Absolutely Famous (Famous Series)

by Heather Leigh

  Rhys

  I type out a rapid response.

  Me

  A few seconds later I get another text.

  Rhys

  Well, that makes sense I guess.

  Me

  Rhys

  I call Allie and leave her a message explaining what’s going on and ask her to call her parents. Then I call my mom and leave her a similar message. Everyone’s out for the day and not picking up their phones. I’m grateful. I don’t feel like talking about it anymore.

  I go into the bedroom and find Drew lying on the bed with his eyes closed. I kick off my shoes and lie down next to him, careful not to bump his hand which he has resting on his abdomen. I curl up into his side and rest my head in the crook of his good arm. He curls his arm around me and gently strokes me with his fingertips, from my shoulder to my elbow and back.

  I decide that I’m done discussing this crap for now. I’ll wait until the lawyers and investigators make me rehash it. Instead, I try changing the subject.

  “So, tell me about this charity ball that you do every year.”

  “What do you want to know?” At least he’s talking again.

  “What’s it like? Who goes to it? How much money do you raise?”

  He chuckles, “You don’t want to know much now do you? Well, I don’t plan any of it. Usually, the Grady’s handle it with the event planner on their staff. It’s been on the Fourth for as long as we’ve done it. That’s Mike and Matt’s birthday.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. We invite all of the big players in Boston, the mayor, hospital presidents, the governor, different athletes …”

  “Oh, will some of the Red Sox be there?”

  “Most of the time only the retired players make it, since there’s always a ballgame on the Fourth and it’s usually a night game. This year it falls on a Friday which has an afternoon game, so some of the current players will probably come.”

  “Wasn’t Trevor Caldwell on the Red Sox and is now retired, therefore not playing on the Fourth?” I ask, grinning up at Drew.

  “Why yes Miss Tannen, I believe he is,” he responds with a huge smile. Thank God, Drew is back.

  “So I might get to meet the famous Trevor Caldwell? Catcher extraordinaire and keeper of disgusting hats? The inspiration for our alias wherever we go?”

  Drew shoots me a fake dirty look. “Watch what you say about my guy.”

  “Oh, I’m completely serious.” I put a dreamy look on my face and bat my eyelashes ridiculously. “Maybe he’ll give me a nasty-ass hat and then we can go outside and practice ‘catching’ together.”

  Drew sits up and stares at me, his eyes darkening. “You’re not going ‘catching’ with anyone but me,” he growls. Leaning over, he kisses me. “Now get me some food woman, I’m hungry!”

  I laugh and get out of bed. “Good thing I know how to order up some takeout like nobody’s business.” I go to grab the menu to that Indian restaurant.

  “Hey Syd?” Drew calls out as I reach the bedroom door.

  I turn to look at him. “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  I just smile, not needing words to convey how I feel about him.

  Chapte r 27

  “We’re done!” I tell the workers after the last bottle of alcohol is put in its place behind the bar.

  The crowd of thirty or so employees, from contractors to wait staff to cleaning crew all cheer as Violet Thompson uncorks a bottle of champagne and starts to fill the flutes that line the long, curved bar. Three bartenders open more bottles and soon everyone is toasting the completion of Vertigo.

  Oliver stands on the first stair leading up to the VIP section and clinks his glass with a small screwdriver from his tool belt. Once everyone is quiet and focused on him, he speaks. “Ladies, gentlemen, I’d like to thank everyone for their hard work and dedication to completing this project not only on time, but a week ahead of schedule!”

  He pauses as the group sends out another round of cheers.

  “I’d especially like to thank Miss Sydney Tannen,” he raises his glass toward me, making my neck and cheeks heat up when all of the eyes in the room turn my way. “For her dedication to our hotel, even in the face of extraordinary and ummm, shall we say interesting personal issues. You still showed up every day ready to work your arse off to get this nightclub done. So I’d like to propose a toast, to Vertigo, may your clientele be as fascinating as those of us who built you! Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  “To Vertigo!”

