Page 15 of Filthy Business
He stared at his phone for a second, then pulled out his laptop and began typing. I smiled and watched him for a few moments longer.
I had a good idea what he was working on.
A flicker of yellow caught my eye, and I lowered the binoculars.
Police.
Fuck.
I dropped the popcorn on the passenger seat and tossed the binoculars into the back. Seatbelt on. Engine started.
My job here was done.
I knew he wouldn’t back out.
As I drove home, I imagined how I’d react. How I’d move things forward. My acting skills were stellar—and tonight had been a complete success.
For both of us.
???
I wore my silk ivory dress, suit jacket, and matching heels like armour. It had been a struggle to get any sleep last night, but somehow, I managed. I paused to think of my dad and sent him a few prayers. He’d disapprove of what I was doing—but since he died because of me, he didn’t get a say in the matter.
My back straightened. I let the cold rage slide back into my heart.
My heels clicked across the marble flooring, the sound only silencing when I stepped onto the mat in front of the lift.
“Iris!”
I closed my eyes for a second to get into character, then plastered a smile onto my face.
“Mr Trentham, good morning,” I said brightly.
His eyes darted around before he stabbed the button.
“I was worried you might feel—uncomfortable,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“No. It was actually a very generous proposal. And since I don’t have a Daddy, it would be nice to have one—even if it’s by contract.”
His face fell.
“Ah, damn. I’m sorry.”
“He died a long time ago,” I said softly, just as the doors opened.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. He would’ve been so proud of you. And trust me, I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I have a completely useless son,” he added, following me in.
He held up his hand when someone else moved to step inside.
“Take the next one,” he said, hitting the button to my floor.
The man blinked and stepped back.
I couldn’t stop my smile.
The aroma of his coffee filled the lift, mingling with his cologne. It was comforting. Familiar. Almost… intimate.
“What happened to your dad, if you don’t mind me asking?”
