I’d seen her charm clients and fit in at every event. But she was more than a beautiful woman in nice clothes. She understood how it felt to be alone, and she’d been at my side when I needed her.
As I got ready for the cocktail hour outside, I should have been thinking about how I’d get Raphael Garcia back onside. I should have been going over my notes about how to approach him about the perfume campaign and smooth-talk him back into the fold.
But I dressed in a fresh shirt and listened to Nikita’s movements in the dressing room. The whisper of fabric against skin, the clack of coat hangers against each other. After I’d finished with my own clothes, I glanced over to see her sitting at the vanity, applying makeup.
I became entranced. All her little pots and potions were laid out in front of her, and she used them with such precision. I watched her transform herself into an ethereal, glowing goddess.
And I was sick with wanting her.
It wasn’t like me, but it was how I felt. I’d gone through the past years-longer-having casual flings with women whenever the fancy struck. This was different. This was a woman who intrigued me, who might even understand me if I let her in.
She didn’t pretend to be bored with the trappings of wealth around us. She unabashedly admired beautiful things-and I found that refreshing. I’d watched her walk through Raphael’s home, her gaze lingering on artwork and rugs and beautiful furniture, and I’d been able to appreciate his home with a new perspective. I noticed the splashes of red in a room and the way the carpet on the stairs complemented the artwork on the way up. I saw the view from our bedroom with new eyes.
Iris did that for me. She made life feel new. She made me take stock of what I had, where I was, what I’d accomplished, and feel something. I wasn’t just the head of a corporation, trying to amass wealth with no purpose. I was living a charmed life that had started with a bedrock of privilege and grown from there.
I realized, for the first time, what Reggie had meant when he told me to let someone in. I understood why Wilbur Monk believed in working with people who had long-term relationships. Sharing a life with someone was more than just having them in your bed. It was a transformation of all that was familiar into something different.
“Ready?”
I turned, and my heart stumbled. Iris stood on the other side of the room wearing a floral cocktail dress that cut down in a square neckline, flared out at the waist, and hit her just below the knee. The fabric was ivory with a slight sheen, and the embroidered flowers were purple, indigo, and blue. Her makeup was flawless. Her hair fell down in silky waves.
She was a woman who knew how to put herself together, and I liked that. I liked that she was unapologetically feminine. I appreciated the efforts she went to to adorn herself in beautiful things.
And I liked that it was my arm she’d be clinging to. Possession swept through me as I stood and extended my hand, because this woman was mine. Her beauty, her charm, her intelligence, her cheeky little side-smiles and flat looks-all mine.
At that moment, I didn’t think about the fact that she wasn’t mine in truth. I didn’t acknowledge that our relationship was a sham, and it was based on a crazy contract that would kill my business if it ever got out. As Iris slipped her hand into mine and let me lead her out of our suite, I knew that I had to have her.
“You look beautiful,” I told her as we stepped into the hallway.
She smiled at me. “Thank you. I love this dress.”
I hadn’t been talking about the dress, but I nodded in response. We made our way downstairs and out to the side patio, where soft music filled the silences between the guests’ conversations. Lights were strung up outside, and heat lamps warmed the space.
“Jared!”
I turned to greet the older woman smiling at me and Iris, and I put on my best Branson Advertising CEO persona. Iris did the same, and we wound our way through the tables, chatting, laughing, and complimenting the host.
Raphael appeared not long after with his partner, walking up to a small dais near the door. “Thank you all for coming to our little celebration,” he announced. “This year has been a dream, and I’m so pleased to be here to celebrate it with you all. Being married to the love of my life has made everything even sweeter.”
Raphael’s husband, Matt, smiled and blew a kiss at him. The crowd applauded, and Iris even leaned her head against my shoulder.
“They’re sweet,” she said, smiling softly.
I watched the play of the lights over her hair, her skin, her shoulders. “You think you’ll ever have what they have?”
Her eyes were dark and liquid. She glanced at the happy couple as Raphael continued his speech, then looked at me again. “I think it’s rare to find someone who’s your perfect match,” she admitted, “but I’m holding out hope. You?”
I huffed. “I don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”
“Maybe the best thing to do is take scraps of happiness wherever you can find them.”
Holding Iris’s gaze, I wondered if I was reading things there that didn’t exist. There was a scrap of happiness here between us. Something alive and hot and real, if only we let ourselves indulge.
If we forgot that she worked for me. If we pretended I didn’t hold all the advantages. If we promised each other it was temporary.
Applause jarred me out of my thoughts, and I joined in. A little while later, while waiters drifted through the small crowd with drinks and canap?, Raphael approached. He held his arms out to Iris and air-kissed both her cheeks, then introduced us to his husband.
“Congratulations,” she told them, smiling. “Your speech was beautiful. I can see the love you have for each other so clearly, and it’s just wonderful.”
“Now how did a sweet woman like you end up shackled to Mr. Dry and Dusty, over here.” Raphael nodded to me.
Iris gave him a grin. “I can’t tell you that. I signed an NDA.”
The two of them cackled, clearly having no idea she was telling the honest truth. I slipped my hand down Iris’s back and pinched her side. She responded by bumping me with her hip and giving me that sexy side-eye I loved so much.
“Jared was telling me about his ideas for your launch campaign,” Iris said. “Have you seen any of the updated concepts?”
Garcia let out a dramatic sigh and gave me a disappointed look. “I just-I just can’t. It needs to be the real thing, but the glass manufacturers can’t get us a new four-hundred-gallon bottle for another three months. We’ll have to delay.”
Iris nodded sympathetically. “I see.”
“It has to be perfect.”
“I understand,” she responded, and there was a stiffness in her shoulders. I wondered if she was blaming herself for what happened.
“Especially now,” Garcia added.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, after the story about the accident leaked. Everyone knows that our campaign is delayed because of it. I couldn’t possibly put something out that isn’t absolutely real.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.