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)
Cryo Cop was Trystan’s upcoming movie—his and Trish Nesbitt’s—and it was premiering in a couple of months. Iris had had every intention of questioning him about the lack of publicity around the much-anticipated release in her now never-to-be interview. But it was Trish Nesbitt’s last movie and that, along with Trystan’s apparent disappearance, had already created a lot of buzz around the film.
Iris mulled over his words for a moment—they rang with sincerity—and she found herself believing him.
“I heard you accuse Mr. Quinn of using me to get you out of a rut,” she said. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a meddling bastard who thinks that I just need to be shaken out of my funk before I’ll be ready to start working again.”
“And he thought I could do that?” Jeez, how deluded was Mr. Quinn? And why Iris? She was a perfectly ordinary woman, possessing none of the charms of the other women toward whom Trystan regularly seemed to gravitate. Then again, maybe she was looking at this the wrong way. Maybe that wasn’t the kind of diversion he meant— maybe he’d always intended for Iris to antagonize Trystan. Especially if he’d known who her father had been.
“To be fair,” Trystan said slowly, as he lifted his cup and took a long sip, leaving her hanging. He lowered the cup and eyed her squarely. “You’ve already done it. Have been doing it, are doing it right now. You’ve dragged me kicking and screaming out of—how did you put it?—out of the sads. And, for a gloriously satisfying instant, straight into the mads. With you here, all I’ve been able to think of was how much you annoy me, amuse me, entertain me. And I resented the hell out of you for that because I’m supposed to be here to wallow in my guilt and grief and misery. Not come up with flimsy excuses to keep spending time with you. And certainly not spend hours fantasizing about what it would be like to shut you up by kissing that perfect mouth.”
Uh, what?
“But…” How did she even respond to that? This was not something the Iris Hugheses of the world ever expected to hear from the Trystan Abbottses. In the end all she could come up with was a single-word question, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why me? Is it because you’ve been so alone and bored these last few months that you were ripe for a distraction?”
“Hardly,” he said, finishing off the last of his omelet. “You must know that you’re not the first person to have approached Quinny for an interview since the accident? He could have picked anyone else, if that were the case.”
“So, to Mr. Quinn, I was only some court jester to amuse his prized client out of the doldrums? What about the interview? He knew you didn’t want to do it, but he sent me here regardless? Where would that have left me? Professionally?” The magnitude of Hunter Quinn’s manipulation was staggering and infuriating.
“I don’t know how Quinny expected this to go. I don’t believe he thought it all the way through. But it is telling that he arranged for it to take place right when he was uncontactable,” Trystan said, but Iris wasn’t sure if she could trust him to tell the truth right now.
“Is this what rich and powerful men do for kicks?” she asked, her voice bitter. “Manipulate ordinary people like puppets?”
“Iris, if you’re referring to yourself as ordinary, I beg to differ.”
“You know nothing about me, Trystan,” she pushed her half-eaten plate of food aside and surged to her feet. “You’re so far removed from the real world and real people that I’m some kind of novelty to you. But that will quickly wear off and you’ll get bored. I’d sooner skip ahead to that part, if you don’t mind… it’ll save us both a whole lot of awkwardness. Thanks for breakfast. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.”
Chapter Twelve
Iris didn’t wait for Trystan’s reply instead she turned and left the kitchen. It was still dark outside, but for once it was silent. No wind and no rain. The quiet was so unfamiliar that it was eerie, and gooseflesh skittered up and down Iris’s spine as she retreated to her room.
She had no intention of staying there—the traumatic memories of the last few days were still too fresh in her mind for that—but she needed her laptop, some underwear, and leggings. She’d been walking around in just the thigh-length hoodie, and no underwear. She’d tried not to think about it, even though she couldn’t help feeling awkward as hell since she knew that Trystan had to have been aware of her lack of panties. After all, he was the one who’d omitted her underwear when he’d brought her the hoodie.
Then again, maybe he’d been reluctant to sift through her undies. Some men were squeamish when it came to things like that.