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He stared at her for an interminable moment and nodded decisively. He dragged his phone out of his front jeans pocket and swiped at the screen before he tapped a few times and then lifted the device to his ear.
“Although,” she said, and his arm halted halfway up to his ear. “If you do call the police and someone recognizes you, how long before your private and cozy little hidey-hole is inundated by the public and press?”
“What the hell do you call this, if not an invasion of my privacy?”
“I’m one person, here to conduct an interview on your and Mr. Quinn’s terms. You have all the control. You lose that the second you lose your anonymity.”
His lips tightened and she felt a little thrill of victory when his thumb viciously jabbed at the call end button. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and nodded.
“Fine… follow me.”
Go, me! Iris’s inner voice cheered, as she meekly followed the big man out of the dark kitchen. He led her down a long, poorly lit hallway, into a darkened room, toward a closed door. Once there, he stood aside and held out a hand inviting her to open the door.
“You can stay there.”
“Thank you so much, I promise I won’t be a bother,” she said, her giddy relief evident in her voice. “In the morning, perhaps you’d be willing to revisit the idea of an interview, especially after you have a look at my correspondence with Mr. Quinn, which will clear up this misunderstanding.”
She pulled the door inward, still earnestly speaking to him over her shoulder as she walked through it. “And if you agree to…”
She stopped talking as she registered the cold air on her skin. A hand on her back shoved her roughly all the way through the door. It took her brain a second to absorb what was happening and, by the time she understood that she was outside again, the door had been shut and the lock engaged.
She appeared to have been led through a side door into a dark garden. She took a second to get her bearings—she had to be on the side of the house somewhere. She wasn’t entirely sure how to get out of this space. There seemed to be a high hedge surrounding the patch of grass and trees, but there was no shelter from the elements. She’d been better off on the back porch, which had some cover and a swinging love seat.
But that… that creature was there. And Iris wasn’t sure she wanted to venture back there again. There had to be another way into the house. Returning to the car without even the meager light of her phone was not an option, and she wasn’t entirely confident of how to get back to the vehicle anyway. It was sleep outside in the cold and wind and, possibly, rain, with a wild animal on the loose, or do some actual breaking and entering.
Trystan Abbott had changed his mind about calling the police earlier, after she’d mentioned the possible loss of privacy if he did so. His reaction had revealed more to her than he’d likely intended to. He didn’t want anyone to know he was here. And he wouldn’t call the police because of that.
Which meant he wasn’t likely to have her arrested for making her way back inside. And if she was wrong about that, then Iris only hoped that the police would be more reasonable than the elusive celebrity. They’d likely believe her story once she provided them with the correspondence between her and Hunter Quinn. It was irrefutable evidence of her right to be here.
Iris thumped at the door in frustration.
“At least turn on the outdoor lights!” she yelled, more irritated than scared right now.
Seriously, what a dick. To think, she’d once been a fan of this arrogant arsehole. Not anymore. How excited she’d been when Hunter Quinn had agreed to allow her exclusive access to his most prized client. What an idiot she’d been.
She hadn’t once stopped to wonder why her? An unseasoned journalist with zero bylines to her name. He’d taken one look at her, listened to her eagerly espouse her admiration of Trystan Abbott’s phenomenal talent, and had leaned back with a sharklike smile and said that she was the exact type of writer he needed to do this in-depth piece.
Naturally, Iris had leaped at the opportunity. What a feather in her cap. Now she suspected that he’d chosen her because he thought she was easily manipulated. After all, an obvious fangirl like her would never have a bad word to say about his problematic client.
But that was before Iris had realized what a surly, uncommunicative hermit Trystan Abbott had become. Now she was intrigued to find out what had happened to cause this change in him. Unless . . . she tilted her head, brain working overtime as she thought about it, had he always been this way? Had that handsome, genial, joking man been the facade behind which this antisocial grouch had been hiding all along?
She thumped at the door in frustration.
“Come on. Turn the lights on. Please!” she demanded again, but it remained pitch black. She hovered uncertainly, not sure which way to turn or where to go.
This was terrible and Iris literally had no clue what to do next. Oh, how she wished she were back home, having dinner at her parents’ house, fighting over the last roast potato with her brother. She would happily listen to her dad champion the benefits of running the business with him if it meant no longer being in this place.
The wind gusted around her, tearing at her clothes and hair, stealing the breath from her lips. She hugged herself in a futile attempt to trap the warmth and stamped her feet as she tried to think.
It was hard to concentrate when she was terrified. She kept looking back at the door, hoping he’d be standing there with a hah, gotcha! grin on his face, but as the minutes ticked by she resigned herself to the fact that this was not going to happen.
In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d dismissed all thought of her from his brain and gone to bed.
“You can’t stand out here all night, Iris,” she berated herself. “Just move. In any direction. Anything is better than this.”
She took a step forward and her foot immediately sank into something icy and wet.
“Fuck, shit! Fuck!” She lifted her foot and shook it. Her trainer had offered absolutely no protection from the water and her foot was completely soaked. Her toes had gone instantly numb from the cold. Probably a good thing, since it meant she no longer felt the pain after having it slammed in a door. God, this was just what she needed.
