduced to this state of despondency. “Are you hungry? You want some lunch?”