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)
She did so and placed the beanbag on the bed beside the small huddled figure. Colby gave a pained little grunt of acknowledgement and Iris tiptoed out of the room and shut the door carefully behind her.
“I need to speak with Iris,” Trystan told Chance one morning, four days after his unscheduled meeting with Bee and Quinny. The close-protection officer slanted a narrow-eyed look at Trystan in response to the comment, but his face remained inscrutable while he waited for Trystan to continue. “She’s not taking my calls and her mailbox is full.”
“She probably blocked or deleted your number,” Chance said with a noncommittal shrug. For some reason—despite the guy’s poker face—Trystan had the feeling the big blond bastard relished pointing that out. And he hated that the man was likely correct in that assumption.
“Yes. That’s highly probable. But be that as it may, I still need to have a conversation with her, and I want you to make that happen.”
“How?” Chance asked. He was perched on a barstool in the kitchen, doing a crossword puzzle with a pen, which he lowered to the page of his puzzle book as his gaze intensified on Trystan’s face.
“I don’t fucking know,” Trystan responded, frustration creeping into his voice. “That’s the type of shit you guys do, right?”
“Kidnapping?”
“What? No… what the fuck? Of course not, I meant facilitate safe meetings between parties.”
“I don’t think she’d be amenable to a meeting with you right now, sir. Kidnapping would be the only way to get her in the same room with you. Also, we’re not a dating or matchmaking service. We don’t facilitate meetings between couples.”
Trystan gritted his teeth. Had this guy always been such a smug, arrogant prick? Why was he only noticing it now? Not that Trystan generally minded people speaking their minds around him. He wasn’t one of those assholes who needed to be surrounded by sycophants and yes-men, but he wasn’t used to his bodyguards sounding off with such enthusiasm either.
They usually just stood silently in the background and looked menacing. He and Chance had been chatting more and had even bonded a bit because of their workouts and the fact that they were compatriots.
Part of Trystan wanted to put Chance in his place. Another—larger—part found that he didn’t mind the honesty, even though it made him want to punch the guy in the nose. He briefly fantasized about what that would feel like, imagining using the man’s own moves against him. Trystan sighed, as he acknowledged that Chance could likely paint the floor with his face if he chose to. Not that he would. Even more humiliating was the knowledge that Chance would probably simply sidestep any attempt from him and watch him fall on his arse.
“It’s clear that Iris and I aren’t able to simply walk out of our homes to meet somewhere for coffee,” Trystan explained with—what he felt was—the patience of a saint. “I need you or one of your colleagues to arrange a meeting with her in a neutral spot, free from prying eyes and ears.”
“Again,” Chance said, with equally exaggerated patience. “This is not something we would be able to do if Iris is not receptive to the idea. And she’s not likely to be.”
“How the hell would you know that until she’s asked?” Trystan snapped out the question.
Chance took an infuriatingly slow sip from his coffee before replying, “She was just kicked out of her flat. I’m afraid, she’s not going to be feeling particularly charitable toward you… sir.”
Trystan’s stomach dropped to the soles of his feet at the snippet of information. Oh God, this was going to be so much harder than he’d expected. He was desperate to have a conversation with Iris. He’d been calling her nonstop for days, and had been hitting a brick wall. His WhatsApp messages remained unseen and unread, a reliable indicator that she’d blocked his number. Her social media accounts had all been disabled.
The time for neutral meetings and rational discussions had passed. He’d allowed this to go on for longer than it should have. He should have reached out four days ago, after reading that article again. But he’d been a fucking coward. He’d wanted to have all his ducks in a row before he spoke to her. Now this news.
“Where is she staying?” Trystan asked, his voice shaky and low. “Is she with her parents? I need you to take me there, right now.”
“What?” For the first time Chance’s slightly bored, smug demeanor slipped and he went from a relaxed slouch to upright in a second. “Take you where?”
“To Iris. At her parents’ home.”
“That’s not a good idea, sir. We won’t be able to control the environment, not with such short notice.”
“It’s better if I don’t show up with a fucking entire army of bodyguards—”
“Close-protection officers,” Chance corrected.