Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
She’d hoped this would lead to bigger, better things. A career in entertainment journalism, maybe. She laughed bitterly at her naivete. All she’d be getting from this nightmare was a criminal record.
She buried her face in her hands, ready to give in to the ever-lurking tears, when she heard light scratching and sniffing at the door. Her head jerked up and she darted to the door to peek through the keyhole. All she could see was Luna’s big, shiny black nose, and she smiled.
“Hey girl,” she whispered, so thankful to have the dog there. “Thank you for visiting me. It makes me feel less lonely. I wish TDH would let you in to stay with me for a while.” The last emerged on a wistful note and she sighed. She slid down the wall and sat flat on her bum, next to the door. She was reassured to hear Luna still snuffling at the keyhole, and continued talking to the dog.
“I wonder what my mum and dad are doing right now? Probably run off their feet at the Bhandari wedding. They’ll be catering for a thousand guests. Gosh, my parents were so excited to land that contract. But you can be damned sure Robbie will be bitching about working today, especially at an event that size. He’ll moan even more than usual because I’m not there to help.”
She smiled fondly—missing her family so much it ached—and picked at the cuticle on her thumb.
“He’s ten years younger than me, you see. Only sixteen. He resents having to spend his weekends and spare time waiting tables at our parents’ catering events. He wants to be like the rest of his mates. We don’t have much in common, but that’s one teenage resentment we share. I was the same. I was such an arsehole about it too. Even more so than Robbie.”
She thought back to all the times she’d flared up at her parents about having to work on Fridays and Saturdays. She’d been such a bitch. And deliberately hurtful.
She shook off the thought. She was depressed enough right now without fueling that despondency with familial regrets.
She sat wrapped up in her memories for a long moment before a soft scratch at the door—followed by a quiet whine— jerked her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, Luna,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I got a bit bogged down there. I think I’m homesick. I’m not usually one to wallow in my own misery, but this situation is a little ridiculous, and I feel like I deserve at least a day of what the fuckness before I drag myself out of it.”
She heard a sharp whistle, followed by a curt, “Let’s go, girl!”
Luna’s paws scrabbled on the floors and Iris heard her retreating without so much as a farewell sniff.
“Hey, where are you guys going?” she called, with no real hope of having her question acknowledged. “Can I come too?”
No response from either Luna or her horrible master, instead she heard a door slamming in the distance.
Did they really just go out in this shit weather? She hurried over to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of them, even though the door had slammed on the other side of the house.
It was pelting down and the wind hadn’t calmed at all. If anything, it seemed worse. Why would they venture out in this mess?
What if something happened to the damned fool man? Did she even care? If he got himself injured or killed, she’d be fine. Even better than she was now, really, because she’d be able to climb out of this very window and make her way into the main house where she’d have access to food and possibly a phone.
She was imagining a scenario whereby she heroically rescued him—with Luna’s assistance—from the bottom of a steep hill when she heard the door opening again, immediately followed by fast, urgent footfalls heading her way. Seconds later the key rotated in the lock, and she turned from the window just as the door pushed inward.
Trystan Abbott stepped into the room. He was wearing a dark green heavy-duty oilskin rain jacket—the type fishermen on boats used—water was streaming off it in rivulets and leaving puddles on the floor. The man himself looked even bigger in the wet-weather gear and appeared to be bristling with agitation.
Immediately alarmed, Iris took a couple of steps toward him, before coming to an uncertain halt.
“What’s wrong? Is Luna okay?”
No sooner had she asked the question than the big dog nosed her way into the room and Iris’s shoulders dropped in relief.
“I need your help,” TDH said, storming forward and grabbing her hand without any warning. Taken aback by the unsolicited contact—as well as by the iciness of his skin against hers—Iris didn’t immediately protest. She was dragged halfway to the door before she dug her heels in and slowed down their progress. He stopped, his head whipped around, and he pinned her with an intimidating glare.