Absolutely Famous (5 page)

Chapter
7

Drew finally has a day off from filming. It’s his first one in over two weeks, so we’ve decided to go out. It took me a while to convince him that I would be
safe, and after a lot of persuading, and some really hot shower sex, he’s taking me out to dinner. A nice dinner, with no disgusting disguises.

Panic attack
s or not, I can’t live my life hiding anymore. I’m not happy with it, Drew’s not happy with it, and it’s not healthy for either of us. Drew is more used to being confined by his fame than I am, but I can tell that even he’s going stir crazy staying inside either the hotel or the studio every waking moment.

Done getting ready, I walk out of the bedroom and into the liv
ing room of our suite. Drew is talking with Steve and our two new bodyguards, Evan and Sal who were both SEALS with Steve.

Drew looks gorgeous in his light gray suit and white shirt. He didn’t bother with a tie tonight and it makes him that much more
attractive, with a bad boy edge. His dark hair is just as messy and sexy as ever, a thick piece hanging over his forehead.

He just gets more and more gorgeous.

Drew notices me coming out of the bedroom and he freezes mid-sentence. After a moment, I see him press his lips tightly together and his fists clench at his sides. He whispers something to Steve and the three intimidating men leave the suite.

“Sydney, you look stunning,” he says as he walks over to me with a predatory
gleam in his eye. “Turn around.” Drew voice is husky from my appearance. When he gets within a foot of me, twirling his finger in a circular motion.

I spin slowly in a circle, letting Drew get a good look at the dress I chose for tonight. It’s a super short, red silk, Saint Laurent with an open back draped down to just above my tailbone. I finish my turn and see a look of pure hunger on Drew’s face.

“You can’t go out in that,” he whispers. “I’ll have to punch the crap out of any man who looks at you the same way that I’m looking at you right now. You know I don’t share, Sydney.” I notice his fists are still clenched at his sides. All of the screwed up shit that has happened recently has really tested Drew’s tolerance for anyone pulling any bullshit around me.

“Do you really want me to change?” I ask innocently, leaning in and pressing my lips to his. He winds his arms around me and his hands find my naked back. The electricity from his touch shoots up my spine and makes me shiver against his mouth.

He groans against me and squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes, but don’t change, baby. You look gorgeous.” He opens his eyes and steps back, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he tries to calm his temper down. “Let’s go before I tear the damn dress off of you and take you against the wall.”

Hmmm, maybe it’s not
just his temper that needs calming down. Drew takes my hand in his and tugs me out the door.

Dinner at BlueSky Steakhouse is relaxing and fun, even with the scary
former Navy SEALS that are surrounding our corner table, buffering us from any intrusion.

We caused somewhat of a commotion when we arrived, which was pretty embarrassing. I’ll admit that it’s difficult to sneak in anywhere with Drew’s famous face and to some degree, mine. But showing up with three giant, tattooed men in suits in tow? Not a chance in hell that
you’re going unnoticed.

Despite the initial fuss caused by our
arrival, we’re able to eat our meal in peace and the waiter assigned to us is nothing but professional. No gushing or odd looks from him all night. The wall of muscle manages to keep fans away and if anyone wanted to take a picture, they’d probably only get half a shot, with Steve’s big head blocking out the other half since he planted himself right in front of our table so he can stare menacingly out on the restaurant. Steve even tried to prevent the chef from stopping by earlier to say hello, but Drew waved him off. He loves talking food with professionals.

When I move to excuse myself to use the ladies’ room, Drew reacts by jumping to my side. “Steve, take Sydney to the restroom,” he barks, making me flinch
back.

No way am I going to argue with him about this, considering the last time I used a public bathroom I was attacked by a crazy stalker.
Plus, he looks stressed enough to snap at any moment.

Drew helps me out of my chair and then has me follow Steve to the facilities.

“I’ll just check first, Miss Tannen,” Steve says when we reach the ladies’ room door.
What?
This is a ridiculous.

“You can’t be serious, Steve?” Is he really going into the women’s bathroom to look for threats?

Yes, yes he is.

He barges right on in and I hear a woman yelp. Steve comes back out
less than three seconds later. “You can go in Miss Tannen, it’s all clear.” As he speaks a shaken middle aged woman emerges, red-faced and embarrassed by the intrusion. I smile apologetically at her as she rushes by.

How embarrassing.

When I finish and get back to the table to sit down, Drew looks more than just stressed out, he looks livid. His jaw is tight and his teeth are grinding furiously. His lovely green eyes are hooded by a deep ‘v’ that mars his brow. He stands stiffly to pull out my chair and I sit, unsure what has him so irate.

“What happene
d? Is everything okay?” Taking in the anger on Drew’s face, I start nervously looking around for the potential danger.

Drew sighs and unclenches some as he sits down, realizing that he’s scaring me. “Everything’s fine, Syd. I told you that scrap of a dress would be the death of me,” he
growls in a low voice.

I must look as confused as I feel, because he exhales and explains. “At least half of the men in the restaurant were eye-fucking you as you left, and the other half were eye-fucking you as you came back
.”

I should be mad that he scared the shit out of me simply because he’s jealous, but instead I just grin and reach across the table for his hand. “You’re so sweet, babe. I love you,” I whisper so only he can hear me.

I see his face soften and his mouth quirks up a little in the corner, trying not to smile back at me. Then his adorable grin breaks through and that delicious dimple appears on his cheek.

“One day, Sydney. I’m going to go to jail for beating the shit out of someone who looks at you funny,” he kids, shaking his head as he speaks.

At least, I hope he’s kidding
.

After finishing our almost perfect meal, we exit the restaurant into a
n unexpected tsunami of paparazzi and fans gathered on the street outside. What the hell? Don’t any of these people have anything better to do than watch us walk?

