Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Only to find herself here, and right back to square one with her phobia.
“I don’t understand why Mr. Quinn didn’t message or email you about my arrival,” she said wearily, tired of having the same dead-end conversation with him. “If you would allow me to, I could show you my correspondence with him.”
“I told you before, electronic correspondence is easily faked,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Of course it is,” Iris said with a dejected sigh, really not in the mood for this conversation again either. This wasn’t even a misunderstanding anymore—it was the willful stubborn insistence of one party not to believe a single word the other said. There was no arguing with that. No reasoning. He didn’t want to believe her and so—no matter what proof she offered to support her argument—he wouldn’t.
“You asked if I was any good in the kitchen,” she said, changing the subject. She ignored the astonishment in his usually enigmatic gaze, knowing he’d expected her to continue arguing her case. Iris felt a swell of satisfaction that she’d managed to surprise him. He was too smug in his belief that he knew everything there was to know about her and what motivated her.
“My parents own a catering and events company. They started off as caterers and I grew up knowing my way around a kitchen. I’m a pretty decent cook, nowhere near as good as my dad, of course. He’s a genius in the kitchen. My mum’s better with the admin.”
“Well, I’m happy for you to recreate one of your dad’s recipes for lunch. I’m pretty fed up of cooking. As you may have noticed, I’m not the most creative of cooks.”
“You do okay,” she said and he grinned.
“If that’s not damning someone with faint praise, I don’t know what is.” He chuckled in genuine amusement.
“Are you sure you trust me to cook. Not afraid I’ll drug you and snoop around your house while you’re unconscious?”
His smile broadened, lively amusement still lingering in his eyes.
“Well, I wasn’t until you asked me that question,” he said, his tone mocking. “Come on, time to dazzle me with your culinary abilities.”
It was a pleasure to cook in the massive state-of-the-art kitchen. It was truly a chef’s space, with everything she could possibly need right at her fingertips. She’d been honest when she’d boasted about being a decent cook. She happily whipped up a chicken korma—one of her dad’s specialties—from scratch, with butter naan and raita as sides.
Trystan proved an able sous chef, happily chopping and dicing anything she needed him to. He remained largely silent, while Iris regaled him with stories of her family’s business and some of the more outlandish events they’d planned and catered.
“I’m actually a little sorry I missed the Bhandari wedding this past weekend. It’s one of the biggest events we’ve ever catered. Over a thousand guests. Dad was really chuffed we got the contract.
“I went to school with the bride, Shruti. She and I were never really friends, she was more popular than me. I didn’t have many friends at school, I always had my head stuck in a book or I’d be staring into space thinking up crazy stories. The other kids thought I was a bit weird.”
“Did they bully you?” It was the first time he’d spoken in ages, and it made her aware of how long she’d been prattling on inanely.
“Sorry, you must be bored to tears. I do tend to go on a bit when given free rein to talk.”
“If I were bored to tears I wouldn’t be asking questions, now would I?”
Fair point.
“What was the question?” she asked, prevaricating.
“Were you bullied?”
“A little,” she admitted. She ignored his annoyed hiss when she deliberately looked away from him to “check” on the curry simmering away on the gas stove top for the second time in under a minute.
“A little?” he repeated and she inhaled shakily, before forcing herself to meet that all-seeing gaze.
“Okay, a lot. Usually small things, like name-calling and taking or breaking my stuff. They made fun of my braces, my hair, my body. My parents being in the service industry. Nothing was off limits to them.
“I didn’t want a phone, and I had no social media accounts because I knew the online bullying would be relentless if I did. And it became yet another thing for them to mock me about.
“Then one Friday afternoon, just after the final bell, Shruti—the ringleader—and her cohorts shoved me into a supply room and locked the door. The teachers were all in a staff meeting and the other kids had mostly gone home already. Any student who did hear my panicked screams daren’t go against Shruti and her minions. It felt like I was locked in there, in the dark, for hours. But in reality it was only forty minutes or so. That’s how long it took for my form teacher to return to the classroom and find me there. I was a wreck. I’d…”