Page 25 of Iris' Lying Eyes

Throwing back the covers, he sits up, and I raise my chin to keep from eyeing the goodsagain.

“Just get in the fucking bed. It’s not like this is new. You’re used to spreading your legs. One dick is the same as the next, right?”

I bite the inside of my lip and hide the ache behind a wide smile, but my stomach is roiling. Dick. I did what I had to do, and this fuck doesn’t get to judge me.

“That’s right,” I sneer. “But you can’t afford me.”

His eyelid droops. He eyes me strangely and then flops back on the bed. “I wouldn’t fuck you for fun, much less pay you.”

Thankfully, he can’t see my grimace, and after a moment in which I stew, I stomp to the other side of the bed. But my antics are lost on him because he’s already asleep.

With a silent sigh, I turn to the light and hesitate. I’d rather sleep with it on, but if I insist, it’ll be like flashing a sign in B’s face. Instead, I turn it off and slide in carefully beside him, refusing to look at his face, finally relaxed after his perpetual scowl all day.

And when I do finally sleep, I concede that his warm body beside mine feels better than it should.

Chapter Seven

Wherever you go, there I’ll be.

With a gasp, I sit up and glance around. The bedroom slowly comes into focus, and I rub my face. Although I’d rather be somewhere else, waking up here is preferable to the alternative.

Bastion isn’t beside me, but I spy the indentation in the pillow where he slept the night before.

The door to the bathroom is open, and it would appear he’s long gone. Just as well. I don’t need any pesky questions. Besides, today is a new day. I’m outta here.

Once I leave, I’ll have to regroup, which means potentially couch hopping, so I take advantage of the shower while I can and luxuriate in the fancy-ass spray.

When I’m done, I run my fingers through my hair and search out the toothpaste, pausing when I find an unopened toothbrush lying beside it.

Running my fingers over the package, I shake my head and unwrap it before cleaning my teeth and dropping it back in the drawer.

With the same damn dress from the night before, I step into the hall and pass into the bedroom on the other side.

There are no drapes, so it’s easy to see the house is surrounded by tall shrubbery interspersed with brick walls, a good eight feet in height. Not impossible, but if I can squeeze through the shrubs, it’ll be easier.

“Oh um, Miss?”

With a grimace, I turn to the maid from the night before and smile. She shrinks away from me, and I hide my amusement behind a frown. “What?”

“Mrs. O’Keefe is here.”

“Who?”

She shifts on her feet, and I raise a brow, stupidly pleased by her discomfort. If Bastion is fucking her, he must be disappointed. She’s probably the type to lie there like a lump while he does all the work. B-o-r-i-n-g.

“The um, designer.”

The what?

“Okay, I’ll bite. Where?” I say.

I can’t exactly leave while the stuttering twit is watching me, but I suspect she’ll avoid me like the plague if I treat her sorely.

She leads me down the stairs and to a room that, surprise, surprise, has no fucking furniture. Inside is a tiny lady with shrewd eyes and a sleek black suit.

Immediately, I sense that if I go the wrong way with this one, she could be harmful. And her narrow-eyed look at my dress from the night before does not incur any warm feelings.

“Ms. O’Malley, I presume?” She asks, and I shrug, looking at my cuticles. I seriously need a manicure.