He laughed. “Definitely not.” I wanted to say “Pete’s my friend and I own the bar,” but that reminded me of how Thomas used to draw lines between what was mine and what was his, and that was not the way I wanted my relationship with Ryan to be. Ryan was entitled to give me his opinion and I knew he was protecting me the only way he knew how. After so many years of having his own experiences dealing with users and takers, he was leery of everyone.

By the time we landed and drove back to my apartment, I was wiped out and ready for bed. The last thing I needed to see were more boxes blocking my hallway.

“What the hell’s all this?” Ryan groaned.

Mike opened up one box while Ryan opened another. “Looks like more fan mail,” Mike muttered.

Ryan shoved the box flaps back together and grabbed his bags.

I didn’t need sharp hearing to pick up on Ryan telling Mike that he wanted to toss it all before I saw any more threat letters or hate mail. Surely with the volume sitting in boxes, there had to be a few unkind letters in the mix.

Ryan’s phone chimed. He’d been avoiding someone and I was pretty sure I knew who that was. “You can’t keep ignoring him.” He tossed his suitcase on the bed. “Yes, I can.”

“He’s your manager.”

Ryan groaned. “He had no right doing what he did.”

“Then tell him that.”

“I’m still too mad not to fire him.” I shrugged. “Then fire him.” He toed his sneakers off. “I can’t.”

“You’re ready to kick Tammy and her business out of the kitchen downstairs but your manager took it upon himself to order a prenuptial agreement and you don’t think that requires a bitch-slap?” His hands rested on his hips while he stared at me. “You want me to fire him.” I made a pile of dirty laundry, noticing the similarities between the task at hand and this conversation. “Is that a question or a statement?” I was hoping we weren’t headed for an impasse.

Ryan shrugged. “Both.”

Drat.

“He’s not my manager. I don’t have to deal with him as much as you do so it’s not my call to make.”

Ryan set his bag on the bed. “You don’t like him.”

I met his gaze. “Another question or a statement?”

“Statement.”

I resumed sorting laundry. “No, I don’t like him, but you already know this. He’s been underhanded too many times, which makes him untrustworthy in my book. He has a difference of opinion with you of how you should lead your life, what roles you should consider pursuing, and he’s made it blatantly clear that he views me as an intrusion. Then again, I know nothing about hiring a talent manager. I do know that you have to have a certain level of trust in the people you employ. So the question goes back to you. Do you trust him?” He took a deep breath, his shoulders falling in disappointment. I knew this had to be weighing heavily on his mind for awhile and I was glad he was finally addressing it. “I used to.”

Being diplomatic and not wanting his decision to be swayed by my opinion, I asked,

“And why don’t you anymore?”

“Len Bainbridge is my lawyer. David had no right speaking to him on my behalf about a prenuptial agreement, regardless of inquir-ies for photo exclusives.”

I couldn’t agree more. I was glad he drew that conclusion on his own.

The next day I faced another possible impasse.

“Your friend Amy posted about him being at your wedding on Twitter, Tammy.” I tried to be sympathetic and compassionate but direct and to the point as well. I knew she wasn’t the one who leaked the information, but she’d have to deal with the aftermath.

Big, brown eyes that just weren’t getting it gazed blankly back across the table at me.

“So?”

Either I wasn’t explaining myself properly or she was missing the point. I folded my fingers together, trying to keep calm. “So, what that means is on the day you two get married, there is a high probability that your church will be surrounded by a swarm of photographers, press, and fans. Most of the gossip sites have already posted that our wedding date has been leaked, Tammy. They don’t care if it’s your wedding or not. They see a tweet about Ryan and a confirmed wedding and the news channels explode with it.

CV magazine’s website even has a fake wedding invitation posted with the date.” Pete groaned and sat back in his chair, turning an angry glare on his fiancée. I hated seeing them like this, torn up about things they had no control over.