“Well then I guess there’s nothing else to discuss. Unless you’re ready to tell me what the phone call was about.”
Drew runs his hands down his face in exasperation. “Sydney, please stop asking. It’s a public relations and a legal issue. Rhys and Sam are working on it. It’s nothing you need to be involved in.”
“Are you keeping it from me because I don’t need to know or because you think it will send me into a panic?” I lean back on my elbows and watch his face carefully for any reaction.
Of course, being an actor, a really good one, means that Drew can hide his feelings from me any time he chooses.
“Does it matter?” he asks with a blank look, the actor’s mask.
“It does to me.”
His silence says volumes. He doesn’t want to freak me out and cause a catatonic tailspin like the one in the car after the death threat. So it is important, and it is something I should know, he just doesn’t want to cause me distress.
At least now I know that I’m doing the right thing by keeping Adam from him. It would only cause him extreme emotional distress and I should follow his lead and protect him from it even though it’s not necessarily the right thing to do.
“Alright, if that’s how you think it should be,” I say quietly. “I’m going to go clean up.” I stand and head into the bathroom, suddenly and disappointingly sober from our discussion, to wash up before dinner.
I take a quick shower and put on my comfy yoga pants and a soft T-shirt and throw my hair in a ponytail. The entire time, I’m praying that I can just get through the next eight days without breaking down and telling him about Adam Reynolds while he’s halfway across the globe. At least the alcohol made me forget about that for a few hours. I promise myself that I’ll tell Drew the second he gets back from the press tour and that waiting is in his best interest.
For about the millionth time in my life, I stare in the mirror and wish I had normal twenty-four year-old problems; worrying about what to wear, paying bills, dating, and other random stuff. Complications with stalkers, paparazzi, death threats, rock stars, and a frequently angry “Sexiest Man Alive” are beyond comprehension for most people and they weigh down on me like a ton of bricks at times.
I shake off my dark thoughts and bound down the stairs, determined to make Drew’s last night in New York relaxing and stress-free. When I hit the last stair I see that he had the same idea as me. The kitchen table is set for two and soft music plays in the background.
“Hungry Syd? I made us a shrimp and edamame stir fry.” Drew places two bowls on the table and looks up, unsure if he’s going to get pissed off Sydney or loving Sydney.
My heart melts at the sight. He’s trying to make things right with me. I’m still not happy that he won’t tell me why he’s so upset, but this peace offering is so sweet that I’m not going to refuse him.
“Yes, starving,” I admit, grinning as I enter the kitchen.
“I didn’t know if you’d want wine, so I got ice water to start with.” He grabs our glasses and puts them next to the bowls.
“No, I don’t want any right now. If you want some feel free.” He declines and pulls out a chair for me.
Instead of sitting, I circle the table and slide my arms around Drew’s waist, resting my cheek against his warm chest. He lets go of the chair and wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight. Closing my eyes, I listen to the steady beating of his heart and the soft sounds of his breathing. I love him so much that it hurts.
“I’m sorry I was short with you,” I say softly into his shirt.
Drew presses his lips to the top of my head and runs his hands up my back, cupping them around my neck gently. “Don’t think about it Sydney. We’re both under a lot of stress and say things we may not mean. I just want to get the tour over with and get back to you, to some sort of normalcy whatever that is.”
I look up at his handsome face, more relaxed than it’s been since he’s been home. “I want you home too. Let’s not talk about it, okay?”
He smiles down at me. “Sounds good. Let’s eat.”
The stir fry is delicious and it briefly crosses my mind that I should take some cooking lessons to surprise Drew. I would love to see his face as he eats something that I’ve prepared for him. Something that wasn’t burned or inedible like it usually is when I’m unleashed in a kitchen.
Drew discusses the grueling schedule that the cast has over the next week, telling me about how different the press is in each country and what the fans are like. I try to describe the penthouse and why it’s my dream job, leaving out only the identity of the owner.
He’s so thrilled that this project has me so animated and excited that I feel like shit for deceiving him. Then I remember that he believes it’s better to leave out details that may cause stress, so I force back the negative feelings and enjoy our evening.
After dinner we end up on the roof of Drew’s brownstone, someplace I’ve only been once or twice before. There’s a seating area with a fire pit, an outdoor kitchen and enough greenery and small trees to block nosy neighbors from seeing us. I relax into Drew’s chest as we lie on one of the couches and pretend we’re back in seclusion on St. Bart’s instead of surrounded by millions of other people.
Later in the evening, he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me down to his bedroom where he makes slow, heartfelt love to me until we both fall asleep.
CHAPTER 23
I wake up to the sun shining through the open curtains in Drew’s bedroom, watching it cast a soft pattern across the floor. Turning over, I see that Drew is already gone. His flight left early this morning for London, the first stop on the international press tour for Mind of the Enemy.
Propping up on my elbow, I see a small slip of paper on Drew’s side of the bed. I reach over and pick it up, reading the scribbled handwritten note that he left for me.
Syd,
I’ll miss you more than you know. Every minute I’m gone, I’ll be thinking of you.
