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)
“We met while working on Cryo Cop.” Iris nodded. This was common knowledge; the press had been abuzz about the apparent chemistry between two of Hollywood’s brightest and most beautiful stars. And then, when they’d started dating just a few short months later everyone had been speculating about secret weddings and possible pregnancies. The rumor mill had been agog, the paparazzi had stalked them and their star appeal had gone through the roof.
“Trish and I got along, we enjoyed each other’s company, we had fun and had some great on-screen chemistry… then her manager and Quinny decided a good way to generate buzz for the movie would be to fabricate a behind-the-scenes romance between us. That was all it was at first, a little light flirtation in public, a few dinners, being seen out together, attending functions as a couple. Nothing serious, just enough to fuel public interest. One night, it got physical. I drove her home, and we fell into bed together.” Iris nodded, swallowing down a wave of nausea at the thought of him with the beautiful Trish Nesbitt, which was ridiculous since she’d known about their relationship. “I immediately knew that it was a mistake. We were colleagues, friends. And I didn’t want sex muddling that up. It felt wrong, and very uncomfortable. I was on autopilot, y’know? Insert tab A into slot B type of shit, just going through the motions. But she seemed so into it. I kept asking her if it was okay, if she was sure because I didn’t feel like it was okay and I absolutely wasn’t sure about it. And… fuck, I should have called a halt to it. I don’t know why I didn’t.
“Safe to say it was the world’s most mediocre sex, for both of us. From beginning to end I just wanted it to be over and I couldn’t understand why I felt that way. Afterward, we had an awkward discussion about our relationship boundaries. And we agreed that it could never happen again. Well, I thought she agreed with me. But after that she was—I don’t know—more physical in public, more brazen with her hands and mouth. I was surprised. Shocked. So fucking uncomfortable. She was such a great woman, she appeared so grounded and stable. But—” His head moved, a short jerk of denial, as if he were still trying to wrap his head around these memories.
“The night of the accident we were at a premiere party, and as we pulled up she told me she was in love with me.” His brow lowered and his eyes went distant, as if he were so immersed in his memories that he no longer saw Iris. “It came out of left field. I was shocked and, as a result, I wasn’t as kind as I should have been. At that point, I’d been trying to ease out of the agreement with her for weeks. I’d spoken to Quinny about how we could end it. I knew she was getting too emotionally invested. And I tried to be sensitive of her feelings, but then she started showing up at my home, and once she even crawled into my bed while I was asleep, for fuck’s sake!
“We’d made the commitment to go to the party together months before, and I didn’t want to humiliate her by not showing up. But by then, the situation had escalated so badly, I knew it had to be our last social event together. I’d told Quinny and her manager beforehand, told them I was ready for a public break-up. They could paint me as the bad guy, I didn’t fucking care. I was done.”
He made a quiet, despairing sound in the back of his throat, his hand tightening around hers almost to the point of pain, but Iris said nothing, not wanting to distract him.
“The night of the party, after she told me she loved me, I slammed out of the car and dragged her to a private room. Once there, I told her I didn’t feel the same way, that I never would. That she was delusional if she thought what we’d had was in any way real. I was . . . cruel. But I was frantic by then. I didn’t know how to handle the situation any longer. She was a fellow professional. I tried to respect that, but her behavior frightened me. I felt stalked. Hunted.
“She went eerily calm after I exploded. She apologized for misunderstanding the situation and I thought, ‘Finally, she gets it. Thank God.’ I thought that was that. We left the room and spent the party doing separate things. We’d gone in my car, and I felt obligated to drive her home. When we were both ready to leave, she offered to drive because I’d had a couple of drinks. I agreed because I wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation. But once we were in the car her demeanor changed.