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)
“I won’t go anywhere, I’ll stay right here. Locking me in is unnecessary.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he sneered. “You think I’d give you free rein over my personal space, allow you to go snooping through my private things?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You just broke into my home.”
“Only because I didn’t fancy catching my death out there.”
“I’m happy I won’t be finding out if that flare for the dramatic reflects in your journalism.”
She ground her teeth again. God, she thought she might actually hate him.
It didn’t help that his sentiment reflected her own self-doubt of… God, was it just an hour ago? It felt like this ordeal had been stretching out for hours, days, fucking months.
“I’m not exaggerating,” she said, hating the juvenile sulky tone soaked through her words. “Have you been out there? It’s grim.”
His shoulders lifted in unconcern and he called Luna to heel, before they both stepped through the door.
“Don’t lock me in here, Mr. Abbott. Please. I won’t be—”
He shut the door in the middle of her plea and Iris stared at the closed door in consternation and alarm, moaning in horror when she heard the decisive turn of the key.
“Okay, it’s okay,” she consoled herself. “You’re fine. You’re safe, soon to be warm. At least you’re not out in this crazy storm.”
Even as she said the words the wind gusted, and rain and hail lashed against the windows. Iris shuddered. She told herself that was definitely an improvement on the situation she’d found herself in half an hour ago.
But she couldn’t stop staring at the closed—locked—door.
“Plenty of space,” she told herself out loud. “There’s plenty of space in here. There’s light. There’s heat. Windows. Other ways out. This is fine. You’re fine.”
Verbalizing the positives helped calm her somewhat and she concentrated on her deep-breathing techniques, which helped.
After a few long fraught moments, she was finally able to unstick her feet from the floor and turn away from the door. It was just for one night. Everything would be worked out tomorrow, then all of this would be a distant memory.
One night in a locked room was a piece of cake. She’d be fine.
“Totally fine,” she whispered.
She was shivering violently by now, and she slowly made her way back to the bathroom. There was nothing she could do except finally have that life-saving hot shower.
Forty minutes later—after the most satisfying shower of her life—Iris made her way to the kitchenette, hoping against hope to find some food.
She kept her gaze firmly averted from the locked door. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost trick herself into forgetting it was there.
She’d unearthed a blow-dryer from the bathroom vanity and rough-dried her wavy hair into a riot of staticky curls. The sweat suit she’d found was simultaneously too big and too small. It stretched obscenely over Iris’s butt and thighs, while being too long in the arms and legs and too tight over her chest. She’d had to fold the sleeves and legs of the garments several times. The owner of the clothes was definitely taller and slimmer than Iris who was curvy with a tendency toward plumpness.
Iris checked the fridge first. No luck. The blindingly white and bright interior was devoid of even the smears of food from days gone by.
“So clean,” Iris marveled and then sighed. She checked the freezer. Same result.
The cupboards yielded a box of unopened crackers, a couple of months past its expiry date, and—joy—a can of baked beans. There was also an open box of rooibos herbal tea and a half-full jar of instant coffee.
Her stomach growled impatiently at the sight of the meager bounty, and she was salivating by the time she managed to get the can opened. She blitzed the contents in the microwave, preferring to have a warm meal, made a cup of tea, sans sugar and milk—since those items were nowhere to be found—and sat down to enjoy her humble feast.
Once she had assuaged her immediate hunger, she pushed herself from the table to check on her phone. It wasn’t fully charged, but it had enough juice so she could check her messages and attempt to reach out to Hunter Quinn. She took it back to the table and scrolled through her messages and emails, while finishing the rest of her meal.
She hoped that Mr. Quinn would sort out the confusion with his client tonight, so Iris would not be stuck in this room tomorrow as well, but just in case, she had set some beans and crackers aside for breakfast.
After messaging her parents and best friend, Evan Brooks, she sent a text to Hunter Quinn.
Hi! This is Iris Hughes. There seems to have been an unfortunate miscommunication. Mr. Abbott wasn’t expecting me and he hasn’t responded well to my presence. Please could you call him to clear up this misunderstanding? He’s kind of threatening to have me arrested. Thanks so much.