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)
“Do you live with your family?” The question, coming as it did off the back of a nearly ten-minute-long silence between them, surprised Iris. She looked up from the mug of coffee she was pouring, but his back was to her as he fried the omelets.
“No. I share a flat with two women in Wandsworth. I’m shocked your comprehensive background check on me didn’t tell you that.” She couldn’t resist the barb.
“If it had, I wouldn’t be asking,” he responded evenly, before continuing. “Sharing for how long now?”
“Nearly three years.”
“And you get along with them?”
“For the most part. Nobody’s ever late with the rent, we’re respectful of each other’s space, we don’t nick one another’s stuff. It has worked out better than any of us imagined it would. Especially considering we were total strangers when we moved in together.”
“I shared an apartment with my mates Dazza—Darryl—and Quinny during and after college,” he volunteered the information freely, as he slid the omelets onto a couple of waiting plates on the counter next to the stove top. He carried the plates to the banquette, while Iris brought over the coffee and toast. “Those were some of the best years of my life.”
Once they were seated, he smiled fondly and continued speaking while he buttered a slice of toast. “Dazza’s the one who wrote and directed Night of the Killer Wētās. He went on to do some pretty amazing shit after that.”
“Are you talking about Darryl Constanza?” New Zealander Darryl Constanza was one of the most acclaimed directors in the world right now—three of his last eight movies had won best picture awards. Everybody knew that the two men were friends, and had been since childhood—when they’d met shortly after Darryl’s family had moved to Australia—Iris just hadn’t realized that Constanza had directed that terrible movie.
“Yeah, he’s a good mate.”
“He directed Wētās?”
“He went by the name Daz Stanza back then. He had aspirations of being an actor and thought it would be a cool stage name. Thank God he eventually listened to Quinny and me when we convinced him it was terrible. But the bastard is lucky, I will be forever associated with that movie, while he got off scot-free.”
“I didn’t realize you and Mr. Quinn went so far back,” Iris said, sipping her coffee.
“Yeah, he and Dazza are my best mates. They have been since we were kids. Quinny has a good head for business, and he managed both Dazza and me when we were starting out.”
“I feel like that’s something I should have known.”
“Not many people know. Quinny kept it on the down-low. He had his reasons back when we were up and coming, and after all these years there’s no point in revealing how close we really are.”
Iris mulled over his words, while Trystan watched her in that unnerving way of his. This time she called him out on it. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like you’re mentally taking me apart to see what makes me tick, before very methodically putting me back together again.”
He cleared his throat and lifted his shoulders, his cheeks going red, and this time Iris was the one who stared as she tried to figure out what had triggered that reaction. He replied before she could work it out.
“I-I like looking at you.”
She gaped at him, jaw going slack, eyes popping, head tilted.
“I don’t understand,” she admitted, and he grinned.
“Nothing to understand, Hughes,” Trystan said. He sliced off a piece of omelet with the side of his fork and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and deliberately, while Iris waited impatiently for him to elaborate. “I just like looking at you. You have a very interesting face, and I enjoy the way your individual features fit together.”
“And that’s why you keep staring at me?”
“Why else would I be doing it?”
“I don’t know… to unsettle me?”
He chuckled and took another bite of his omelet.
“From day one, I found you—I don’t know—enjoyable to look at. Your face is so expressive, with those doe eyes that project your every thought and feeling, and that mobile mouth that looks like a furled rose on the brink of blossoming, and I’m quite helpless to do anything but stare in absolute wonder.”
“I have a question,” she announced, choosing to ignore the inflammatory comments that had sent butterflies aflutter in her stomach. “I presume I’m allowed to ask questions without you immediately assuming I’m in interview mode?”
His lips twitched at her dramatic announcement and he waved a hand in her direction, inviting her to continue.
“Have you been able to contact Mr. Quinn this entire time?”
“The other evening—after movies—was the first time I’d tried. I didn’t reach him then,” he admitted. “He really is on a retreat. But he does periodically check his phone. Today, he answered immediately when I called—he’d been trying to return my call, but I’ve been a little distracted, as you know. I think he was hoping to hear I was ready to go back to work. He’s been pushing for this big publicity tour to promote Cryo Cop.”