  I sip my champagne, waiting for Oliver to head my way. It doesn’t take long. He ends his conversation with the contracting foreman and walks over to where I’m standing by the bar.

  “We did brilliant,” he says as he approaches, a giant smile on his handsome face.

  “Yes, yes we did,” I reply, holding up my glass. He gently clinks his glass to mine and we sip our champagne.

  Oliver’s animosity towards Drew disappeared when the news came out about the studio collaborating with Kiera Radcliff to tape our conversations and break us up. He actually apologized for his behavior and realized that he shouldn’t have believed what he read about us.

  Not wanting work to be as awkward as it had been, I forgave him and pushed to move past the strained atmosphere that had been surrounding us whenever we had to work side-by-side.

  “I’m sad to be leaving London though. It’s so beautiful here. And despite what may have happened, I still have a lot more anonymity here than I have back home,” I tell Oliver.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay for the opening night party, Sydney? It would be a shame for you to miss it after all of the hard work you put into the club.”

  I twist my lips into a pout. “I didn’t have such a great time at the launch party in New York.” I recall the disastrous night almost four months ago and shudder. “I think that nightclub parties are not really my scene. Plus, I have to be in Boston in five days to go to a charity fundraiser.”

  “Nightclub parties aren’t your scene?” Oliver says laughing. “Then why have all the red-tops been spotting you and your friends at every hot club in the city over the last two months?”

  “Oliver, I didn’t think you were reading those gossip rags anymore.”

  He actually blushes when I bust him. “Well, right, you got me, though I don’t read the tabloids. Only the section of the newspaper on London life. They profile the local hotspots. I may have noticed your name a time or two… or five.”

  “Well, what can I say? Maybe I am a party girl after all.” I laugh and finish my champagne. Placing my glass on the bar, I turn back to Oliver. “I have to go finish packing, you be good now.”

  “Right, not a problem then since I’m always good.” His steel gray eyes dance with humor and he leans in, giving me a hug.

  I return the brief hug, then step back and smile. “Bye Oliver.”

  “Bye Sydney.”

  I say goodbye to Violet and the other workers, giving out a few hugs and cheek kisses, then meet Evan at the stairway and head back to the room.

  “Done?” Drew asks as I come into the kitchen.

  “Yes, finally.” I walk over to Drew and let him wrap his arms around me. “I’m ready to go home. Eight weeks in London after a month in Vancouver … I miss my bed.”

  “My bed is wherever you are,” Drew says sweetly, kissing me gently and threading his hands up into my hair. “We can’t go home yet, we still have to see my old home first.”

  “I can’t wait, babe. Are you excited to go back to Boston?”

  “More than you know, Syd. More than you know.”

  After a quick snack I throw the rest of my stuff into my suitcase and snap it shut. I already mailed two huge boxes home. Richard or one of the concierges will put it in my loft for me so it will be there when I
get back.

  Drew comes into the bedroom and grabs the handle of my suitcase, tugging it off of the bed. “What the heck did you pack? Rocks?” His grin gives me a perfect view of his gorgeous dimple.

  “Yes Drew, rocks. British rocks. Lots of them. I hope that’s okay with you? Should you be lifting that with your hand? You’ve only been out of the splint for two weeks.”

  “It’s fine Syd, feels great.” He brings the suitcase over to the foyer while I walk to the living area. The tabloids were brutal when they saw that Drew broke his hand, calling him the “Hollywood Heavyweight”.

  So stupid.

  His mom called and gave him hell for punching a wall, telling him he should be able to express himself in a more mature fashion. Not likely.

  I stand in front of the floor to ceiling windows and look out at the Thames River, winding through the heart of London and right past the Warren Hotel. The murky water reminds me of the Hudson back home, snaking past the piers and out to the Atlantic. Neither river the most beautiful in the world, but both flowing past two of the greatest cities ever built.

