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)
“Yes.” Her voice had lost all its resolve and now emerged on a nervous whisper.
Colby tuned in to Holmes @ Home and Iris tensed when the cheerful theme music came on as she realized that Colby was right. They should have waited for Chance to come home and tell her exactly what went down. Or at the very least, Iris should’ve returned her mother’s call before sitting down to watch.
That way she would at least be prepared for whatever she was about to see. Instead, she was a nervous wreck, an emotional mess expecting the absolute worst.
She was so preoccupied and anxious that she missed Mike Holmes’s usual hyper-enthusiastic opening chatter. She was staring down at the tightly clenched fists in her lap, barely recognizing them as her own, while she focused on her breathing in an attempt to remain calm.
“Iris?” Colby’s concerned voice penetrated Iris’s blooming haze of panic and jerked her back to the present.
“I’m fine,” she said on a soft exhalation of breath. “Just needed a moment.”
She shifted her focus to the large-screen TV.
The Holmes @ Home set was meant to resemble a cozy sitting room. That iconic, three-meter-long, dark blue crushed-velvet Chesterfield sofa had seated uncountable toned A-lister bottoms in the two-and-a-half decades since the show had first aired.
Mike Homes, with his affable, startlingly white smile, perfectly styled light brown hair that never seemed to gray, and his trademark velvet smoking jackets—complete with a brown pipe tucked into the breast pocket—was a household name and one of the most instantly recognizable people in the country.
He was staring into the camera as he spoke—a move designed to make viewers feel like he was speaking directly to them—his genial smile never fading.
“Tonight’s first guest is an up-and-comer. Someone not used to the limelight, but partially responsible for one of the most shocking and impactful celebrity stories of the year. Please join me in welcoming the supremely talented Miss Evan Brooks to our sitting room!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The air left Iris’s lungs in a shocked gasp as she stared fixedly at the screen, dreading what was to come but unable to look away. Like a terrified doe watching a train hurtling down the tracks straight at her, but too stunned by the noise and light to move out of the way before it mowed her down.
Mike Holmes was standing, arm outstretched as Evan lithely skipped onto the stage, looking ethereally lovely under the lights. Her strawberry blonde hair was up in a top knot, emphasizing the elegant line of her neck and shoulders. She was wearing a form-fitting pastel blue dress with a knee-length skirt and a simple boat neck, giving her an understated, yet classy, appearance. The make-up artist had done a great job of making her too-pale complexion look dewy and fresh.
Holmes air kissed her cheeks, and she turned to wave at the enthusiastically applauding studio audience, looking relaxed and confident. The man led her to the sofa and sat her down, before taking his seat—a massive winged armchair in the same color as the sofa.
“Oh my God,” Evan squealed once the audience had settled down. She made a huge show of stroking the sofa and then resting her cheek on the arm. “It’s just as comfy as it looks! I always wondered about that.”
The audience laughed appreciatively, clearly warming to her.
“Well, we’re happy you like it,” Holmes said with a wink at the camera, as if inviting the viewers in on the joke.
Iris swallowed painfully. Evan was in her element here. She’d have the host, the audience, and the nation eating out of her hand by the end of this interview. It sickened Iris to see Evan reaping even more rewards from her and Trystan’s misery.
“So, Evan, tell us a bit more about yourself. Where did you grow up?” Holmes invited, and Evan started talking about her family life, her adoring parents, her childhood cat—telling an amusing anecdote of the time Miss Pickles the cat had adopted a baby rat. It was all so frikking adorable.
Mike Holmes laughed on cue, listening raptly, prompting her with insightful questions, while expertly steering her toward the reason she was on the show.
“So where did you meet Iris Hughes?”
“At college. She was always a bit of a misfit, you know? Not quite sure where and how she slotted in. She latched onto me almost from the first. But I didn’t mind. She seemed like she needed a friend and she was nice enough, if a bit insecure. As I got to know her, I realized that she was absolutely riddled with anxiety.”
“Oh, my God. That’s not what happened,” Iris muttered, feeling the need to defend herself, even if Colby was the only one there to hear her. “She approached me. She’d heard my father was Stanford Carter and she wanted to know everything about him. She asked if I had any of his notes. Yes, I don’t make friends easily, and maybe I was too… eager to be liked by her. But she was so cool and confident. And—”