Xoxo
Drew
I clutch the note to my chest, smiling at the thought of Drew searching for a pen and paper in the dark. My fiancé can be so romantic sometimes.
Lost in thought, I stare out the window at the towering Empire State Building, gray and intimidating in the September sun. I used to think Drew was the Empire State Building, standing tall and proud in the middle of his adoring fans. Now, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s me, jutting out for everyone to point and stare at, never able to hide or get a moment alone.
Shrugging off my dark thoughts, I get out of bed. I have a lot to do today if I’m going to meet with Adam before Drew gets back. I want the plan in place as quickly as possible. It’s going to be a long remodel if he wants every single room done.
I get dressed and head down to the kitchen to see if Steve or Evan is up yet. I want to go to the Village Coffee Bar this morning to do some work and need one of them to walk with me or call Bruce. I clench my teeth as I approach Steve, who is sitting at the island with a cup of coffee.
I hate this babysitting shit. “Steve?”
“Good morning, Miss Tannen.”
“I want to go to the coffee shop this morning, to work. I’ll be there for a couple of hours.” He stares at me expectantly, waiting for more information. “Someone will have to go with me, but I’d like to walk so we won’t need Bruce.”
God this is awkward!
“Alright, I’m ready when you are.” He gets up and places his cup in the sink.
Huffing, I watch him carefully. If two extra men are going to be living here, I need to get a more permanent housekeeper than Drew’s who only comes once a week. There’s no way I’m cleaning up after them.
“Okay, I just need to get my things,” I tell Steve.
I go up one flight to Drew’s office, where my laptop and rolling case are being kept for the time being. Not wanting to haul the entire case with me, I pull out the books that I need and shove them into my messenger bag with my computer. My mai
l scatters everywhere when I yank the sample books from the case.
Crap! I forgot I put that stack in there. I gather it up and put it on Drew’s desk to look at later. Certainly there are some bills that require paying. Drew keeps bugging me to have his accountant manage all of my payments, but I haven’t had a chance to meet with him to deal with any of that stuff.
Steve pushes the curtain back with his finger and peeks out the front window. Miraculously, there’s not a single paparazzo in front of the brownstone. They must know Drew is overseas and don’t realize that I’m staying here. Elated, I follow Steve outside and walk down the street to 7th Ave. so we can turn toward the West Village.
Twenty minutes later, I order my large Kona and a cappuccino croissant and take a seat at my old table. It seems like years since I’ve been here like this, when in reality it’s only been about eight months. Amazing how so much can change in such a short time.
Steve sits on the opposite side of the table, watching the front door like a hawk. If nothing else, his scary expression and giant muscles keep people from attempting to speak to me. As hard as I try, I can still hear whispers and see the camera phones being aimed by people who recognize me.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
“Hi, you’re Sydney Tannen right?” a woman’s voice asks, breaking my concentration.
I look up and see a nice-looking woman in casual clothing standing next to my chair. Steve is watching, but hasn’t moved or said anything… yet.
Deciding that this person seems harmless, I answer her. “Yes, I am.”
“You can’t have them both you know,” she growls, her demeanor suddenly becoming defensive.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I turn back to my work in the hopes that she’ll take the hint and leave.
“You know exactly what I mean,” she hisses. “Stringing along Adam Reynolds and Andrew Forrester. Pick one and stop being such a manipulative bitch! You ruined Kiera Williams in your attempt to get them both!”
I blanch at her words and glance over at Steve. He’s getting up and moving toward the woman slowly, not wanting to startle her into doing something impulsive.
“You shouldn’t discuss things that you know nothing about,” I calmly tell her. I’ve decided to stand up for myself instead of shrinking back and letting her spout off nonsense. She’s one of those crazy Kiera fans, defending her crap no matter what the evidence says.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re nothing but a cheap whore!” I watch in horror as the woman brings her arm back to slap me. Steve appears next to her and grabs her wrist in his giant hand before she gets a chance.
“Leave now or I’m calling the police.” His voice is so menacing that most grown men would shrink back in fear. The woman scowls at him, unintimidated by Steve’s presence.
Fortunately, she knows that she can’t get to me with him here and she’s at least smart enough to not want to join Kiera in jail. Steve escorts the woman to the door and deposits her on the sidewalk, blocking the entrance until she leaves the area.
Great, so now I can’t even go to my favorite place and do my work.
Angry, I stuff my things back into my bag and throw it over my shoulder, very aware that every set of eyes in the café are directed at me and the scene that just played out.
Breathing deeply to calm down, I face Steve, “I’m ready to go now.” I refuse to make eye contact with anyone else for fear of letting a tear slip out in front of all of these strangers.
He gives me a rare, compassionate look and waits for me to leave so he can follow me back to Drew’s brownstone. When we get back I go straight to Drew’s office and shut the door. I refuse to let that woman get to me by crying. Sucking in a cleansing breath I pull out my laptop and set it up on Drew’s desk. I’m able to get a good three or four more hours of work in before my eyes start hurting and I need a break.
I want to call Leah to get lunch, but the thought of anyone else recognizing me makes my stomach hurt. I can see why Ryker doesn’t want to go anywhere anymore. Although Leah did say that he took my advice and got an ugly hat and wig to wear in public. She told me that it makes a huge difference and they can actually go places unnoticed.