  “You okay?” Drew asks from behind me.

  I turn to face my future. “Yes, let’s get out of here.”

  The Delta VIP lounge at Heathrow Airport is bright and open, everything you don’t want when you’re traveling with an internationally known movie star and three giant bodyguards covered in neck and arm tattoos. Drew and I grab a couch by the windows and I try to ignore Steve and Sal, who sit in a couch directly opposite us, and Evan, who sits on the couch behind us with his back to ours.

  Exhausted, I curl up into a ball and snuggle into Drew’s side, not really caring who sees me at this point. I’m not doing anything wrong and New Sydney doesn’t give a shit if someone feels that taking a picture of us is a good use of their time.

  Drew has his earphones on and is watching an early cut of Mind of the Enemy, the movie he filmed in California after we got back from St. Bart’s.

  Drew makes it hard for me to get comfortable, since he cringes every time he sees himself on the screen. I have no idea why he doesn’t like watching his films, he’s one of the best actors I’ve ever seen, and I was raised by two of the best. My mom is a lot like Drew. She refuses to watch any of her own films, sneaking out of every single premiere she’s ever gone to before the opening credits even finish.

  He turns off his iPad and takes the headphones off, placing everything in his carryon bag.

  “Tired?” I ask, yawning as I say it.

  “Nah, it’s only seven, Syd. I’m just sick of watching my ugly mug.”

  “You really hate watching yourself, don’t you?”

  “Can’t stand it. It’s like watching the biggest phony I’ve ever known.”

  “Anyone who knows you, and I mean really knows you Drew Forrester, not Andrew Forrester, knows that you are far from a phony. Personally, I think you’re the most real and honest person I’ve ever known. That’s one of the things I love the most about you.”

  He smiles and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “My honesty? That’s what you love the most?” His suggestively brushes the knuckles on my hand across the front of his jeans.

  I pull my hand back and roll my eyes at him. “You’re terrible!” I laugh.

  “I know,” he says grinning.

  Chapter 28

  “Syd, we’re here,” Drew whispers in my ear. “You have to sit up to land.”

  I open my eyes and jerk awake, clutching my ribs where the new scar cuts across my side. “Shit,” I murmur under my breath.

  “Are you okay?” He wipes my forehead. “You’re sweating. What’s going on babe?”

  I move the bed back into the chair position and run my fingers over the scar again. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  Drew mashes his lips together at my dismissal and sees my hand on my side. “You were dreaming of, you know …”

  He always knows what I’m thinking. It’s infuriating yet awe-inspiring at the same time. “The bed,” I whisper. “It’s the shape of this bed. When I woke up I thought I was back in that awful hospital bed.” I buckle my seatbelt around my waist.

  A dark look crosses Drew’s face. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again Sydney. Not as long as I live.”

  I glance around the cabin and see our constant companions in three of the other first class seats. “I know you won’t.”

  Still reeling from the unpleasant memories of the most recent attack I involuntarily rub my hand up and down the long pink scar on my right arm where it was broken by a car crash with a paparazzo a dozen years ago. The permanent marks on my body from run-ins with being famous are starting to add up and I don’t want any more if I can help it.

  The plane lands at Logan Airport and we pull into our gate. Drew yanks his nasty old hat from his bag and fits it down low over his brow.

  “Nice,” I say under my breath. I see his shoulders shake in front of me as he laughs.

  He grabs my hand as we leave the gate and ducks his head low. There are so many Red Sox hats around here that I’d be surprised if anyone even notices him. Of course, neither of us stopped to consider that people would notice me, but they most certainly do. I hear our names being murmured over and over as we hustle through the terminal toward customs.

  Crap, I didn’t bring a hat.

  Steve called ahead and asked the stewardess to have an airport agent meet us at customs and take us through a private line. Even with our Navy SEALS, there’s no way we could have fended off hundreds of fans and amateur photographers armed with camera phones while waiting in line for an hour.

