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He dipped his chin in acknowledgement and turned to face front and get them underway again.
“Oh my God.” Iris moaned, her hand going up to her mouth in horror, when the Mercedes parked across the road from her building. There appeared to be at least a dozen to twenty journalist-looking types milling around on the sidewalk outside the entrance.
“You still want to do this?” Chance asked in a grim voice.
“Maybe my parents?—”
“It’s about the same there. Also at your family’s business premises.”
“Oh no.” Her eyes flooded again. She hated that she’d brought this trouble to her parents’ doorstep.
“Iris,” he said, his voice achingly kind. “You can stay with me until this blows over.”
She was tempted. Oh God, she was so tempted, but she wasn’t going to be driven from her home. She’d done nothing wrong, had nothing to hide. The vultures would move on as soon as they realized that she was the most boring person on the face of the Earth. And that Trystan was done with her already. Everything would be fine.
She squared her shoulders and shook her head.
“I truly adore you for making that offer, Chance. Thank you. But I’m going home. And as soon as the initial excitement and interest has died down, I’m going to fix this. This has all been one massive misunderstanding.”
Even as she said it, Iris knew there was no possible way to fix this. Not really. It was a brave, brash sentiment, with zero basis in reality. There was no unringing this bell, no mitigating this disaster. It was out there and it was unstoppable. And that reality terrified her.
She caught a flash of admiration and respect in Chance’s eyes—combined with warmth and sympathy—before he put on his sunglasses. His voice was grim when he said, “Whatever you want, Iris. But never let these bastards see you cry or doubt yourself. You give them nothing of yourself. Okay?”
She nodded and exhaled gustily before fishing around in her handbag for her own sunglasses. Once she had them on, she took one more look at the intimidating crowd lying in wait.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Iris, you can’t stay cooped up in that flat all day, every day. It’s not healthy. Why don’t you come home for the weekend? Your dad and I would love to have you round.”
Iris smiled tiredly at her mother’s face on the phone screen, and shook her head. “I can’t this weekend, Mum. I have a deadline. And you guys have the ’OMalley wedding tomorrow night, don’t you?”
“Your dad and Robbie can handle that. You and I can have a nice girls’ night in.”
It was tempting, so tempting. Iris would do anything to escape the prison her flat had become these past two weeks. Her anxiety levels were constantly spiking, she had her therapist on speed dial, and she just wasn’t coping. Her work was the only thing keeping her from spiraling into a deep depressive episode. The constant gnawing guilt at the trouble she’d caused her family, her flatmates… Trystan, added to the inability to leave her building without being accosted in some way by the gutter press, were taking their toll. And Iris wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to cope with this.
“Mum, you know I can’t do that,” she whispered, her voice taut with pain. “They’ll follow me. They’ll start harassing you and Dad again. And eventually it will affect the business. Clients won’t want to hire you if it means being accosted in the streets by so-called journalists trying to pump them for information about me.”
“I don’t care, luv. We haven’t seen you in weeks. We can handle this. We can handle anything as a family. Just trust us.”
Iris’s eyes welled with those ever-present tears and her lips quivered, before she brutally bit down on the inside of her cheek as punishment for her emotional reaction. She tasted blood but it worked. The shock of pain jerked her out of the downward spiral into self-pity.
“Let’s do something next week, okay?” she said with a closed-mouth smile. “I just have to finish this edit and I’ll be free to spend some time with you.”
“That’s what you said last time, Iris. Look, this?—”
“Oh, sorry, Mum,” she interrupted quickly. “I have to go—my pizza delivery is here. Chat soon, right? I love you.”
She disconnected the call before her mother could protest and tossed the phone aside to bury her face in her hands.
Things weren’t getting better. Iris had believed they would. Had hoped the situation would blow over. But the press wouldn’t leave her alone. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Evan the day after she’d returned home. She’d tried to force her former friend to print a retraction, but the other woman had point blank refused to even contemplate it.
“Why should I?” she’d asked with an insufferable smirk on her face. “None of it is a lie.”
“You stole my words. My private, innermost thoughts. You ruined my life, Evan, and laid my soul bare for the world to gawk at.”
“God, you’re always so fucking dramatic. And I didn’t steal shit. You gave me your password. Maybe next time don’t leave your private thoughts in an easily accessible folder in the cloud. Lesson learned, right?”
