Chapter 49

Iris

“Mr. Brooks will see you now.”

The sound of the receptionist’s voice snaps me out of my deep thoughts. I look up to see her standing beside an open door, a smile plastered across her face. Standing, I quickly smooth down the front of my shirt before I hurry through the doorway.

In the conference room, a man wearing an expensive navy blue suit is waiting for me. He’s incredibly handsome in the cookie-cutter sort of way, like a male lead from an old black and white movie. His smile is all teeth as he stands and extends his hand to me.

“Miss Iris,” he says, and his hand is warm and smooth as I shake it. “My name is Albert Brooks, but you can just call me Albert. Please, take a seat. Let’s talk.”

I sit in a chair opposite him in the sleek conference room. The table is long and polished, the sunlight bouncing off the warm chestnut wood. The chairs are just ever so slightly plush, and there’s a vase of lilies in the center of the table. It’s clear that the entire office is specifically designed to set people at ease, and it’s working on me.

“Now,” Albert says, settling across from me. He leans back in his chair, crossing his long legs. “What brings you to my office today?”

I clear my throat and explain the situation to him, hoping that he’ll be able to help me more than the last guy did.

Over the next few minutes, Albert’s face darkens, his brow furrowing as he nods along. He doesn’t interrupt me once, and when I’m finished, he’s silent for a few moments as if considering.

Finally, he rises from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket.

“Let me speak to my partner,” he says, offering me another one of those award-winning smiles. “In the meantime, my secretary is going to come and take your consultation fee. It’s all routine.”

I nod, having expected this. It’s why I worked so hard to sell all those paintings, after all. And given my calculations, I think I should just be able to afford the consultation fee.

Mr. Brooks leaves, and a moment later, the receptionist enters with a tablet in her hands. She takes my card and swipes it, making casual conversation as I pay the fee. After signing a few forms, with everything looking up to code, she offers me a cup of tea and leaves.

Oddly, though, I’m left sitting in the conference room for some time. I send Cliff a text as I sip my herbal tea, and he assures me that I needn’t worry about Miles—he even sends me a picture of Miles happily playing with his kitten in bed, which makes me smile.

“He named the little thing ‘Scout’,” Cliff’s text says. “But I think he should have named him ‘Runaway’!”

I can’t help but laugh at that; leave it to Cliff to make light of a harrowing situation. Just as I’m shutting off my phone, the door opens again, and Mr. Brooks and another man I don’t recognize—an older one with silver hair and a thin mustache and an equally-expensive suit—enter the room.

“Miss Iris,” Mr. Brooks says, gesturing to the other man, “this is my partner, Mr. Lee. We’ve just discussed your case.”

I shake Mr. Lee’s hand and the two men take a seat on the other side of the table. I’m surprised when Mr. Lee pulls out a manila folder and places it in the center of the table, closed.

“Well?” I ask, scooting forward on my seat. “Can you help me?”

Mr. Lee clears his throat. “Miss Iris, we’ve extensively discussed your case. While it’s a compelling case, I hope you understand that going head to head in court against the Alpha President himself is no easy feat.”

“I know,” I reply, narrowing my eyes slightly. “That’s why I came to see you today. I thought you could handle it.”

The two men exchange glances. Then, Mr. Brooks leans forward. “Miss Iris, unfortunately, we can’t work with you.”

My eyes widen. “Why not? Is everyone around here really that scared of Arthur?”

“Not necessarily,” Mr. Lee chortles. “Rather, it’s your actions as a mother that give us pause. We believe that your poor parenting skills make this case an immediate loss. It wouldn’t be in our best interests to—”

“Sorry, did you say poor parenting skills?” I cut him off, shocked. “What do you mean by that?”

Mr. Brooks’ eyes flash slightly. He nods to Mr. Lee, who carefully slides the folder to me. I frown and snatch it, flipping it open.

And sure enough, inside the folder are photos. Dozens of them; sneaky, shaky photos taken of us running through the rain last night, Arthur hauling Miles out of the flume, but not just that. There are photos of me leaving the apartment building dressed up for the event, Miles nowhere in sight. Images of me in my ‘Flora’ disguise at the event, sipping champagne and smiling.

And finally, there are images of me and Arthur running out of the event, Arthur ahead of me. Arthur’s mask and glasses have fallen off, displaying his identity—and by extension, mine.

It makes me sick. I didn’t even notice anyone taking photos, let alone while we were rescuing Miles. Instead of helping, some creep was photographing us?

“What is this?” I ask, my voice shaking as I look back up at the two men.

Mr. Brooks’ lips curl up ever so slightly at the corners. Gone is the man with the award-winning smile, replaced by a snake in the grass.

“Miss Iris,” he says, “we believe these images showcase your parenting skills—leaving your son behind with strangers so you could go out cavorting around town. Meanwhile, Alpha Arthur is repeatedly shown taking the pivotal role in saving your son. He was the first to exit the building, even letting his disguise slip in the process. He was the one who risked his life to pull your child out of the water while you stood by, holding his coat.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “But that’s only half of the story,” I say, slamming the folder shut and shoving it back across the table. “Arthur and I both searched for Miles. It was a team effort.”

Mr. Lee simply shrugs. “Not from the public point of view. There are already rumors going around in some spaces that you intentionally left your child with a mentally disturbed elderly woman and a flighty old man so you could go and make money off of your artwork.”

“I had to earn enough money to afford your absurd fees,” I scoff. “Besides, Cliff and Augustine are good people who just made a mistake. They’re not ‘mentally disturbed’ or ‘flighty’.”

The two men don’t look convinced. I fold my arms. “Can I at least get a refund, since you’re not going to help me?” I ask.

At that, Mr. Brooks laughs. Laughs.

“We gave you a consultation,” he says. “That’s what you paid for.”

Great. With a huff, I push my chair back and stand. It seems I have to start all over again, further delaying my exit from this damn city.

But just as I’m about to leave, Mr. Lee calls out to me. “Ahem. Iris?”

I turn, curling my lip. “What?”

He nods toward the folder. “If these photos get out, then you and the Alpha President could be in hot water. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

It takes all of two seconds for me to get what he’s implying. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” I ask, planting my hands on my hips.

“We’re just saying that it’s… common courtesy to make some kind of offer when it comes to such sensitive material.”

“One thousand Ordan dollars would be a start,” Mr. Brooks adds with a sly grin. “For one picture, that is.”

For a moment, I just stare at the men, honestly wondering if this is some kind of sick joke. But it’s not. And suddenly I realize how they can afford their expensive designer suits.

But the thing is, even if I wanted to pay these jackasses off, I don’t have that kind of money. Not anymore. Not after I just paid their damn ‘consultation’ fee.

“Here’s a bribe for you,” I say, feeling spiteful. I reach into my pocket, pretending to pull out my wallet, only to flash my middle finger at both of them. And with that, I turn and storm out of the office, leaving the two men behind.

On the way out, I notice a familiar car waiting for me at the curb. Ezra. I open the door and get inside without even hesitating. He doesn’t have to be a genius to tell what the thunderous look on my face means, and pulls away from the curb without a word.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “Didn’t go well, I take it.”

I shrug and fold my arms. “Lawyers are assholes.”

“Tell me about it.” Ezra glances at me. “You know, I never told him about your trouble finding a lawyer. For what it’s worth.”

“I figured,” I say, smiling slightly despite myself. Last night, Arthur seemed too shocked when I told him the truth for me to believe that Ezra went against his word. “Thanks for that.”

Ezra nods, and the car falls silent again. As we pull up to the apartment complex, I nod toward the building.

“Do you still want that portrait?”