“Where did they come from?” I ask.

Drew stiffens next to me, gripping my hand tight. “Syd, stay close and don’t let go of my hand.” His tone lets me know not to argue. “Someone must have posted our location. God I fucking hate the internet sometimes,” he complains under his breath.

Steve goes out first, elbowing anyone and everyone out of our way, trying to keep them from touching us. Sal is behind us, preventing people from pushing into us from the back. Evan is positioned next to me, so no one
can approach me from the side.

Claustr
ophobia was never a problem before, but I feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of people surrounding us as we move down the sidewalk to where Bruce is waiting with the Suburban. My hands start to tremble and Drew’s grip on me tightens. I see him check on me with a sideways glance.

Flashbulbs pulse in my face, blinding me as we walk down the uneven brick walkway. My eyes can’t even adjust to the night because of the barrage of lights. Then the yelling starts.

“Sydney! Are you feeling better?”

“Andrew! Where were you when Sydney freaked out the other day?”

“Sydney! Andrew! Are you moving to Vancouver?”

“Sydney, how are
your mom and dad? Is it true they’re getting back together?”

“Andrew, are you and Sydney getting married in Vancouver?”

“Andrew, aren’t you dating your costar, Kiera Radcliff?”

To top it all off,
the fans are merely squealing in delight to see us in person, making a loud caterwaul the backdrop to a million clicks and questions. They’re freaking out and it hits me that this is the first time Drew and I have been spotted together since the ill-fated premiere.

No wonder they’re going ba
tshit crazy.

I’m annoyed by
the last question about Kiera, shocked that someone would even ask it. They’ve never even been seen in public together except the one photo from that night at Verve.

“C’mon, Sydney, wal
k faster.” Drew urges me on, noticing that I slowed down some. I can barely see or hear him. He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me along as I try not to stumble over the brick sidewalk in my stilettos.

Just as we’re about to reach the big SUV, I see
a hand snake in behind Evan to try and touch my naked back. Whoever it is must make contact with Drew’s arm instead of me because Drew flinches and pushes me into Evan’s arms, turning toward the offending party before I can even blink.

“Put her in the car!” he
shouts, his narrowed eyes searching out his prey.

“Drew! Don’t!” I
try to stop him but Evan is already lifting me into the back seat of the Suburban, planting himself in front of the open door to keep people out and keep me in while we wait on Drew.

My poor
, fragile boyfriend and his razor-thin temper has had enough and snapped. I peer around Evan and see Drew furiously trying to get his hands on a man in his mid-twenties, pointing at him and yelling as Steve wedges his large body between them the best he can. As bulky as Steve is, Drew certainly isn’t small. He’s taller and pretty ripped, and he’s downright pissed. Angry Drew is not someone to mess with, I’ve seen him before and he’s terrifying.

Like right now.

“Don’t evah fuckin’ touch her again or I’ll beat the piss outta you!” I hear him yelling over the clicking of the cameras.

Crap
, full Boston accent, Angry Drew has left and Very Angry Drew has made his appearance. Suddenly, the crowd falls quiet, no more questions are being asked, no more fans screaming. Everyone is trying to see what’s going on in the center of the undulating mass.

“She’s a hot piece of ass, Forrester! You can’t just lock her up forever,” the fan replies,
taunting Drew, believing there’s no way big celebrity Andrew Forrester would attack him on the street in front of all of these people.
He’s so wrong
. Drew’s favorite pastime is Muay Thai or Ju-Jitsu or something that involves fighting in a cage. I watched him spar a few times, he’s scary as hell.

Drew acts like he’s going to walk away, letting Steve relax his hold on him. Then, faster than I thought possible,
Drew spins and jumps at the man, shoving him against the brick wall of the building behind him and pinning his arm across his throat. The guy’s eyes bug out, partly in surprise and partly because Drew is pushing his elbow up against his windpipe.

“She’s not a fuckin’ piece of ass, shithea
d. Come neah her again, you bettah be prepared to fuckin’ fight me,” he growls.

Steve claps Drew on the shoulder and pulls him toward the car
, murmuring something in his ear. He reluctantly releases the man and stalks away. The crowd parts willingly this time, no one wanting to be caught in the fury of Andrew Forrester.

Holy fuck!

Evan moves out of the way and Drew throws his body into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Drew,” I start to say, putting my hand on his arm.

He shrugs me off and stares out the window. “Not now, Syd.”

Tears prick my eyes and I slide across the seat, putting as much distance between us as I can. He’s never shut me out before, this is bad. Really bad.

The car pulls into the hotel’s underground parking less than ten minutes later. The elevator ride is just as silent as the car, only with all five of us squashed into one tiny metal box instead of a spacious SUV.

Drew slams the door to the suite and st
omps over to the bar, pouring a large glass of scotch for himself. He shrugs out of his jacket and slings back half of the dark amber liquid. Turning to stare at me intimidatingly, he downs the rest of the scotch and hurls the glass against the wall, shattering it into thousands of tiny crystals, his eyes never leaving mine.

I recoil from him, tears flooding my eyes. He’s been angry before, but never at me. And that’s what this feels like, that he’s
furious and it’s all my fault. Drew closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. I recognize his attempt to rein in his temper. He turns around and picks up the hotel phone.

“Yes, room 2218. A bottle of 40 year old Glenfiddich Single Malt. Yes. And a bottle of ibuprofen please. ASAP, right.” He hangs up the phone and wordlessly
disappears into the bedroom.

I remove my painful stiletto sandals and walk into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of water from the refrigerator and twisting off the top. If Drew wants to be an angry asshole, I need to be sober to keep him from doing something stupid. Well, more stupid tha
n he’s already done, like attack a man on the street and shatter a glass in a five star hotel.