  We make it through customs in record time and exit into baggage claim. Unfortunately, paparazzi are allowed in this section of the airport and somehow they knew we were coming. We step into the baggage area and are assaulted by their questions which continue non-stop as we try to cross the huge room.

  “Are you suing Kiera Radcliff?”

  “Why are you in Boston?”

  “Andrew, did you dump Kiera when you found out what she did?”

  “Sydney, is it true you’re expecting?”

  I blanch at the last question, thinking about the miscarriage I suffered just a few short months ago. Pissed off by their rude questions, Drew scowls and looks back to see if I’m okay. One of the paparazzi takes advantage of Drew’s turned head and jumps in front of him to get a better shot of both of us. Unfortunately, Drew keeps walking forward even when he’s looking back at me and he crashes into the guy’s massive camera which swings to the side and misses smacking me in the face by a fraction of an inch.

  “Back the fuck off!” Drew roars, his anger echoing across baggage claim. The flashes of the cameras go berserk when he starts freaking out, each one hoping to capture his rage and sell it for a buck. “She’s been through enough!” he yells. His face is red with fury.

  His outburst causes the mob to pack more densely around us in their attempts to get a shot of his one of his infamous tantrums. It forces us to walk slower, enabling them to move closer to us than is comfortable. Steve throws elbows from the front, pushing through to the exit that I think is only a few short yards away, but I can’t see because of the constant flashbulbs going off and blinding me.

  I’m almost to the door when a photographer sticks his foot out and trips me, either hoping to get a shot of me falling on my ass or hoping to piss Drew off into going nuclear. I yank on Drew’s hand as I start to fall, pulling him back toward me. Evan leaps in and kicks the paparazzo’s leg and catches me under my arms before I hit the ground.

  “Don’t evah fuckin touch her!” Drew snaps at the man, his free hand clenched in front of him as he wars with his desire to punch the guy. “Fuck this,” he growls. He wraps his arm around my waist and holds me tight against his hard body, pretty much carrying me. “Evan, on her other side,” he barks at the big man. Steve leads us out the door and Sal follows behind, the four men surrounding me completely. Me, the weak link in this giant undulating clusterfuck.
/>   We burst through the doors and out onto the sidewalk where tired passengers are waiting for ground transportation. Confused bystanders and taxi drivers stare open-mouthed as the mass of paparazzi pours out of the building and resumes their inane questioning, flashbulbs going off non-stop.

  Steve opens the door to Drew’s new SUV and Drew lifts me up and tosses me in, eager to get out of here. He pulls himself in behind me and throws his body down on the very back seat next to me, hostility surrounding him in a swirling cloud so thick I can practically see it. Evan hauls his huge bulk in next and sits in the row in front of us. Steve joins Bruce in the front and we depart, leaving the hoard of photographers standing on the curb at Logan Airport.

  “What about Sal?” I ask, attempting to slow my rapid breathing.

  “He’s getting our stuff,” Drew snaps. “He’ll take a cab to the hotel. Can’t even get our own motherfucking bags.” He closes his eyes and sits back, letting his head tilt up at the ceiling. I see his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscles twitching under his light stubble.

  Reaching out, I gently stroke his rough skin. “Hey,” I whisper. He turns his head toward me and opens his brilliant green eyes. “It’s okay.” I try to reassure him, not missing the pain behind his anger. “We have to get used to it. It’s going to be like this, probably for a while.” I continue running my hand up and down his cheek, the contact with his skin just as much for me as it is for him.

  Drew places his hand over mine, stilling it on his face. He brings it to his mouth and kisses my palm, his hot breath sending a jolt of desire through me. “When did you get so strong?” he murmurs into my hand as he drags his tongue across my wrist, forcing me to stifle a moan.

  I swallow. “Maybe I’ve always been strong and didn’t know it, but I think that it’s because you make me feel safe and loved, and that gives me the strength to handle anything.”