straightforward, uncomplicated lie that he was, as always, totally committed to, and how she chose to react to it was her business.
‘You’ve been gambling again, haven’t you?’
She’d gone to Vegas with him a month ago and seen him lose more money than even he could laugh off convincingly, and he’d promised her then he was through, that he’d cut his right arm off at the shoulder if he wagered another cent before seeking help.
‘ Life is a gamble,’ Perry said. He’d turned his full attention back to the football game.
‘This is it, Perry. I’m done,’ Iris said.
And this time, she wasn’t just talking. She stormed out of the room and went off to the bedroom to pack her things, cursing herself for having ever kept more than a toothbrush here in the first place. She didn’t expect Perry would follow and he didn’t, giving her one less reason to think she was making a mistake.
As she gathered her clothes together on the bed, the same bed she and Perry had made love in only hours earlier, she tried to understand what it was about Perry Cross she had found so irresistible. She had dated men with more money and better looks, who came from better families and had gone to better schools. Smarter men, men who made her laugh more and treated her with greater respect. What the hell did Perry bring to the table that these men hadn’t?
Confidence. That was what. Not the kind that any man who’d achieved some level of success in his chosen profession could always claim, but the kind that threatened to change worlds. An unshakable, unrelenting sense of self-worth Perry filled a room with just by entering it. It was a message a woman could read in his merest glance, one that said he intended to have his way, right or wrong, and you could either move aside, come along for the ride, or lose everything you possessed trying to stop him.
Iris had chosen to go along for the ride.
Exactly eighteen months later, almost to the day of their first meeting at a Grammy awards after-party at Staples Center, the thrill of it had finally worn off. The downside to Perry’s exhilarating power had proven to be addiction and treachery, character flaws she might have been able to handle individually, but not in combination. Perry was a compulsive gambler and a liar, and now he had taken up stealing from her, and that was where Iris had to draw the line. You could fuck around with other women if you wanted to, and tell all the stupid, unbelievable lies to cover your tracks you could come up with; Iris could live with that kind of deceit because she’d been there, done that, too many times to count, and had learned how to reciprocate. But ripping her off – treating her like some clueless fool who’d left her bank card in an ATM machine just for your convenience – was unforgivable. It was one thing to be a man’s bitch, and quite another to be his punk, too.
Iris Mitchell was nobody’s punk.
She was halfway through packing a bag when the doorbell rang. One of Perry’s friends, no doubt, she thought. Fuck him. But then it occurred to her that Perry would only sit there on his lazy ass and scream at her from the other room to go get it, and rather than submit to one more minute of his bullying, she went to the door.
It was Will Sinnott. Will was a souse with a ten-year-old’s sense of humor who’d been trying for years to drink his way out of the closet, but he was far and away the least repulsive of Perry’s three business partners. Iris was almost relieved to see him standing there, despite the hangdog look on his face.
‘Hey, Iris. Is Perry here?’
‘In the playroom,’ Iris said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she rushed back to the bedroom to finish packing.
Iris rarely seemed happy to see him, so Sinnott was surprised only by the severity of her rude welcome. Left to do so on his own, he showed himself in and found Cross exactly as promised, swallowed up in the cushions of a black leather divan in the
‘You’ve been gambling again, haven’t you?’
She’d gone to Vegas with him a month ago and seen him lose more money than even he could laugh off convincingly, and he’d promised her then he was through, that he’d cut his right arm off at the shoulder if he wagered another cent before seeking help.
‘ Life is a gamble,’ Perry said. He’d turned his full attention back to the football game.
‘This is it, Perry. I’m done,’ Iris said.
And this time, she wasn’t just talking. She stormed out of the room and went off to the bedroom to pack her things, cursing herself for having ever kept more than a toothbrush here in the first place. She didn’t expect Perry would follow and he didn’t, giving her one less reason to think she was making a mistake.
As she gathered her clothes together on the bed, the same bed she and Perry had made love in only hours earlier, she tried to understand what it was about Perry Cross she had found so irresistible. She had dated men with more money and better looks, who came from better families and had gone to better schools. Smarter men, men who made her laugh more and treated her with greater respect. What the hell did Perry bring to the table that these men hadn’t?
Confidence. That was what. Not the kind that any man who’d achieved some level of success in his chosen profession could always claim, but the kind that threatened to change worlds. An unshakable, unrelenting sense of self-worth Perry filled a room with just by entering it. It was a message a woman could read in his merest glance, one that said he intended to have his way, right or wrong, and you could either move aside, come along for the ride, or lose everything you possessed trying to stop him.
Iris had chosen to go along for the ride.
Exactly eighteen months later, almost to the day of their first meeting at a Grammy awards after-party at Staples Center, the thrill of it had finally worn off. The downside to Perry’s exhilarating power had proven to be addiction and treachery, character flaws she might have been able to handle individually, but not in combination. Perry was a compulsive gambler and a liar, and now he had taken up stealing from her, and that was where Iris had to draw the line. You could fuck around with other women if you wanted to, and tell all the stupid, unbelievable lies to cover your tracks you could come up with; Iris could live with that kind of deceit because she’d been there, done that, too many times to count, and had learned how to reciprocate. But ripping her off – treating her like some clueless fool who’d left her bank card in an ATM machine just for your convenience – was unforgivable. It was one thing to be a man’s bitch, and quite another to be his punk, too.
Iris Mitchell was nobody’s punk.
She was halfway through packing a bag when the doorbell rang. One of Perry’s friends, no doubt, she thought. Fuck him. But then it occurred to her that Perry would only sit there on his lazy ass and scream at her from the other room to go get it, and rather than submit to one more minute of his bullying, she went to the door.
It was Will Sinnott. Will was a souse with a ten-year-old’s sense of humor who’d been trying for years to drink his way out of the closet, but he was far and away the least repulsive of Perry’s three business partners. Iris was almost relieved to see him standing there, despite the hangdog look on his face.
‘Hey, Iris. Is Perry here?’
‘In the playroom,’ Iris said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she rushed back to the bedroom to finish packing.
Iris rarely seemed happy to see him, so Sinnott was surprised only by the severity of her rude welcome. Left to do so on his own, he showed himself in and found Cross exactly as promised, swallowed up in the cushions of a black leather divan in the
Similar Books