I sigh and rub my temples. I could call Adam and find out some more specifics from him. I don’t even know which rooms he wants redone. Annoyed, I grab the stack of mail that I brought from my loft and flick through it. A small square of paper falls out and flutters to the floor. I snatch it up and flip it over to see what it is.
My heart stops dead when I recognize what I’m holding. A giant lump that I can’t swallow forms in my throat as I stare at the black and white ultrasound picture given to me by Dr. Abasi all those months ago. The tiny arrow points at a gray blob with the words ‘baby’ written next to it.
Gripped with panic, I open the calendar app on my MacBook and scroll through it. My fingers freeze on October 1st. The baby’s due date. It’s only a week and a half away from today. How could I have forgotten?
Because, if there were an Olympic event in denial, I would win the gold medal.
Clutching the photo, I run upstairs and slam the bedroom door shut. I throw myself on the bed and let the wracking sobs take over my body. The pain from the excruciating loss that I’ve pushed away and pretended didn’t happen for so many months, all comes rushing up at once. It hurts so much that I feel like I’ll never be able to move past it and breathe without the crushing pressure on my lungs. I have no idea how long I cry, certainly until every tear I could possibly have has been shed and dried on the comforter.
Wiping my puffy eyes with the back of my hand, I think about Drew. Does he remember our baby’s due date? Is he as upset as me? I’ve tried so hard to forget, to not think about or discuss the miscarriage that I have no idea what Drew thinks about it. After it happened, I mourned until I was forced to live again. I thought I had moved on, but can you ever really move on from something like that?
I’m losing it, I know it.
Minutes, hours, days later… I’ve lost track of time, there’s a gentle knock on my door.
“Miss Tannen?” Evan’s concerned voice floats through the thick wood panel.
I lie face down on the bed, unable to form the words needed to speak.
“She’s not answering, should I go in?” I hear him ask someone.
I vaguely register that he’s on the phone with Drew. I left my phone down in the office so he must have called Evan instead. Not wanting him to worry while he’s out of the country, I drag myself from the bed and open the door a crack.
“Hi Evan, sorry I must have fallen asleep.” The expression on Evan’s face lets me know that I must look as hideous as I feel right now. “Is it Drew?” I gesture to the phone he’s holding up to his ear.
“Uh, yes,” he manages to say, his eyes wide as he takes in my appearance.
I take the phone out of his hand before he can tell Drew what a mess I am. “Thank you Evan, I’ll get it back to you when I’m done.” I close the door in his stunned face.
“Syd?” Drew’s agitation is clear.
“Yes, I’m here.” I try to keep my answers short so he won’t hear the distress in my voice.
“What’s going on there? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. You didn’t answer your phone and we were supposed to Skype today.” I can tell that he’s trying not to yell or freak out on me.
“Sorry, I fell asleep on the bed. I was doing work in the office and got a headache,” I lie.
“Evan said a crazy fan tried to hit you, is that true?” Now he sounds angry. I so do not need this right now.
“Yes, but Steve got rid of her. It was nothing, really.”
“No one should be touching you Sydney. Fuck! It pisses me off so much,” he growls into the phone.
I can’t let him think he needs to leave the press tour.
“I know babe, but it really wasn’t a big deal. I promise. How’s London?”
He huffs i
nto the phone before answering me. “Rainy.” His voice sounds miserable. “We got to the hotel an hour ago. It’s late here, so all of the interviews are tomorrow, then we leave for Paris tomorrow afternoon.”
“Okay.” I keep it short, not in the mood to make conversation. I know if I break down and tell him I need him here, he’d drop everything and come home. I love that about him, but he has to keep his commitments.
“I can’t stand being away from you Syd, it’s going to kill me.”
“Me too,” I tell him, choking back the heaviness in my heart. Please don’t let me cry right now.
“I’ll call you when we’re done tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you then.”
“Love you Syd.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and put Evan’s phone down. At least I managed to keep him from hearing how upset I am. I can only hope that Evan won’t tell him anything.
I go into the bathroom to splash water on my face. The reflection in the mirror makes me gasp. My eyes are so swollen that I can barely see the whites, my cheeks are red and streaked with tears, and my hair is a matted mess. Thank God Drew couldn’t see me. No wonder Evan looked at me strangely, I’ve clearly been crying for hours.
Panic starts to grip me again, the heavy wave threatening to crash and drag me under. Taking deep breaths, I try to steady myself so I won’t succumb to its strength. I flee the bathroom and snatch up Evan’s phone.
Running down the stairs I make my way to the room used for entertaining guests on the third floor. I pass Evan in the hall and hand him his phone, averting my eyes so he won’t notice the onslaught of an anxiety attack.
When I reach the room I head straight for Drew’s liquor cabinet and snatch up a bottle of high-end tequila. It’s in a weird glass bottle with silver metal curled around it. 1800 Colección the label says. Whatever, it’s tequila. That’s all I care about. I slide out the glass stopper and pour a large amount into a lowball. I shoot back half of the clear liquid, surprised at how good it tastes, and then finish the rest.
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