Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Everything—all of their most private and intimate moments—had been in that journal. She bit back an agonized, humiliated moan. How much of that had Evan included in her vile article? Iris could open up her laptop. Read it. But she wasn’t ready to do that yet.
Her eyes lifted back to Chance’s. He was still staring at her, concern in his eyes. It hurt to acknowledge that this total stranger seemed to care more about her well-being than the man she loved.
Then again, if she were Trystan, she would probably hate her right now as well.
She felt sick to her stomach, her conflicting emotions tearing her apart. The love, hate, resentment, fury, and empathy she felt for Trystan warring inside of her and worsening her headache. She needed privacy. The safe haven of home.
She barely had a hold on her sanity. Her anxiety was a living thing, clawing its way to the surface, threatening to bury her beneath the rubble of her crumbling life.
Chance sighed. He reached into the inner chest pocket of his jacket and withdrew a card. He handed it to her. She stared at the dark blue business card with the embossed silver Brand EPS—Executive Protection Services—insignia.
“I’ll take you home, but if you change your mind”—he nodded at the card in her hand—“give me a call. My offer stands. Okay?”
She nodded, too emotionally overwrought to meet his eyes, knowing it would start up that slow, relentless stream of hot tears again.
“Thank you.”
He dipped his chin in acknowledgement and turned to face front and get them underway again.
“Oh my God.” Iris moaned, her hand going up to her mouth in horror, when the Mercedes parked across the road from her building. There appeared to be at least a dozen to twenty journalist-looking types milling around on the sidewalk outside the entrance.
“You still want to do this?” Chance asked in a grim voice.
“Maybe my parents—”
“It’s about the same there. Also at your family’s business premises.”
“Oh no.” Her eyes flooded again. She hated that she’d brought this trouble to her parents’ doorstep.
“Iris,” he said, his voice achingly kind. “You can stay with me until this blows over.”
She was tempted. Oh God, she was so tempted, but she wasn’t going to be driven from her home. She’d done nothing wrong, had nothing to hide. The vultures would move on as soon as they realized that she was the most boring person on the face of the Earth. And that Trystan was done with her already. Everything would be fine.
She squared her shoulders and shook her head.
“I truly adore you for making that offer, Chance. Thank you. But I’m going home. And as soon as the initial excitement and interest has died down, I’m going to fix this. This has all been one massive misunderstanding.”
Even as she said it, Iris knew there was no possible way to fix this. Not really. It was a brave, brash sentiment, with zero basis in reality. There was no unringing this bell, no mitigating this disaster. It was out there and it was unstoppable. And that reality terrified her.
She caught a flash of admiration and respect in Chance’s eyes—combined with warmth and sympathy—before he put on his sunglasses. His voice was grim when he said, “Whatever you want, Iris. But never let these bastards see you cry or doubt yourself. You give them nothing of yourself. Okay?”
She nodded and exhaled gustily before fishing around in her handbag for her own sunglasses. Once she had them on, she took one more look at the intimidating crowd lying in wait.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Iris, you can’t stay cooped up in that flat all day, every day. It’s not healthy. Why don’t you come home for the weekend? Your dad and I would love to have you round.”
Iris smiled tiredly at her mother’s face on the phone screen, and shook her head. “I can’t this weekend, Mum. I have a deadline. And you guys have the ’OMalley wedding tomorrow night, don’t you?”
“Your dad and Robbie can handle that. You and I can have a nice girls’ night in.”
It was tempting, so tempting. Iris would do anything to escape the prison her flat had become these past two weeks. Her anxiety levels were constantly spiking, she had her therapist on speed dial, and she just wasn’t coping. Her work was the only thing keeping her from spiraling into a deep depressive episode. The constant gnawing guilt at the trouble she’d caused her family, her flatmates… Trystan, added to the inability to leave her building without being accosted in some way by the gutter press, were taking their toll. And Iris wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to cope with this.
“Mum, you know I can’t do that,” she whispered, her voice taut with pain. “They’ll follow me. They’ll start harassing you and Dad again. And eventually it will affect the business. Clients won’t want to hire you if it means being accosted in the streets by so-called journalists trying to pump them for information about me.”