Page 29 of Stealing Iris

Staring at the far wall, I grit my teeth. Pretty fucking sure Dante doesn’t have to deal with any of this kind of shit, but I ain’t there yet. “Whatev. Get back to me when everything is set.”

I jab my thumb on the screen, ending the call. Sitting back, I glare at Iris, who’s got a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe. “You’re gonna get shit done tomorrow.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” She leans into the frame, her eyes wide and worried.

“Hair, nails, makeup—the works.” I stretch out a hand, waving from her head down to the ratty tennis shoes she’s wearing.

She jerks back. “I am?” she asks in an uncertain tone.

“Yeah.” I tap both hands on the desk, doing a drumroll. “Need you to look good tomorrow night if I’m taking you to Dante’s party.” I do another run-through, trying to imagine what she’s gonna look like. “That’s gonna take a lot of work.” That comment’s guaranteed to make her tighten her ass cheeks where she’s standing.

“And the store? Saturdays are usually busy.”

Seriously. Selfish bitch is worried about this piece-of-shit business when my future’s on the line.

“Sometimes we’re crazy busy,” she rattles on. “And with us barely scraping by, I don’t know how we’ll make it through being short two people.”

“Close it up.” I push up, coming around the desk as her jaw falls open.

“We’ve never closed the store.” Her eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Not in my whole life can I remember a time where Dad closed. Even when Mom passed away, he left someone in charge.”

“Some things are more important than your papa’s precious store,” I sneer. “Just because you fell all over yourself to make him proud doesn’t mean I will.” I barrel past her without a backward glance.

*****

IRIS

We’ve been in the air for about two hours when anxiety starts digging into me. “Are you sure this is okay?” I ask, pulling at the plunging neckline of my blouse.

“Yes,” Tino assures me from the plush, leather seat across from mine. “There’s no dress code for these events.”

“Okay.” Despite his reassurance, I still want to disappear into the cushion. The outfit Olga chose for me makes me doubt her warning about me not acting like a ho. The white, nearly transparent wraparound blouse comes together about mid-chest to show off half my breasts and outlines my nipples. Vibrant-red shorts and skyscraper heels, with what can only be described as a chrome finish, complete the look. I swear Tino’s eyebrow twitched when he saw me. In that second, I wanted to run back inside and change. But for the first time ever, Conny was early, and he dragged me to the car while I tried my best to keep from spilling out.

“You’ll see all manner of dress tonight,” Tino assures me. “Some from around the world.” Of course he thinks everything will be fine, he’s in a dark suit that fits every angle of his body as if made for him.

Movie scenes of high-class parties flash through my mind, most ending with people staring at me.

“One of the more famous clients prefers silk pajamas instead of evening wear when he attends.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” Conny laughs much too loudly. His leg has been bouncing continuously since we came onboard.

Tino turns his attention to him, sliding his gaze around, inch by inch. His ability to throw shade and look threatening at the same time is impressive. It’s probably a good thing Conny is either too dense or too high to recognize any of it. “I’ll remind you again you’re attending as a guest, and a guest of a guest,” he adds pointedly.

“Yeah, man.” Conny nods, putting his neck into it. “You got it.”

“No business, whatsoever, will be conducted this evening,” he continues, adding a hard edge to his words. “Doing so will bring unwanted consequences.”

“Okay.” Conny gives two thumbs-up. “We’re cool.”

I bite my lip, smudging theScarlet Frostlipstick the makeup artist used. If that isn’t bad enough, the false lashes she put on my right eye are coming loose. At certain points, most of what I can see from that side is in shadow.

“Prepare to land.” The pilot’s voice comes over the speakers. I dig my fingers into the seat until my new nail tips start pulling back painfully. Normally I like to fly, but I’m anxious to see Dante again, and I don’t know what Conny might be up to. I have half a mind to tell Tino to keep an eye on him, but if Conny finds out, I’ll have my own set of consequences to deal with.

The plane glides in with more grace than expected. As the pilot hits the brakes, Conny’s leg starts bouncing even faster, setting my nerves on edge. The smell of his cologne is stuck in my nose, overwhelming the scent of leather. It’s so cloying I swear I can taste it. Tino, as usual, looks unaffected. But then he probably does this on a regular basis.

“Deploying stairs,” the pilot advises. We pull out of the seat belts, and Conny hurries to the door like an overeager child.

“Damn, bro. We’re in arancho.” Then he disappears through the doorway.

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