‘Rich bitch can’t get a man on her own.’
‘Wow I went to HBS with Celestine. She did seem wishy-washy to me but contract marriage? Sheesh!’
‘She’s always had that RBF, idk what’s wrong with her.’
‘You can see the insecurity on her face lmao’
‘lol just another rich man confusing control for commitment’
‘He doesn’t look like someone who knows how to love her’
Then I see the reply to that comment that has me sneering at my damn screen.
‘Bro doesn’t look like someone who knows how to love. Period.’
‘Man skipped over the OF models and went with THAT? For $5 million? Is this a joke?’
I sigh, throwing my iPad next to me on the couch. The PR nightmare alone that this will bring already has me planning ahead. And then there’s the fact that the Astors—namely Odette, Thomas, and Gareth—will be arrested for embezzlement within the next week.
My mind irritatingly whirls back to that night a few days ago, to the Wentworth’s anniversary party.
And now I can’t, for the life of me, understandwho Iris Desmond actually is.
??????
NIGHT OF THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY
This is it. This is my exit ticket.
Levi finally left after a few pointed comments about Cece byGary fucking Ass-tor.I could see the way he was barely controlling his rage when Gary asked him to put a leash on her.
What a moronic thing to say.
I quickly grab my jacket from the coat check, hoping to manage a clean, uninterrupted exit—when I freeze a few steps from the main door.
The floor length windows facing the west garden should ideally show me a near empty area. The garden is usually something one would avoid during the chilly weather.
But there she is. Standing near the fountains, wrapped in a layer of ankle-length, beige coat. The brown fur lining the hood contrasting with her damn near gorgeous, black hair.
And I find myself exceptionally annoyed by the fact that I know it’s Iris, even though she’s facing away from me.
I’ve only met her three times. Talked to her maybe twice. But our first conversation was stilted—yet civil—at that dinner where Ronald invited her. Unlike tonight,where merely an hour ago I had let my frustrations run wild.
And the woman barely flinched at the venom I had spewed.
My face burns with a mix of embarrassment andirrational anger. I shouldn’t have accosted her the way I did. But she wouldn’t fucking stop approaching Cece.
I knew by the way Cece was holding herself together, that her social battery was slowly draining. So a conversation—even a professional one—with her fiancé’s ex-girlfriend-turned-consultant wouldn’t result in anything positive.
But then I got viciously stripped off my anger by one single statement from her mouth.
?… her mouth. (Wow…)
I need to get a grip. Remind myself that her words were not just pointed, but entirely true.
“You are an errant man whipping fantasies out of nothing. And using your flawed judgment to justify cornering a woman.”
God!I can’t get her triumphant little smirk out of my head.
