Page 90 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Anthony
TJ doesn’t bother to express his disapproval and mild irritation anymore. He made himself clear last night when I came down from the penthouse.
When I hired him, I gave him a few specific instructions. One was never to let me be near a strawberry blonde, no matter what. He followed it to the letter, and no strawberry blonde, regardless of how hot or wily, could get past TJ to reach me.
But last night, I brought Iris with me. Shook my head when TJ wanted to pull her away. It’s not a good idea to break rules, make exceptions. Your employees don’t like it because it creates confusion and uncertainty. If Iris is okay, then what about other strawberry blondes? Are they okay too now?
If I told TJ why Iris is an exception…
Would he encourage me or drive me straight to his sister, who’s a shrink?
He eyes Iris coolly, although he can’t quite hide his surprise. She isn’t dolled up like all my previous dates. Her unbound hair frames her face, fresh and without makeup except for lipstick. Her shirt is a bit too large, designed to be comfortable rather than seductive, and the ballet slippers on her feet are plain black, nothing fancy. She isn’t wearing a single piece of jewelry.
But she couldn’t be more beautiful or radiant. She draws me like sunlight does a plant. Like a fragrant flower lures bees.
She’s chosen a long-sleeve shirt to cover the bruises from last night—the weather’s too warm for it otherwise—but I can see the edges of a couple at the neckline. I realize I didn’t hurt Jamie enough. His left wrist is still unbroken. So is his nose.
Iris doesn’t try to talk. She sits and studies me through her lashes from time to time. When I look at her, she quickly looks away.
The drive is quiet except for Schubert’s Fantasie. I’m deliberately playing it again to see if Iris will react to it in some way.
I could swear I saw her cry last night, but that was after that subhuman trash attacked her. She might not have noticed the music at all.
But today’s different. Although the attack is still traumatic, it isn’t so fresh that she can not notice the music.
Ivy and I played it ten times the first time we met. Surely it still has some meaning. But this woman isn’t reacting to it in any particular way. She’s tapping her fingers to the tempo, her eyes slightly narrowed, as though she’s appreciating the phrasing of the pianists.
Is Edgar right? Am I chasing a ghost?
Walk away before you lose it all, Tony.
Except what do I have to lose? Money, billions of dollars of it, is nothing if it can’t give you what you want.
The car stops at an intersection, and Iris looks out her window. A harried mother is struggling with a stroller and some glossy shopping bags. She’s carrying way too many things. But when the baby waves its plump arms, she looks down with a blinding smile as though her battle with the stroller and bags no longer matters.
Some people deserve that kind of love. Some don’t. It doesn’t matter what kind of public façade a family tries to create out of shame, out of pride. At the end of the day, the truth will come out, and everyone will know who didn’t belong.
Mother smiled at me like that once. When I was much, much younger. And until seven years ago, my parents at least pretended like they didn’t hate me. In front of other people, anyway. Now, everyone knows I’m a fucked-up child my parents consider a mistake. Edgar and Harry get the respect of our family name. I get the respect my empire commands. But I couldn’t be more apathetic about the company I built. These days, the only thing that makes me care enough to get out of bed and make sure we’re still profitable is the thousands of people we employ…and their families, whose livelihoods depend on the financial health of Vice Enterprises.
The car starts moving again, and I look away, suddenly feeling dirty and unwanted, yet greedy for unconditional acceptance, and ashamed of that greed.
I steal a quick glance. So let’s say I’m crazy and confused and Iris isn’t Ivy. Can she be like Ivy—be the sun, the moon and the stars of my otherwise dark and barren life? Or am I being selfish for even wishing such a thing?
You have enemies, Tony. You have to be more careful.
Edgar, ever the sensible brother, would say that to me. But he hasn’t lived in the darkness like I have. He’s heir to the family fortune and loved by all. Deservedly so. Even though I’d be lying if I said I’d never felt a tinge of envy…or guilt and shame for that petty emotion.
TJ pulls over in front of a diner with a hip retro décor. A bright teal, dark forest green and vivid orange color scheme adds to the cheery atmosphere, and movie posters and LPs from the sixties and seventies cover the walls.
Iris looks surprised. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. It doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” she says, then flushes like she just realized she said something she shouldn’t have.
“What is my kind of place?”
