Chapter 1 01
IRIS QUINN
Paris was exactly what I needed.
“You’re not listening to me,” my date said, leaning back with a grin.
I was listening—he’d been talking about his yacht for ten minutes.
“I’m listening, Dominic, and you said the Mediterranean is unmatched in August.” I took a sip of my wine. “Very original.”
He laughed. “You’re brutal.”
“I’m honest, and there’s a difference.”
The restaurant overlooked the Seine, a location Dominic had chosen to impress me, and it worked—just not the way he thought. I wasn’t impressed by him but rather by the fact that for two hours, I hadn’t thought about my father once.
No lectures about duty, no guilt trips about family legacy, and especially no mentions of Caesar Laurent or any of the reasons I’d left in the first place.
Just me. Just this.
While Dominic signaled for another bottle of wine, I pulled out my phone, scrolling absently through the news. A headline caught my eye.
Laurent Heir Pledges $50 Million to Children’s Hospital
There he was, Caesar Laurent in a perfectly tailored suit, shaking hands with some hospital director, wearing that stupid smile he reserved for cameras. The article gushed about his generosity and vision for the future.
I scoffed.
“Something funny?” Dominic asked.
Turning the phone toward him, I said, “The media will believe anything if you throw enough money at it.”
He glanced at the screen. “You know him?”
“Unfortunately.” I set the phone down. “Our families have history.”
“Good history or bad history?”
“Is there a difference?”
Dominic studied me for a moment before asking, “So tell me, what does Iris Quinn do when she’s not in Paris?”
“Besides this?”
“Besides avoiding whatever you flew here to avoid.”
I looked at him—handsome in that obvious way, with his good suit, nice watch, and a smile that probably worked on most women.
“I don’t break hearts,” I said. “In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t asking about hearts.”
“Then what were you asking?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
My phone buzzed against the table.
Naomi.
Frowning, I flipped the phone face down.
“Is that someone I should be worried about?” Dominic asked, a slight tease to his voice as he reached across the table, fingers brushing mine. “You could turn it off.”
“I could.”
The phone buzzed again.
Then again.
This time it kept going, the vibration rattling against the table.
Dominic glanced at it. “You sure about that?”
When a text lit up the screen, I picked up the phone.
Naomi: Iris, please call me.
“You know what?” I set down my glass. “I’m bored.”
He blinked, a bit taken aback. “Of me?”
“Of talking.” I leaned forward. “You know my suite is in this hotel, right?”
His grin changed. “It is.”
“Then let’s go.”
---
We barely made it through the door.
Before the lock clicked, his mouth was on mine. I laughed against his lips as he pulled me further into the suite, his hands sliding down my waist. The room was nice, but I didn’t care.
“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, backing me toward the bedroom.
“You have no idea.”
My phone buzzed in my purse.
While Dominic’s jacket hit the floor, my hands went to his shirt buttons. He kissed my neck and collarbone, whispering sweet nothings—this was easy, exactly what I needed: the absence of the weight of expectations pressing down on me.
The phone buzzed again.
“Popular,” Dominic said against my skin.
“Ignore it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, his hands finding the zipper of my dress as we stumbled back onto the bed.
The phone rang again, and this time it was a call that refused to stop.
Dominic pulled back, breathing hard. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry, I—” I reached for my purse on the floor, where Naomi’s name lit up the screen. Five missed calls.
My stomach tightened.
“Just take it,” Dominic said, rolling onto his back, his tone shifting to one of annoyance. “Clearly it’s important.”
I sat up, my dress half-unzipped. “It’s my assistant, and she doesn’t call unless—”
“Then answer.”
Pressing the phone to my ear, I stood and walked toward the window. “Naomi, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is very bad timing.”
“Iris.” Her voice shook—she never sounded like that. “You need to come home.”
My hand tightened on the phone. “Why? Is my mother threatening to jump off the balcony if I don’t return?”
“It’s your father.”
Everything stopped—the argument before I left, his disappointed voice as he said, ‘You’re being selfish, Iris. This marriage is necessary.’ I’d walked out, told him I needed space, and got on a plane just to prove I could.
“Is he hurt?” I asked. “Naomi, is he—”
“He’s not hurt,” she said quickly, then stopped, and I heard her breath catch.
“Just tell me.”
“Your father has been arrested.”
