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“Right. Of course,” she whispered. “You need my address.”
“I have your address,” he corrected. “Your parents’ address as well, in Southfields. I’m not sure if you want to be with your family, or if you prefer to return to your flat.”
How thoughtful of him.
“I’m an absolute mess. I don’t want my parents to see me like this,” she said, twisting the now-damp handkerchief in her hands.
“The flat then?”
She nodded.
He hesitated and looked conflicted for a second before saying, “I live in Hammersmith—Baron’s Court—and I’m headed home straight after dropping you. I have a few days off after my extended stay out of the country.”
Iris studied his rugged face in confusion, not sure why he was telling her this.
His broad shoulders shifted uncomfortably and his cheeks went ruddy.
“You could stay with me.”
The offer flabbergasted her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, at all. She’d literally just met this man. Why on Earth would he invite her to stay with him? She didn’t think he was attracted to her. That wasn’t the vibe she was getting at all. But why else would he?—
“They won’t find you there.” His words jerked her from her thoughts, confusing her even further.
“They?”
“Miss Hughes?—”
“Iris.”
“Uhm… Iris, I don’t think you quite comprehend the shitstorm that’s waiting for you. And he retracted your protection. So you won’t have any kind of buffer to help you through this.”
“He… Trystan, you mean?”
He nodded curtly, his jaw tensing as if he were biting back his words.
“As you know, before we left Cape Town, he arranged with Brand to have a protective detail assigned to you. He cancelled that arrangement after learning about the article. After I drop you at home, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
“I see.” The words were a choked whisper and Iris averted her eyes to her lap, staring at her restless hands, which were still twisting and twisting the damp blue handkerchief. “Thank you so much for the offer, Chance. But I’d really rather go home. They won’t be interested in me for long. Trystan is the big fish. He’s the one whose reputation is at risk. That’s why he feels so betrayed.”
She was making excuses for Trystan. She knew it. And felt pathetic because of it. But she also recognized just how bad this could—and likely would—get for him. He’d been wrong to instantly believe the worst about her. But she could understand his point of view. She hadn’t read the article in its entirety but she’d seen enough to comprehend just how damaging it was.
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.”
