“Yes, that’s me,” I say smiling broadly and feeling ridiculous.
“Um, well, yes. What can I do for you?” She stumbles on her words, trying and failing to preserve her professional demeanor.
“I’m an interior designer, and I’m just checking out all of the wonderful stores you have here in Vancouver. I wanted to look around and possibly get some contact information in case I want to use any of your pieces in any future designs.”
She’s too busy gaping at me like a fish and giving Steve the side-eye as he stands next to me to be able to say anything remotely intelligent. Memories of people becoming speechless and stupid around my parents flood my mind, making me shudder.
I want to scream that I’m not famous! I’m only famous by association.
“Ashley?”
“What? I’m so sorry. Yes, of course. Feel free to look around. I’ll be in front if you have any questions.” Ashley turns and hurries away.
Wonderful. Letting out a huge breath, I wander through the store for almost an hour, occasionally snapping a pic of something that catches my eye. Steve stays by the front door since we’re alone in the store. I’m about to pick up a gorgeous vintage glass lamp when Steve calls to me in his serious staccato tone.
“Miss Tannen, we need to go, now.”
My head whips up at the urgent sound in his voice and my mouth falls open in shock. On the other side of the glass storefront are about a dozen reporters with cameras, and another twenty or so onlookers most of whom are taking pictures or videos on their phones.
Shit, I should have worn the mullet.
Lowering my sunglasses, I hustle to the front of the store where Steve is waiting for me. He tucks me in next to him, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He leans against the door and looks down at me, “Ready?”
“No,” is all I can manage to croak out. Why do they care about me? Drew’s not even here. My entire body is shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me, a result of my new fear of crazy fans that could be wielding sharp objects.
Scowling, Steve pushes the glass door open and hustles me out onto the cobblestone sidewalk. Within a half a second, we’re assaulted by a barrage of bright flashbulbs and loud questions from every side. It’s only twenty feet to the open car door where Bruce waits for us, but it may as well be two-hundred feet. I’m paralyzed by fear and with the huge crowd surging around us, there’s nowhere to go. Steve literally has to use his free arm to shove people aside to make room for us to pass.
The personal questions rain down on me from every possible side as dozens of hands reach in and touch me. Steve does his best to keep walking but there are just so many of them in our way, and my inability to make my feet move doesn’t help.
“Sydney! Are you in town with Andrew Forrester?”
“Are you healed from the attack?”
“Where have you been the past month?”
“How do you feel about the man who attacked you?”
“We heard you reconciled with your father at the hospital. Is it true?”
“Is it true that you’re seeing Adam Reynolds and Andrew Forrester?”
“What does Andrew think about what happened at his premiere?”
“I love you, Sydney!”
At the last comment, I flinch away, my eyes wildly scanning the crowd as I press further into Steve’s side. That’s what the lunatic said right as he slid the knife in. That he loved me. Steve guides my head down and lifts me into the back seat of the SUV and Bruce steps on the gas and takes off.
I can’t breathe. Am I dying? Somewhere in the back of my mind I see Steve next to me saying something. All I can hear is a loud pounding, almost like a whooshing sound in my ears.
Is someone shaking me?
“Sydney! Hey! Look at me!” After what feels like forever, I’m finally able to understand that Steve is talking. The pounding sound subsides and I realize that the noise is just my own rapid heartbeat thumping behind my eardrums.
“What’s happening?” I whisper in an unsteady voice.
“You’re having a panic attack. Are you okay?” Steve seems worried, his stoic façade cracking, and he’s gripping the tops of my arms rather firmly. I look down at his hands with wide eyes and he releases me, leaving red marks where he was holding on.
“Y-y-yes, I’m okay n-n-now.” I breathe deep, sitting on my hands to try to stop the shaking. “That person, someone in the crowd, they frightened me. I feel much better, thanks.”
I don’t really feel like explaining my neuroses to a bodyguard that I barely know. I turn toward the window and stay silent for the rest of the ride back to the hotel, choking back the tears that burn against my eyelids.