Image control?

I glanced back at one of the printouts.

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand. What does our engagement have to do with any of that?”

Marla’s head jerked in my direction. “Well I’m sure you’ll start to care when he’s offered subpar roles and the money isn’t there anymore.”

I could have done without her “isn’t it obvious or are you too stupid to realize it” glare.

Ryan’s fist hit the table. “Do not talk to her like that,” he warned, pointing his finger at her.

“Marla—” David said, attempting to quell her temper.

“I couldn’t care less how much money he has. Despite what you think, my feelings for him aren’t tied to his fame or his fortune. Are you trying to say he won’t get offers and people will stop coming to see his movies because we’re engaged?”

I noticed Ryan’s lips twitch with that.

“No, no.” David tried to dismiss my assumption, halting me with his hand. “Aaron and I have been—”

Marla interrupted. “Ryan’s career is only beginning to blossom. His future prospects all stem from the decisions he makes now.

Do you want to see him fail?” My spine stiffened further. “Of course not!”

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan groaned, but she ignored him.

Marla continued to address me. “Then you’ll both need to accept that the public’s perception of his status and behavior greatly affects his marketing viability. He needs to remain low-key and professional at all times—without scandal or opportunistic individuals taking advantage of his good fortune.”

Her last words felt like a slap. “Are you insinuating that I’m one of them?”

Ryan sat up, arching into defense mode, but stopped when it looked like Marla was going to apologize. For a moment, I thought she would attempt to be civil.

“In this business, negative impressions can linger for years, in some cases having irreparable consequences on an actor’s career.

Ryan is here to do press for his movie, not to be inundated with questions about his ridiculous display. His moment of indiscretion is now hugely overshadowing the premiere of Reparation. You forget that he is being paid by very influential people to promote the movie, not to explain why he climbed on a table,” Marla informed us harshly.

She turned her glare on Ryan. “How many times do I have to remind you that you do not want this kind of press?”

“I know what my responsibilities are!” Ry-an snapped angrily.

“Then you should have controlled yourself and realized that standing up on a table in the middle of a crowded bar was a bad idea!” she zinged him back.

Ryan stretched his fingers as if he desired to choke her. “Do you really want to keep pushing me on this? I get the point.”

“Well, someone’s got to keep on top of your behav—”

Gaaaaahhhh!

“Enough! Just stop it!” I broke in. “I don’t care who you are. You will not take one of our most precious memories and turn it into something he should feel guilty for doing. I will not allow it.” I stood behind Ryan and rested my hands on his shoulders, actually fearing that if I let go of him, table, chairs, and bodies would go flying. “So he stood on a table and asked me to marry him. So what? You’re making it sound like he was high on dope and clubbing baby seals when he did it. Surely this, this disclosure, can be turned into something positive.”

Marla stared blankly at me, apparently surprised that I had the guts to speak again.

She turned her attention back on him.

“Ryan, perhaps it would be better if David and I continued this meeting with you privately to discuss our action plan. I’m sure your Taryn has other things she needs to attend to.”

“Excuse me?” I glared at her, completely astonished that she would even think to remove me from the discussion. This bitch had some nerve.

Ryan pulled out the chair next to him, startling me. “I don’t think so. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of my fiancée, too. This affects her life just as much as it does mine.

I’ll decide what doesn’t require her involvement, not you. Got it?” Marla stared at him blankly.

“Got it?” he said with punctuated force.

Marla breathed out her unhappiness and righted herself in the chair. “Of course.”

Relieved, I took a seat and patted his thigh in private to thank him. He covered my diamond-clad hand with his own.

“Now then . . . we will inform all of the in-terviewers at the press junket today that questions about your personal life are off-limits. Someone will be present at all times to ensure that those questions are averted so as not to detract from the Reparation and future Seaside premieres. We’ll put the same stipulations on all of your appearances throughout the junket as well.” Ryan looked like someone had strapped him in the electric chair and stood by with a heartless hand itching to flip the switch. I could tell his thoughts were mulling over the best ways to escape. I rubbed my fingertips over his back, trying to ease his tension.

“You will have to handle yourself appropriately during your appearance on Jimmy Collins tonight and with Nigel Allen on Night Life tomorrow. You should know by now how to avoid those types of questions,” Marla said. “But just in case I’m wrong . . .” While she was on her soapbox, I picked up one of the tabloid magazine prints, eyeing the supposedly scandalous front cover.

“We’ll handle your discussion topics at the pre-interviews . . . ,” she continued to drone.

I tried to listen intently to her aggravating words, but my mind was suddenly very preoccupied, thinking of ways to choke the ever-loving shit out of her so she’d shut the hell up.

To me, the tabloid cover didn’t look bad at all, compared to some of the other reports that were previously printed about Ryan and me. Even the story byline wasn’t too hateful.

Eyewitnesses had reported that “Ryan sang a beautiful song while playing his guitar before professing his love for local business owner Taryn Mitchell.” What’s so scandalous about that?

It was times like these I wished some of those inhuman special powers portrayed on film could actually happen, like being able to cut off the flow of oxygen to her lungs with my mind, or hurling her across the room just by imagining it. Evil thoughts, I know, but this woman brought them out in me. Especially when she was smacking her lips together, lecturing my future husband on the proper behaviors of A-list celebrities and dic-tating the cryptic responses he should give today to avoid talking about our relationship in public.