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“Letch over me.”
“Letch?”
I raise my eyes and she hisses, “You’re just like all the men. Like him.”
“Him?”
I swear my hackles raise as she spits, “Carter Lamont. That disgusting piece of shit who should be in hell right now.”
My blood boils as she compares me to that brute and I waste no time in crossing the short distance and grip her wrist hard, causing the champagne to spill on the floor.
“I am nothing like him.” I hiss in her ear, and I swear she flinches.
“I am taking you to dinner because I need a companion and you need to eat. The dress code is smart which means blood encrusted hoodies are not allowed. So, get off your high horse and say thank you like the good polite girl you are deep down, and we will discuss where you go from here.”
I push her away and step back, my eyes flashing with anger, and she nods, a touch of regret lighting her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath and says in a low voice. “I am hungry, you’re right about that and, of course, you have questions. So do I and this will be a civilized way of addressing them.”
She smiles, and it momentarily blinds me because it completely transforms her and it’s as if a diamond is sparkling before me in all its glory.
“This was a misunderstanding. We will both laugh about this at the end of the evening as you call me a cab and I go back to my ordinary life while you continue to, well, do what you do.”
She takes a deep breath and glances around the room and smiles. “Your home is impressive but not very homey, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Why should I care what you think of my home?”
I say it evenly and she laughs lightly. “Good answer.”
“Is it?” I shrug. “My home is functional for my needs. I’m not here long enough to care if it’s homey or not.”
I shake my head. “It’s one of many. They are all the same.”
“I can’t relate.” She glances around and sighs. “My home is very different. It would fit inside the bathroom I just delighted in and much like this, it’s definitely not homey.”
I’m intrigued and yet can’t question her further because Damien appears and his troubled expression makes me snap, “What?”
He glances at Lilli, and I shrug. “Just say it.”
“Iris Mahoney.”
This time Lilli looks up with interest and I stare at her reaction and say, “What about her?”
“She’s a ghost.”
That’s all he says, and I notice a light smile flicker across Lilli’s face and as I catch her eye, she shrugs.
“If you’re looking for Iris Mahoney, you are in for a long search.”
“Do you know her?”
Now she has our full attention, and she shakes her head.
“No, because Iris Mahoney is a pseudonym.”
“Explain.” I fix her with an enigmatic gaze, and she shifts on her feet.
“I don’t know a lot about it, but I overheard my mom talking one day. They were discussing Iris Mahoney and my mom remarked couldn’t they have chosen a better name than that?”
