Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I let out a little grunt. “I had nothing to do with that stupid nickname. My teammates gave it to me in college as a joke, and it leaked and took off in the media like wildfire. Trust me, I’ve always despised it, every bit as much as you hate being called the ‘Horny Runaway Bride.’”
Iris swallows hard. “The point is you haven’t exactly made me an offer I can’t refuse, Roman. If you think you have, then I’m sorry to inform you: You’re suffering from delusions of grandeur.”
I scoff. “What the fuck, Iris? I’m trying my best here.”
“Don’t. Please. I release you, completely.” When I glare at her, she throws up her hands and bellows, “People are saying you pity-fucked me! Why would I willingly subject myself to another round of horrendous comments like that, for the mere chance to maybe fuck you again, at some point, in a hotel room in LA? I respect myself too much for that.”
“I didn’t pity-fuck you! Don’t you know you’re like cocaine to me? Does a man pity-snort cocaine?”
Iris pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not built for this, Roman! There are people telling me to kill myself because I’m such a disgrace and a whore. They’re calling me a five out of ten! They’re saying you must have lost a bet to even think about railing me.”
My head is spinning. My veins are bulging with rage, adrenaline, and protectiveness. And yes, guilt, too, knowing I’m the unwitting catalyst for Iris’s latest round of abuse.
“You’re a perfect ten, baby,” I say, touching her shoulder. “Fuck anyone who says otherwise. Also, let’s not forget, nobody but you and I know for sure what we’ve done behind closed doors. They’re speculating, yes, but nobody knows the truth.”
Iris swipes at her eyes with a little whimper. “I’m a girl from a small town—one where everybody was always nice to me. I work with children who are always nice to me. My favorite thing to do is ride horses because—you guessed it—they’re nice to me. Are you picking up on the theme here? I don’t have thick skin, like you do. I’m not a professional athlete. I’m not a celebrity. I can’t handle all these people being so mean to me all the time.”
She bursts into tears, and I pull her to my chest like I did earlier. My God, my heart feels like it’s being physically dragged over rusty nails.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I murmur.
“I just want to get my stuff in Denver and go home to Orchard Blossom and wait out the storm while surrounded by people who love me. That’s all I want to do.”
“Okay, if you won’t come to LA with me, then at least go straight to Orchard Blossom and skip Denver. I don’t want you risking a run-in with your ex. I’ll hire someone to get your stuff shipped to you.”
Iris leans out of our embrace. “I say this as a teaching moment for you, Roman, but you don’t get a vote about what I do or where I go. From now on, nobody does, except me.” She wipes her eyes again and gestures toward my waiting suitcase. “Please, just go. I don’t want you missing your flight on my account.”
I’m flying private, so they won’t leave without me. But I don’t think now is the best time to mention that fact. “Let me send you money every month, till you find a job,” I say softly. “It’s the least I can do, since it’s my fault you got sacked.”
“It’s not your fault. Nobody could have predicted this would happen. Also, there’s no reason to send me money. I’ll be staying with my father in Orchard Blossom till I find a job, and he won’t charge me for rent or food.”
“Where are you going to look for a job?” Please, God, let her say LA.
“I need to see what the job market looks like. For all I know, there might not be a preschool anywhere in the country that’s willing to hire an immoral, attention-seeking slut.”
I gasp with an epiphany. “Why don’t I hire you?”
Iris looks as flabbergasted as I feel. Why’d I suggest that? I don’t know, honestly, but now that I’ve had the idea, it’s rapidly gaining traction inside my head.
“Don’t say no, Iris. It’s a great idea. I need a nanny while Maverick’s with me, remember? So, why shouldn’t it be you, while you look for a job? You’re more than qualified.”
Iris pulls a face like I’ve offended her. “I don’t want to be your employee.”
“Technically, maybe,” I say lamely.
Iris sighs. “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help me in a time of crisis. But let’s rip off the Band-Aid and end things cleanly, like we’ve always planned to do.”
“Do I feel sorry for your situation? Yes. But I don’t pity you.”