This morning’s badgering continued to plague me. “Trish, really, is it that bad that people know about our engagement?”

She paused. “Well . . . it is his personal business that’s out there now.” She moved a little closer. “Did he really stand on a table when he proposed?”

I sheepishly smirked and nodded to confirm.

Trish’s grin widened. “Can I see the ring?” she asked excitedly, requesting my hand. “Wow, it’s gorgeous! So that’s what half a million looks like. I’m so glad he went with William Goldberg. His rings are absolutely breathtaking. I love the huge trillions on the sides.” She laughed lightly while inspecting my ring. “This was definitely, definitely worth the trouble! Flawless . . .”

I didn’t understand; my brain seized when she let it slip how much Ryan spent on my ring. I shook my head, trying to prevent the high-pitched ringing and the urge to pass out from taking over. “Um . . . ahh.

What do you mean? What trouble?”

“Sneaking Ryan around to meet jewelry designers?” she said tentatively. “I spent hours coordinating that. No offense, Taryn, but I was relieved when you couldn’t make it to the Academy Awards. I was freaking out trying to arrange a meeting without you knowing about it.”

My mind traveled back to the end of February, when I was recovering after being hit by a car and missed my first opportunity to be with him at the Oscars. I glanced at my hand, grateful to her in so many ways.

“Well, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all of your hard work. I truly appreciate it.”

Just then something else dawned on me. “Wait . . . if you helped him get my ring then why is Marla so mad? I mean she obviously knew . . .”

Trish looked guilty. “She knew he bought a ring but Marla, being the evil bitch that she is, tried to ta—you know what? It doesn’t matter.”

I should have figured as much. “She tried to talk him out of it,” I muttered, finishing her sentence. “I’m bad for his career.”

Trish looked baffled. “Why would you think that?”

I’m surprised she had to ask. After all, it was her boss that did everything except say those exact words out loud. Marla’s actions and comments certainly got that message across. “What about the fans? Are they going to turn on him like that if he’s not single anymore?”

Trish laughed quietly at my apparently silly question. “His fans are not going to turn on him unless he starts making shitty films. I can’t believe she’s telling him to avoid it with Jimmy Collins tonight, though.

Bad, bad, bad . . . ,” she muttered, shaking her head.

I stared at her, questioning why she felt that way, especially since she was working so hard to impress the evil bitch.

Trish pursed her lips, then smiled at a little black dress. “What do you think of this one for your friend Marie? I think this would look fabulous on her. All of the gowns that we preselected for you are in the dressing area. You’ll have to try them on. And now that you two are officially engaged, we need to get you lined up for all your appearance dresses. First rule of fashion, always know who designed your dress.

It’s the first question anyone asks.”

I barely looked at the dress she held up. “Trish, talk to me. What should he do?”

“Nothing. Everything will go on the account and—”

“No, not about the dresses. The interview tonight. You seem to think he should handle it differently.

Ryan thought she was going to tell him to admit our engagement. If it was up to you, what would you tell him?”

Trish recoiled. “Taryn, I can’t tell you that! Besides, if she ever finds out that I advised you, she’ll fire me on the spot. I can’t.”

I followed her around a circular rack of dresses, searching for a new angle. I wanted to hear her opinion now more than anything. “Okay. Well, what if I hired you to represent me—then would you advise me?”

She turned and looked at me, completely shocked. “You don’t understand. I don’t have any clients—Marla does. I have a tiny shithole apartment that I can barely afford, a crappy car, and college loans I’ll still be paying on when I die an old lady.”

“Trish?” I encouraged. “I swear, no one will ever know. Our secret.”

Trish took a deep breath. “Ahh,” she groaned, glancing around the store. “If she ever finds out that I talked to you, I swear I’m coming to live with you and Ryan when I’m homeless.

“The story is already out there,” she continued, “backed up with picture evidence. All those women, those fans, are clinging to the idea of romance with him and seeing him standing on a table and then down on one knee to propose to you—well that’s romantic as all hell. He needs to remain honest.”

I nodded in agreement.

“But it’s his business. It’s his choice and, well . . . yours, whether you want to keep your private life private or not.”

“Taaaar?” I heard Marie call out my name from the dressing room.

Trish’s panic was evident. “Shit, if Marla finds out I said anything . . .”

“I won’t say anything—I swear—but I wish Ryan would get a second opinion before he goes onstage

tonight. He believes everything that Marla tells him.”

Trish’s eyes flashed to the door when a few new customers walked in. “She already called Jimmy Collins’s producer.”

I thought about Ryan being in front of the cameras tonight delivering canned, lame answers. “If I get him alone, will you talk to him? You could really make a big difference in his career.”

Trish looked shocked. She kept shaking her head. “Taryn, no! I can’t!”

“He’s going to look like an idiot,” I muttered.

“Taryn, did you try on any of your dresses yet?” Ryan’s mother, Ellen, asked.

I motioned my answer; I had yet to even look at them. Ellen held up a midnight blue dress, but I was so preoccupied mentally that I only pretended to admire it.

“Come on.” Ellen pulled me along by the arm, hailing the stylist with her other hand. “We have to get you focused because we’re running short on time.”

I tried to put Marla’s condescending tirade out of my mind and enjoy the rest of the day, but the moment I saw her following Ryan when he came into the dressing room backstage at The Jimmy Collins Show my overwhelming hatred for the woman came rushing back. And despite Ryan’s outward appearance, I knew that just below the surface he was still somewhat forlorn.

I tried to be cheery enough for the both of us; after all, I was excited just being backstage like this, and it helped a lot that his father and Pete were here to lift his spirits. The men were talking about the Stanley Cup playoffs, joking that they were going to relocate their dinner plates by the first television they found in the restaurant tonight. I was thankful that Ryan’s brother kept his sarcastic, hurtful comments to himself this time. Ryan had enough on his mind; he didn’t need to be pushed over the edge tonight.

Marla was hovering around Ryan. She acted like he was her property, and she was on the defensive, blocking anyone who attempted to come close to him. She rudely interrupted the conversation he was trying to have with his family and I felt my anger flare. It was even more infuriating when she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. How petty and childish.

Sadness swirled back in me as she schooled him on the appropriate responses he should give during the interview to deflect any surprise questions Jimmy Collins might spring on him. Marla’s black heart didn’t change colors.

I stewed privately, twisting the diamonds on my finger to keep my hands busy while I paced behind the large black leather couch.

Ryan’s mother looked at me with concern in her eyes. “Taryn, would you like to sit?” Ellen asked, patting the space next to her on the couch. “Please. Come.”

I shook my head slightly, watching my fiancé intently. “That’s okay, Mom,” I said softly. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

Trish slipped into the room through the closed door. Her eyes darted around, quickly assessing the tension in the room. I hoped she could read my body language to see how upset I was. We all heard Marla clearly when she told Ryan to “try not to screw this up.”